The Kiss Thief

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

BRITTA WAITED UNTIL THE LAST board member had left before she chanced coming down the stairs—she didn’t want to answer one more question about the huge amount they needed to earn for the library. She hefted the remaining posters, probably fifty of them, and mentally strolled through Echo Ridge, thinking of where she might hang them. A tension headache was building behind her eyes, and she didn’t think she could handle one more request for the Harvest Hurrah. Britta clutched her posters and stopped just short of tripping over Emma Turner's darling girls. “Hello, Emma.”

“Hi,” Emma greeted her.

“How are these cute girls today?”

Maryn tilted her head to the side. “We’re still cute.”

Britta laughed.

“Thank you, Miss Britta,” Addison said properly. “I love your hair.”

“Well, thank you back, Miss Addison.” Britta smiled back at Emma. “You’re so lucky to have these girls to brighten your day.”

“Yes, I am.” Emma put her arms around her girls and led them to the front of the library.

Britta watched them go, a tendril of longing reaching out toward the little family. Dropping the posters in her office, she straightened and walked along the laminate flooring in the children’s section toward the drinking fountain, not really noticing her surroundings. The water was cool and the fountain kicked on as she drank, making a low hum that added to the murmur of patrons.

“Good morning, Britta.”

She recognized the voice and took one last sip in an attempt to compose herself. Britta raised her head and licked her lips. Milo Geissler stood next to the community bulletin board, clasping a sheaf of papers and business cards. He smiled and the dimple in his left cheek deepened. Britta caught herself staring at the dimple and focused on his eyes, commanding herself not to get lost in the crystal-blue color.

“Milo, how are you today?” Britta stepped away from the water fountain and eyed the bulletin board, where a new page was tacked. “That’s a new flyer. I like the colors.”

“My sister designed it for me,” he replied. “You don’t think it’s too bright?”

“No, the orange and red catch the eye and remind me of autumn,” Britta said. “It’s my favorite season.” Why did I just say that?

Milo took a step forward and handed her a business card, also sporting the new design for “Perfect Pitch Piano Tuning by Milo.”

The very first time Britta’s mother had traveled from Buffalo, New York, to the tiny town of Echo Ridge, she’d canvassed the town for a suitable German husband. As luck would have it, Mother saw one of Milo’s flyers and called him up to tell him all about her beautiful German daughter. Remembering the conversation still brought a flush to her cheeks. Britta ducked her head and pretended to cough.

“I hear you’ve been busy prepping for the big fundraiser,” Milo said. “Everything looks so well organized this year. I think the turnout will be great.”

Britta met those sapphire eyes again. He was several inches taller than her five-foot-four- inch frame, but not too tall—maybe close to six feet. His blond hair brushed the top of his collar and edged over his ears. Every time Britta saw him she had the strange desire to tuck his hair behind his ears; the man needed a good haircut. But he was still far too good-looking.

“We have a lot of new events planned. I just hope it will be enough to cover all the costs of updating the library,” Britta said.

“You do wonderful things for this library,” Milo said. He had the faintest German accent rounding out his words. If Britta hadn’t grown up listening to the beautiful language, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. “It reminds me of my grandmother. Oma loved books, and I loved visiting her bookshelves. It always feels nice in here.”

“Danke,” she answered.

Milo’s smile deepened. “Gern geschehen.”

It took a moment for Britta to realize that she’d slipped into German to thank him and he had responded. She hadn’t done that for years, ever since her early teen years, when she’d stopped speaking German at home. She had explained to her parents that she wanted to work on her English, and since her mother needed practice, they consented. But just then, listening for the accent on the ends of Milo’s words and the way he spoke of his Oma, Britta became lost in memories of the Klein home. She could almost feel the bear hugs from her own Oma, and that had her slipping into old ways. “Well, I’d better go.”

“Wait, are you busy next Friday night?”

Britta’s heart did a little flip. Milo’s dimple trembled as if he was biting the inside of his cheek. He’d asked her out once before, right after her mother’s meddling, and she’d turned him down flat, embarrassed because of her mom’s matchmaking attempt. But today he tempted her with his low voice and kind eyes.

Milo didn’t look dangerous, but for Britta, he was the catalyst that stirred up painful memories from her past. “No, I can’t. I’ll be prepping for Armand to come into town. We have to pick him up from the airport and get him settled.”

The dimple disappeared as the edges of Milo’s mouth turned down. “Maybe another time?”

Britta glanced at her watch. “Oh dear, I didn’t realize it was so late. Have a good day, Milo.”

“Tschüss.”

Milo’s casual German equivalent of goodbye tickled her ears as she turned and scurried to the front of the library. Her mother would throw a fit if she found out how Britta had just treated Milo, but it could never be. All her life, Britta had worked hard to fit in. She grew up in a boisterous German home bursting with tradition, the melodic language and songs, the delicious breads and meats. Britta was proud of her German heritage, until she moved to a new school in the seventh grade. That was a turning point in her life.

Several of her classmates made fun of Britta’s German accent. Her English was good, but the remnants of the Slavic language appeared on certain words. At first the teasing was innocent, but then it turned nasty when an eighth-grade boy spread a rumor that she was related to Hitler. At the same time, her history teacher had them complete a project about WWII and the heinous crimes of the Germans.

Britta kept her head down and worked hard all through graduation, spoke little, and tried not to call attention to herself. She did everything she could to erase any touches of her German heritage from her outward life to avoid being hurt and degraded. In public, she kept working with her mother to speak English, her gut twisting with anxiety every time she slipped into her native tongue. Britta wanted to protect her family from the pain she’d suffered. She even dyed her light blond hair a dark brown, something that her father didn’t understand or condone.

That was so long ago now—nearly twenty years had passed—but the pain felt raw and angry in her memory. She’d tired of dyeing her hair and let it grow back in blond before she moved to Echo Ridge. She didn’t like pretending to be someone she wasn’t. The hardest part was that Britta still loved her German heritage. She knew the history of WWII that wasn’t taught in the American schools, how her relatives suffered from the evils of a crazed man of power. The devastation left in Europe years after the war changed the German people. Her family survived, coming out of the ashes stronger, but some didn’t.

She wouldn’t allow herself to be in that position again, where someone cursed her because of her ancestry. Britta sighed. All of the old memories and feelings stirred up emotions that she’d rather not dwell on. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on making the Echo Ridge Library fundraiser a success. Milo was off limits.