Chapter 21 #2
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as though he was giving me the chance to say more if I wanted to.
I didn’t. I couldn’t, not yet.
He inclined his head slightly, accepting the answer for what it was. “All right.” He didn’t go back to his book, however. Instead, he removed his glasses, folded them, then set them aside with care before giving me his full attention.
“Come here.”
I hesitated for half a second, then closed the laptop and shifted across, closing the gap between us. His hand was on my nape, a comforting touch that I was beginning to crave.
“What is it?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Because you’re still thinking about something.” He gave a slight smile. “That can be a dangerous habit.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that.”
His fingers stroked my neck. “You don’t have to figure everything out today.”
That wasn’t what I needed, but it was close.
“I was looking at my calendar just now, and it hit me that I could get called back any day now.”
He nodded once. “That’s likely.”
I swallowed. “And I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
Stefan set his book aside. “Ready for what?”
I had a choice. I could pull back, reframe it, make it about the city, the experience.
Anything but the truth.
I couldn’t do it.
“Not seeing you,” I said.
The words felt as if I’d crossed a line.
Stefan stared at me, then inclined his head. “I see.”
My pulse raced, and I knew there was no taking it back.
“Would you like to go for a walk?”
The randomness of his suggestion took me by surprise. I glanced towards the window, to a Berlin where the sun shone and the hum of traffic felt quieter than usual.
“Sure, why not?”
Yeah, I’d crossed a line, and the fact that Stefan didn’t want to go there made my heart sink.
I should’ve kept my big mouth shut.
Stefan
“Why do Sundays feel different?” Kieran asked as we strolled along Kleiststra?e.
“Because everywhere is closed, and I do mean everywhere. Germans feels that Sunday should be a day for spending with family or friends, not shopping.”
He sighed. “I like that. In the UK, we have Sunday trading, and it feels like any other day.” Then he lapsed into silence.
I found myself stealing glances at him as we walked, noticing the way he held himself now, more settled than he had been when we first met, but not entirely at ease. There was a tension still, subtle, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for it.
And I was looking, because of what he’d said.
Not seeing you.
The words removed any possibility of misinterpretation. I’d turned them over in my head ever since we left the apartment. I’d examined them from every angle available to me. Not for meaning—that had been clear—but for implication.
He didn’t say it lightly.
I knew that. I’d seen the moment he chose not to step back.
I could have addressed it then. Stayed where we were. Asked the necessary questions. Defined the boundary.
That would have been the correct response, the responsible one.
Suggesting a walk have been instinctive, and not entirely about getting some fresh air. It had been about distance, not from Kieran but from the conversation.
Once something like that is spoken, it demands an answer.
And any answer I could have given in that moment would have done one of two things—encouraged it, or ended it.
I wasn’t prepared to do either, not yet. I needed to understand what, precisely, had shifted—in me. Kieran’s words had altered something. I’d felt it the moment he said them. The tightening in my chest, my stomach. My awareness of him.
I didn’t want to reduce what he was offering to something temporary simply because it would be easier to manage, so I stepped away from it. I wasn’t avoiding it, but simply ensuring that when I did come back to it, I’d do so with intent, not impulse or assumption.
I gave Kieran another glance. He was quieter now, more contained. I knew he’d interpreted my silence as disinterest, as distance, and he was probably drawing his own conclusions that were doubtless inaccurate. I let him.
For now.
I’m not walking away from this. I’m not closing it down.
Nor was I restoring the distance I’d always relied upon. Right then I was trying to understand where we stood now that the words had been spoken.
Kieran slowed at a crossing, his attention shifting to the traffic, then back ahead.
“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said quietly. His words were calm, but underneath them I sensed disappointment. Then he turned to me, and I saw clearly the effort it was taking for him not to push further. His face was tight, his brow furrowed.
I could end it here. I could give him clarity, restore the balance.
I took a deep breath. “It didn’t go unnoticed.”
His expression didn’t alter, but again, I sensed he was waiting for more.
I almost gave it. The words were there, clear, formed, and ready.
This is not something I want to walk away from.
That was the simple, uncomplicated truth, but it was also dangerously incomplete. Because saying that would have been irresponsible.
I held his gaze, aware of the pull of the moment, tugging me forward into something that could not be undone.
“I just need a little time to think,” I said instead.
I knew the moment I said it that it was the wrong answer. It wasn’t inaccurate but it wasn’t sufficient.
Kieran stared at me, then nodded. “Right.”
That was worse.
I let the silence return as we resumed walking, my hands settling into my pockets as I grounded myself in the familiar.
It didn’t work.
Saying nothing created distance. Saying something created consequence.
I found myself uncertain which one I was more reluctant to face.