***This one's not long, but it sets the stage for Chapter 4.
------------
In her kitchen, Kate was doing her best to get the stubborn grease off her hands with a rag. "This stuff is almost as bad as molybdenum grease," she said, "We'll never get it off before next week. Whenever you think that you've gotten it all, there's always more."
She was reaching for the dish soap when Jürgen took her hand in his. She stared as he examined it.
"Do you always use this to get grease and oil off?" he asked, "This is much too hard on your skin. Wait a minute, please."
He still had a rag with him and he was wiping his hands as he walked out. Kate felt a little silly standing like that as she waited. When he came back, he set a tub of margarine on the counter and peeled off the lid. Opening her cutlery drawer, he selected a spoon and scooped out a large dollop.
"Here," he said, "work this into your hands really well over the drain."
She tried it and the grease came off in almost seconds. She only really had to concentrate on her cuticles after that.
"I feel like an idiot," she laughed a little, "I never thought of this. Thank you."
"Butter would be the best thing," he said, "but it is more expensive, and I always feel as though I am being wasteful using it."
She looked at him with a playful little grin. "Did you grow up on a farm or something?"
"No," he smiled as he produced a tube of odourless gentle hand cleaner. He squirted a little onto her hands and he worked it into her cuticles for her so that she wouldn't leave a mess on whatever she touched before her hands were clean, "I'm just cheap."
"There," he said, smiling, "And now your hands smell like popcorn at the movies. I like it."
She just had to know. "Why? Is that an erotic smell to you or something?"
"I don't know, Kate," he laughed, "maybe it is. I have always wondered why perfumes are not made to smell like food. I don't think that I could resist a girl who smells of popcorn."
"Well I know one thing," she said, "Unless you're a complete loss at driving, I'd say that you've got the job if you still want it, Jürgen."
"Thank you," he smiled, deciding that he liked Kate a good deal.
"I'd offer you a beer to celebrate the auspicious moment, "she laughed, "but I haven't got any to offer you."
"I have some," Jürgen said, "but it is a brand which contains quinine. You will most likely not like the bitter taste, and anyway, I have a better idea. We can go into the town. Come on, I have a car."
She looked at him in a little shock. "What? Like this?" she asked, indicating their state of dress.
He only looked at her with a very small smile and it made her laugh. Neither of them were exactly wearing finery, but at the same time, there wasn't much more than a little dust from the floor on the knees of their coveralls.
"Even here, there are garages," he smiled, "what do those people wear if they are reasonably clean and wish to go for a bit of lunch? I know a little place where many working people go. Other than my size and your beauty, I think we will be able to pass the minimum requirements."
She laughed again and took his arm, remembering all of the times when she'd gone for tea when she'd been in the shop and working, "You're right – and I suppose that we ARE working."
He led the way to where he parked, around the other side of his cottage.
"Why would you drink a beer that has quinine in it?" she asked, "Why not just drink bitter, if that's what you like."
"This is like a tradition with me. I don't like it," he smiled a little grimly, "I'm only used to it. I drink it whenever I am in a place where malaria is a possibility and if it is available, nothing more. I like to have a beer now and then, even if it tastes like shit."
"I got a shot for malaria before I came," she grinned.
"I did too," he said, just as grimly as before. "I do not think that I could explain it to you, but try to think that I come from a place where they tell you that work is good for the soul."
She shrugged, "Sounds like a load of shit to me."
"I think so too," he said, "but if you only hear it spoken the right way while you are cutting the grass, it can last a lifetime."
They turned the corner of his cottage and Kate stared for a moment. Then she laughed, "Jürgen, this is yours?"
He looked over at her, "You don't like it?"
She laughed, "I love it. It's very ... "
"Please do not say that it is cute. I hear that all the time."
"Um, I think it's very retro and utilitarian."
She was looking at an ancient Citroen 2CV, a little thing that seated two regular people and had a roll-back canvas roof. It had a tiny little engine that made – at best – 12 horsepower.
"Much more entertaining to hear. Yes," he nodded, "I bought it so that I had something to drive around here in. I'll sell it when I leave. It didn't cost me much and –"
"I know," Kate laughed, "and you're cheap."
He nodded and opened the passenger door for Kate and she got in and tried to situate herself.
"My head almost brushes the ceiling," she chuckled, "I don't know how to break this to you, Jürgen, but in case no one has ever told you, you're a large man. A very attractive one, I'll grant you, but a large one nonetheless. And in case you're eyes aren't working well, I'm a rather –"
