“Some cities remember your laugh longer than your name.”
The day off in Hamburg felt like a real-life dream. They met near the Speicherstadt, the old warehouse district, now filled with quaint cafés and beautiful canals. This time, there was no agonizing awkwardness. They walked side-by-side along the bank of the Elbe River, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of the harbor.
"So, what's the best part about teaching eight-year-olds?" Cathal asked, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.
"The moment they finally understand something you've been explaining for a whole week," Patricia answered with a smile. "The look on their faces when the 'lightbulb turns on' is priceless. And, of course, their brutally honest answers."
"Like what?"
"Like the time a student told me my new haircut made me look like 'a sad poodle'," Patricia said, making Cathal burst out laughing.
That laugh still felt like a miracle. There, under the grey Hamburg sky, Cathal asked about Patricia's dreams, her family, her quiet life in Bavaria. Patricia, in turn, listened to Cathal's stories about the pressures of his law studies and his often-awkward feelings about being in the middle of his family's glittering world of music. For the first time, they were talking like two adults trying to navigate their own lives.
Inside the tour bus on the way to Munich, Andrea Corr was back to her spying. She saw Cathal sitting in his seat, staring out the window with a faint smile on his face. That smile had been a rare sight for months.
"I'd bet a hundred euros he's thinking about that teacher from Germany," Andrea whispered to Sharon, who was sitting next to her.
"Andrea, I told you..."