Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stefan
Karl opened the door before we had the chance to knock twice, and my first impression was that he had the look of a professor about him. I imagined his students would have squirmed when those sharp eyes alighted on them.
He reminds me of a teacher who saw everything. We used to say he had eyes in the back of his head.
I wondered how much Karl would see.
His gaze moved first to Kieran, then to me, and I felt the cool weight of assessment.
Kieran stepped aside. “Stefan, this is Karl.”
I inclined my head, and he mirrored the gesture.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, his tone neutral.
I gave a polite smile. “Should I be concerned?”
His eyes sparkled. “The jury is still out, as the Americans say.” He stepped back, allowing us inside.
The apartment was everything Kieran had described, an amazing view and an eclectic mix of furniture and art. As Karl showed me around, I took a closer look at some of the paintings and prints.
“I’ve seen you around Schoneberg,” I remarked between peering at artwork.
“That’s likely. I’ve lived here a while.”
I glanced at him. “You were Klaus’s partner, weren’t you?”
He stiffened for all of two seconds, and then relaxed. “I was—until he decided his future was to be found on the other side of the Atlantic.”
“So he left, and you stayed.”
Karl smiled. “Berlin gets under your skin.”
“But apparently not Klaus’s.” I shrugged. “His loss.” I pointed to a painting done in shades of grey. “Kieran didn’t mention this one.” I murmured.
Karl cleared his throat. “I don’t think he’s really looked at it. And I definitely haven’t told him its title.”
I peered closer. From a distance, the three cocks poking through the walls weren’t all that visible. “Let me guess. Glory Hole?”
He grinned. “He hasn’t seen any of the artwork in my bedroom. Which is maybe a good thing.” He paused. “Dinner is ready, by the way.” Then he glanced around. “Kieran? Where are you?”
“Changing my clothes,” he called out. “I’ll be right with you.”
Karl resumed his tour. “I understand you’ve been showing him around the city.”
“Parts of it.”
“And introducing him to new experiences.”
Aha. “That too.”
Karl led me into the kitchen. “Would you like some wine?”
“Thank you. White, if you have it.” I got the feeling he wanted me alone.
“How long have you lived in Berlin?” he asked as he filled the glasses.
“All my life. I live in Schoneberg.”
His eyes widened. “And yet we’re only meeting now for the first time.” He gave me a searching glance. “So what keeps you here?”
Simple questions on the surface.
“It suits me,” I said with another shrug.
Karl tilted his head. “In what way?”
I met his gaze. “It allows for a certain degree of… autonomy.”
He stilled. “Does it indeed?”
I saw his reaction for what it was—evaluation—and I looked him in the eye. Because now I understood the nature of the exchange.
Karl wasn’t making conversation. He was determining not who I was, but what I represented for Kieran, and whether that was something he trusted.
We heard Kieran’s footsteps. Karl’s gaze shifted towards the doorway, the assessment in it smoothing out almost instantly, replaced by something lighter.
I recognised the adjustment, and made my own.
By the time Kieran appeared, whatever had passed between Karl and me had already been set aside. Or maybe contained was a better word for it.
“There you are.” Karl handed me a glass before reaching for another. “We were beginning to wonder.”
Kieran smiled, running a hand through his hair as he stepped into the room. “It’s called making an effort.”
“That would imply you don’t usually,” Karl replied.
“How rude,” Kieran shot back, but there was no bite to it. His gaze flicked briefly to me, an instinctive check, before Karl handed him a glass. He took it, then shifted closer to me, not quite closing the gap.
I didn’t move away.
Karl leaned back against the counter, positioning the three of us in a loose triangle, a neutral, balanced shape.
“To Berlin,” he said, lifting his glass.
“To Berlin,” I said, mimicking his movement.
Kieran looked from me to Karl, then back to me again.
“Have I interrupted something?” His eyes twinkled. “Were you two talking about me behind my back?”
Both Karl and I laughed.
“Karl and I have been discovering that we’re neighbours,” I told him.
“Your name didn’t crop up once,” Karl added smoothly.
I had been expecting something else entirely. The direct approach. The quiet, measured version of What are your intentions?
It hadn’t come, not yet, which meant one of two things.
Either Karl didn’t need to ask, or he was waiting to see if I would answer it without being prompted.
Karl carried the conversation at first throughout dinner, directing it outward—music, Berlin, travel—topics that required nothing personal and revealed just enough.
I responded where appropriate, keeping my comments measured, engaged. Kieran relaxed a little, but not entirely. I could feel his underlying tension, as though he was waiting for something to happen.
Karl asked questions of both of us, easily engaging us in conversation.
But as the evening progressed, I became increasingly aware of the way Kieran’s attention returned to me between exchanges. A glance here, a pause before speaking, the way his hand hovered closer than necessary when reaching across the table.
Nothing deliberate, but not unconscious either. And I knew Karl had noticed.
I didn’t pull away. Karl noticed that too.
He set his glass down after a while, his gaze settling on Kieran. “You seem… different.”
Kieran blinked. “Different how?”
“More certain, I think.” He paused. “Or perhaps just less inclined to second-guess yourself.”
“That would be a nice change,” Kieran said, huffing out a small breath.
I felt Karl’s gaze flick briefly to me.
Kieran shifted again beside me, drawing his chair closer.
Karl leaned back, his attention still on us, though less directly now, as if he had seen what he needed to.
The conversation moved on, the tone lighter, but I knew the essential part of it had already taken place.
And as I sat there, aware of Kieran beside me, Karl across from us, I understood something with complete clarity.
Karl had not needed context or history. He’d seen enough.
And, whether I acknowledged it aloud or not, so had I.
Kieran
Dinner wound down easily. There was no abrupt ending, no signal that the evening had shifted, just a natural slowing, the conversation loosening into something lighter, more fragmented.
And yet I was aware of that quiet pull towards Stefan. It wasn’t urgent or overwhelming, but it was constant.
Karl collected the plates. I offered to help, but he told me to stay put, then disappeared into the kitchen.
Stefan turned to face me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
“Do you want to come back with me tonight?”
My answer came before I had time to overthink it. “Yes.” Then I added, “I don’t think Karl will mind. He’s probably expecting it after this week.”
Stefan gazed at me as if confirming it, then nodded once. “Good.”
Karl re-entered the room. “Would you like coffee?”
“We’re going to head off,” I said before Stefan could get a word in.
Karl chuckled. “Already?” Something in his tone told me he wasn’t in the least bit surprised.
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I shot back.
“I’m not,” he said mildly. He glanced at Stefan. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Same here.” Stefan pushed his chair back. “If I may use your bathroom before we leave?”
“Certainly.” Karl gestured towards it. When the bathroom door closed behind him, Karl’s gaze alighted on me. “Hey,” he said quietly. His expression became more focused.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
“Relax,” he said with a chuckle. “I like him.”
I blinked. “Yeah?” I aimed for casual.
Karl glanced towards the bathroom, then back to me. “Yes. And he likes you.” Karl added.
I swallowed. “Oh?”
Karl narrowed his gaze. “You know he does.” Then he smiled. “He’s good for you, in ways you probably don’t fully understand yet.”
That stopped me. “And that’s the problem?”
Karl shook his head. “That’s the risk. And he isn’t a complete stranger, by the way. I know him by reputation.”
I froze. “Is it a good reputation?”
He smiled. “You are in very safe hands.” Then he walked over to me, and laid his hand on my shoulder. “Just don’t pretend you don’t know what this is. Don’t pretend this is casual.”
The words landed harder than anything else he’d said, right to the heart of it.
I shuddered out a breath. “I know it isn’t.”
“What’s more important is that you don’t want it to be.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
Karl watched me for a moment longer, then nodded once.
“Good,” he said.
And there it was again, that word. A different voice, a different meaning, but just as certain.
“Are you ready?” Stefan stood in the doorway, and I wondered how much of that he’d heard, if any of it.
I let out a slow breath. “I’m ready. Let me grab a change of clothing.”
I didn’t mention the fact that the clothes were already in a bag by my bed. Because I’d hoped.
Karl walked us to the door, said goodnight, and then we went down in the lift and out onto the quiet street.
Somewhere between Karl’s quiet certainty and the door closing, something had shifted again.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t something I could pretend my way through anymore
The evening had settled into a rhythm that was fast becoming familiar, unhurried and self-contained. As we walked towards Stefan’s apartment, what came to mind were his words from earlier.
I just need a little time to think.
They might have been an accurate expression of his state of mind, but they weren’t what I needed at that moment.
Or now.
I grabbed my courage with both hands.
“You surprised me when you asked me to come back with you,” I murmured. When he glanced at me, I added, “I thought you needed time.”