Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stefan
Romeo und Romeo’s was enjoying its habitual Sunday night kind of busy, which was precisely why I’d chosen it. I needed the distraction.
The apartment was the last place I wanted to be. Everywhere I looked, I saw him, at the piano, in the kitchen—in my bed.
I don’t need reminding right now. He’d only been gone a few hours.
I’d come straight from the train station to Romeo’s, where the conversation flowed around me, voices layered over low music, and glasses caught the light as people shifted and leaned into one another.
It was familiar, predictable in its rhythm, the sort of environment that usually required just enough attention to keep everything else at bay.
Usually.
I sat in the window, a glass of wine in front of me, except I’d barely touched it. My attention drifted more often than it settled, my focus returning, again and again, to the same place.
My phone.
It rested on the table within easy reach, its screen dark, offering nothing and yet demanding more attention than anything else in the place. I had no reason to pick it up, no expectation of a message, and yet I found myself glancing at it anyway, as though repetition alone might alter the outcome.
Of course it didn’t.
I wrapped my fingers around the glass and took a measured sip.
This is unnecessary. The situation hasn’t changed.
Nothing had shifted since I watched him board the train.
Calling him would not be casual.
There was no version of that conversation that didn’t move things forward, that didn’t ask for something I had not yet decided I was prepared to give.
That was the clear, uncomplicated reality of it. And it still didn’t kill the impulse to pick up the phone and call him. I shifted my hand closer, not reaching for it, but close enough that the intention was there, unacknowledged but present.
I wasn’t ready to act on it. Not yet.
“Careful,” a gruff, familiar voice said beside me. “If you stare at that thing any harder, it might start talking back.”
I didn’t turn immediately. “Good evening, Dieter.”
He slid onto the empty chair next to mine, and placed his glass of beer beside my wine. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen off the face of the earth. Or worse, you’d found something more interesting than this place.”
“I’ve been occupied,” I said.
“That much is obvious.” His gaze flickered to the phone, then back to me with open curiosity. “You’ve checked that at least six times in the last minute.”
I snorted. “I doubt it was that many.”
“Doubt all you like. I was watching you.” He tilted his head. “So? Where’s the man?”
I smiled, more out of habit than amusement. “You’re making assumptions.”
“I’m making observations,” Dieter corrected. He leaned against the wall, studying me with more interest. “I repeat—where is he?”
“Gone.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Ah, that explains the face.”
“I wasn’t aware I was making one.”
“Oh, you are,” he assured me. “It’s subtle, but it’s there. Right now it has all the hallmarks of restrained longing. Quite impressive, actually.”
I exhaled through my nose, not quite a laugh, not quite dismissal.
“If you mean Kieran, he returned to the UK,” I said. “This morning.”
“And you didn’t go with him.” A statement, not a question.
“No.”
Dieter considered that for a moment, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass. “And you’re sitting here, staring at your phone instead of calling him.”
I didn’t answer.
Dieter nodded as if that confirmed something for him. “Mm-hm. So this isn’t about logistics.”
“No.”
“Or timing.”
“No.”
He took another unhurried sip of his beer. “Then it’s about choice,” he said at last.
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
Dieter watched me for a moment longer before leaning in. “And which part are you struggling with? Making the call? Or living with it?”
The question was delivered almost casually, but it found its target.
I sighed. “Both.”
Dieter’s eyes twinkled. “Good. I’d be worried if it was only one.”
I looked back at my drink, then at the phone beside it. Still dark, still silent. And then I realised the decision to come to Romeo’s to escape the memory of him had been futile.
Kieran had simply followed me here.
“I was going to say,” another voice cut in, warm and familiar, “if you’re going to sit there looking like that, you should at least order something better than whatever it is you’re drinking.”
I turned this time. “Hey, Rolf.”
Felix stood slightly behind him, and Rolf handed him some money. “A latte and something sweet. Not that rainbow cake. It can be a little dry. Cheesecake, if they have it. And something for yourself, whatever you want.”
Felix nodded and disappeared in the direction of the counter.
Rolf gestured to the empty chairs facing Dieter and me. “Okay if we join you?”
“Of course.”
He sat, then glanced between us. “Well, this looks serious.”
“It is,” Dieter replied. He dug me in the ribs with his elbow. “He’s in love.”
I didn’t react.
Rolf, however, stilled for a fraction of a second before his attention sharpened, his gaze settling on me with far more interest than before. “That’s new.”
“It’s not confirmed,” I replied in an even tone.
Dieter snorted into his drink.
Rolf ignored him. “Ah,” he said with a nod. “So we’re at the stage where you’re pretending it’s still theoretical.”
I blinked. “I’m not pretending anything.”
Rolf smirked. “Knowing you, you’re probably analysing it to death.
That’s a slightly different problem.” Felix arrived with his tray of coffee and cakes, and Rolf patted the chair next to him.
Felix joined us, and Rolf rubbed the back of his neck, a slow, intimate touch.
With his other hand, he forked off a piece of cherry quark tart.
“Are we talking about the one from the party?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“Yes.”
Dieter gaped. “You took him? You didn’t tell me.”
I shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
Rolf smiled. “I wondered at the time. You don’t usually stay.”
“I did not stay,” I corrected.
“No, you just kept him to yourself. Which was mean, because he was fucking edible.”
Dieter laughed. “So where exactly is the sexy bear?”
“Manchester.”
Rolf’s brows shot up. “Already?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re here.” He glanced once more at my phone on the table, then back at me. “Instead of wherever he is.”
“That would require a different set of decisions.”
Rolf tilted his head. “Yes, it would.” He leaned back, resting one arm along Felix’s chair. “He didn’t appear overwhelmed,” he said after a moment. “Which is uncommon in that space, especially for someone new.”
“He was not easily overwhelmed,” I admitted. Then it hit me.
I used the past tense.
Fuck.
Rolf peered at me. “And are you easily… involved?”
Dieter huffed at that.
I glanced between them, aware of the direction this was taking, and of how little interest I had in deflecting it.
“I am precise.”
Rolf smiled. “Yes. That’s what worries me.” He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. “He trusted you.”
Again, it wasn’t a question, and I suspected it had nothing to do with the party.
“Yes,” I said.
“And you didn’t misuse that.”
“No.”
Rolf’s expression spoke of approval. “Good.” After a brief pause, he added, “So what’s the problem?”
Dieter answered before I did.
“He’s trying to decide whether calling him will ruin everything or finally make it real.”
Rolf expelled a quiet breath. “Ah, that problem.”
I looked at the phone again. It hadn’t moved, hadn’t changed.
Still silent.
“It will change things,” I said at last.
Rolf nodded. “Yes, it will.”
“And you don’t know if you want that change,” Dieter added.
I let the silence sit for a moment, not exactly avoiding the answer but allowing it to form fully.
“It will require something I have not yet decided I’m prepared to offer.”
Rolf held my gaze. “Then the question isn’t whether you call him,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s whether you’re willing to live with what happens if you don’t.”
Dieter raised his glass. “And we’re back to consequences.”
Rolf smiled as he picked up his latte. “Always.” He turned to Felix, cupped his chin, and pulled him in for a kiss.
The conversation around us continued, the cafe as alive and unchanging as it had been when I’d arrived. My phone remained where I had left it.
Dieter was studying me again. “Well?” he said at last, not unkindly, but without any attempt to soften the question. “Are you going to call him, or are you planning to interrogate your drink until it answers for you?”
I set the glass down. “No.”
A simple, definitive response.
Dieter tilted his head. “No,” he repeated. “As in not yet, or not at all?”
“Not like this,” I said.
“Explain.”
I didn’t answer immediately. “He’s just returned to his life. To an unresolved situation that will require his full attention. Calling him now would introduce something… additional.”
“Something inconvenient?” Dieter suggested.
“Something influential,” I corrected. “At a point in time where he should not be making decisions under that influence.”
Dieter’s gaze didn’t shift. “And you’re concerned about his decision-making.”
“Yes.”
His gaze narrowed. “And not at all about your own.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m aware of mine.”
“Mm-hm.” He sounded unconvinced. “That’s not quite the same thing.”
I didn’t argue the point, because it wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
Dieter leaned against the wall, his attention still focused on me in a way that made it clear he had no intention of letting this remain at surface level. “You’ve never had a problem acting when you know what you want. That’s not new. What’s new is you deciding not to.”
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
“Why?” The question was quieter this time.
I let out a sigh of resignation. “Because if I call him now, I’m not giving him a choice that’s entirely his.”
Dieter frowned slightly. “You think that little of him?”
“No,” I retorted. “I think that accurately of the situation.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
There it was, the question beneath the question.