Mrs. Martin and Mr. Blohm - Episode Fifteen : The brave don’t live very long — but the cautious don’t live at all.

A Rare Morning in Hamburg

The next morning, Hamburg greets the world with a rare gift — a clear blue sky.
Quite the opposite of the day before, when it had been rainy, windy, and cold — the day Mr. Blohm stood in front of Regina barefoot, wearing only a white bathrobe and holding a golf club.

The air is still crisp, but if you sit in the sun against a wall, it already feels warm — even in the morning. Luckily, Regina’s terrace catches sunlight early, so she decides to have her coffee outside for the first time in months. She slips into her red spaghetti-strap dress, hoping to get a little color. Her skin hasn’t seen sunlight in ages.

As she prepares her beloved Caffè Latte, she takes her phone onto the terrace. She wants to call her best friend Stephan — she hadn’t reached him last night and is dying to tell him about her strange encounter with Mr. Blohm.

Regina dials his number. He picks up immediately.
“Hey, Spatzl! I saw you called yesterday, but I was still at P1 — the famous nightclub in Munich.”

Regina smiles. P1 — the place to be in Munich. She used to go there all the time, often with Stephan. Hearing the name makes her instantly homesick; she would have loved to dance again, just like in the old days. But since moving to Hamburg in November, she hasn’t gone out once — something almost unthinkable for Regina.

The Secret of the White Bathrobe

“Stephan, you won’t believe what happened! When I came back from Berlin around eleven last night, the weather was awful — rainy, windy, freezing. And there he was — Mr. Blohm — barefoot, in a white bathrobe, holding a golf club! I couldn’t even park in my own spot because he’d taken it. He said he texted me, but I hadn’t seen the message — I’d put my phone on silent to avoid calls from Paul, who keeps bothering me. He explained he’d lost his keys while carrying his groceries upstairs and was afraid some car dealers might find them and steal his car! When he saw my headlights turning the corner, he thought it was the thieves — so he grabbed the golf club to defend himself. He had just showered and didn’t have time to get dressed! Can you imagine, Stephan?”

“Wow,” Stephan laughs. “That sounds strange — but kind of cute, too.”

“Yes,” Regina admits. “And honestly, he looked quite hot in that white bathrobe. Then he invited me in for a glass of Prosecco — not in three weeks like we’d planned, but right then and there. I said yes — but only if he stayed in the bathrobe!”

Stephan bursts out laughing. “And did he?”

“No, unfortunately not,” she sighs. “He got dressed — and with that, all the attraction was gone. I swear, Stephan, if he had stayed in that bathrobe, I can’t promise what might have happened next!”

“That’s wild,” Stephan chuckles. “So how did it go from there?”

“His apartment is actually nicely decorated — for a straight man, quite impressive. And here comes the best part: he had my favorite Prosecco! You know, the one that’s almost impossible to find. Can you believe it?”

“Wow, Spatzl, this man keeps getting more interesting! Tell me more.”

Spoiled Princes and Old Patterns

“Not really,” Regina replies. “He only talked about himself and didn’t ask me a single question. He said he loves Hamburg — and you know me, Stephan, I definitely don’t! Then I found out he’s divorced. The prince of his family — the youngest child, the long-awaited boy in a family of girls. Spoiled, of course. Just like Paul — only worse! He has three sisters, not just two. You know that’s a deal-breaker for me. After about an hour, I left. And guess what — as I was already on the stairs, he was still standing in the doorway and suddenly offered that I should call him Claus instead of Mr. Blohm! Can you believe it? He could have done that while I was still in his apartment — on equal ground. So arrogant! Anyway, Stephan — he’s definitely not for me.”

“Oh, come on, Spatzl,” Stephan teases. “You’re so quick to judge. Maybe he just didn’t know when the right moment was. And your theory that all youngest sons are spoiled princes — that’s a bit much, don’t you think? Give it some time.”

“No, Stephan, I’m done with compromises. I’ve made enough of them before.”

Punctuality and Personality

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Regina jumps up.
“Oh, Stephan — that must be Mr. Blohm! I totally forgot to tell you — I blocked him in so nobody could move his car if the keys were found. I have to go! I’ll keep you posted!”

“Bye, Stephan. I miss you!”

“I miss you too,” Stephan says. “And honestly, Spatzl — I’m quite curious about this Mr. Blohm.”

She glances at the clock on her phone. Exactly twelve o’clock.
“Punctual to the minute,” she murmurs. “Very unlike me.”

And you, dear reader, should know — Regina doesn’t like clocks. She doesn’t even wear one.
People in Munich aren’t famous for punctuality — Hamburg, however, is another story.

For Regina, anyone who arrives late is automatically a friend — because she herself is hardly ever on time.
A weakness, perhaps — but nobody’s perfect.

One thing is clear: Mr. Blohm will not become her friend. He’s far too punctual for that.

Two Worlds Collide

Regina slips into her flip-flops — the only shoes she can find in a rush — adjusts her red dress and walks through the garden gate to the front of the house.

She can hardly believe her eyes.
There stands Mr. Blohm — wearing a gray turtleneck, a beige cashmere cap, and boots.

Her first question:
“Mr. Blohm, are you sick?”

Two worlds collide — Mr. Blohm in full winter attire, and Regina in a summer dress with flip-flops.
But to be fair, the front of the house gets no sun; it’s much colder there — a contrast like night and day.

Mr. Blohm answers dryly, a little surprised by her question, but then realizes what she means. He’s been walking in the shade for hours, searching for the lost key. It’s cold, and the wind is sharp.

He can’t help thinking how beautiful her studio must be — and notices how the sunlight has brought a little color to her face. She looks even more attractive than yesterday.

“No,” he says with a faint smile, “but it seems, Mrs. Martin, that you have been sunbathing.”

Regina smiles.
“Yes, Mr. Blohm — the sun on my terrace is simply irresistible. After months without it, I couldn’t resist.”

And that, Mr. Blohm, is what happens when you live on the right side of the building — sometimes it’s just a few feet, and suddenly the whole world looks completely different.

“Mr. Blohm, did you manage to find your car key?”

He thinks to himself: What a show-off this Mrs. Martin is. She just had to point out that I live on the wrong side.
Well… she wasn’t wrong. But deep down, he knew this condo wouldn’t be his last anyway.

“No, unfortunately not,” he says. “I’ll have to call Mercedes-Benz to replace it. Could you please move your car so I can drive mine there with the spare key?”

“Of course,” Regina says, walking toward her car with her flip flops and red Spaghetti strap dress.

Before she can get in, Mr. Blohm follows her — wearing his boots, grey turtleneck pullover, and cashmere cap. One can only wish there were a picture of that scene.

 “Mrs. Martin, I have something for you — for your trip to Denmark,” he says, handing her a CD.

Yes, dear reader — a CD. Back in 2005, that was still a thing.

Regina turns it over. On the cover, written in elegant handwriting:
For Mrs. Martin — Ride to Denmark, February 2005.

She’s genuinely surprised — maybe this man is full of surprises after all.
“This is very kind of you, Mr. Blohm. What kind of music is on it?”

“I recorded it especially for you,” he says proudly. “It’s a mix of songs — including Luis Miguel, the music we listened to last night when you came to my condo and liked so much. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Regina looks skeptical, thanks him politely, and gets ready to leave.

A Persistent Invitation

Before she can, he adds:
“Mrs. Martin, you’ve had so many inconveniences because of me — I’d like to cook for you when you’re back from Denmark.”

Unbelievable, she thinks. Now he wants to cook, too? He really doesn’t give up — and he can cook as well?

“Thank you, Mr. Blohm, but that’s really not necessary. You haven’t caused me any trouble.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he replies. “I’ve taken your parking spot twice — once because of the karaoke machine, and once because of the key, as you know. It’s time I make it up to you.”

Regina sighs. “I really have a lot going on right now, and it just doesn’t fit in.”

But Mr. Blohm doesn’t stop trying.
“When will you have a little more time, then?”

“I still have to move my furniture from Munich,” she says, “and I have several business trips coming up — so maybe in three weeks.”

Three weeks again, he thinks. This woman and her three-week tactic!
“Alright,” he says. “If not sooner, then three weeks it is. When exactly?”

“How about the eighteenth of March?” she suggests.

“Perfect,” he smiles. “Seven p.m. at my place? I hope you like pasta.”

“Yes,” Regina says, smiling back. “I do.”

“I wish you a wonderful trip to Denmark,” he says. “Enjoy and relax. And thank you again for parking behind me — you really saved me.”

“My pleasure,” she says. “Goodbye, Mr. Blohm.”
And in the same moment, she thinks, I don’t want to save a man. Isn’t it always the man who saves the woman in all those romantic movies?

Regina moves her car and returns to her apartment. The sun fades behind clouds. She starts packing for her weekend in Denmark, where her friend Evelyn has been spending her holidays for years.

By two o’clock, Regina is on the road, driving north. On the passenger seat beside her lies the CD from Mr. Blohm.

After ten minutes, she glances at it. Should she play it? She hesitates — did she really want to hear his music? Music says a lot about a person. Did she even want to know more about this man?

Regina’s curiosity wins.
It can’t hurt, she thinks.
She picks up the CD, once again admiring Mr. Blohm’s handwriting:
For Mrs. Martin — Ride to Denmark, February 2005.

How sweet that he actually wrote that, she thinks. It’s the little things that make something personal.

She slides the CD into the player.
The first song begins:

“It Had to Be You” — Frank Sinatra.

Do you want to know how it continues?

Did Mr. Blohm know exactly what he was doing when he chose It Had to Be You — or was it just a clever anchor to make Mrs. Martin think of him all the way to Denmark?

And was that CD really recorded just for her… or had other women received the same copy before?

One thing is certain: SYLTBAR is no copy — it’s real.
And that’s exactly why it’s so special.

So make sure your stock of Mr & Mrs SYLTBAR is ready — because this story, just like our bubbles, is far from over. 🥂✨