Chapter 26 #2
Dieter looked me in the eyes, and I chose not to avoid his forthright stare. “No.”
His expression didn’t change, but his attention grew sharper. “Go on.”
I expelled a lingering breath. This part required more than precision—it required context.
“You remember Erik, of course,” I said.
Dieter’s eyes grew warm. “Yes. Hard to forget. You almost started buying matching furniture.”
I allowed the faintest hint of a smile. “It was discussed.”
“That was my first warning sign.”
I ignored that. “He wanted something stable. A shared life. Plans. Something that moved forward in a way that was… defined.”
“And you didn’t.” Dieter cocked his head. “You were together for years.”
“Yes.”
“And that still wasn’t enough?”
“No. There was no hesitation. There hadn’t been then, either.
Rolf had gone outside for a cigar, Felix at his side.
Dieter took a slow sip of his beer. “So you ended it.”
“We ended it, before it became something that required more than we could meet.”
He huffed. “You always did have excellent timing.”
“It was necessary.”
“For who?”
“For both of us.”
Dieter watched me for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. That was Erik. We’ve established you don’t do futures you don’t believe in.”
I didn’t respond because it was an accurate description.
“And now,” he went on, glancing pointedly at my phone, “we have… this.”
I followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “This is not the same.”
Dieter’s eyebrows went sky-high again. “No?”
“No.”
“What’s different?”
I considered it for a moment. “With Erik, I knew. I understood the expectation, and I knew I couldn’t meet it. There was no ambiguity.”
“And now?”
I glanced at the phone again. “I don’t have that clarity.”
Dieter rubbed his bristly chin. “That sounds like a problem.”
“It is.”
He gave me a pointed stare, as if he knew there was more to come.
“This is not something I can dismiss as situational,” I continued. “Or temporary. I’m acutely aware of what it could become.”
“And that’s new.”
“Yes.”
Dieter’s expression shifted. “And you don’t like not knowing.”
“I don’t act without understanding the parameters,” I admitted.
“And he doesn’t fit into those parameters.”
“No.”
Dieter tilted his head again. “So let me get this straight. With Erik, you walked away because you knew it wouldn’t work.”
“Yes.”
“And with this one—” He gestured vaguely, but the meaning was clear. “—you’re not walking away because you don’t know if it might.”
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
Dieter let out a slow breath, somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Well, that’s significantly more inconvenient.”
“Tell me about it.”
“And that’s why you’re sitting here, not calling him,” he went on. “Because if you do—”
“It stops being hypothetical,” I said.
“And starts being real.”
“Yes.”
Dieter studied me for a long moment. “And you don’t start real things unless you’re sure.”
“Yes.”
His gaze grew intense. “And are you? Sure?”
I didn’t look away. “No.”
Dieter nodded again. “Right. So the difference isn’t that this is easier, but that it matters more.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
Dieter’s mouth curved into a smile. “Thought so.” He didn’t look away, but considered me with a level of attention that made it clear he wasn’t finished. “You know, you’re being very precise about all of this.”
“I’m precise about most things,” I protested.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But usually that’s because you understand them.”
I stared at him. “And this time?”
There was no humour in Dieter’s smile.
“This time you’re using it to avoid saying something much simpler.”
I didn’t respond. I knew better than to interrupt him when he was like this.
He leaned in, not enough to draw attention, but enough that the conversation narrowed.
“You haven’t called him. Not because of timing, or because of his job.
Not even because you’re worried about influencing him.
” He paused. “You haven’t called him because if you do, this stops being something you can step away from. ”
There was no accusation in his words, no judgment, only accuracy, and there was no value in dismissing them.
Dieter watched me, waiting.
“That is part of it,” I said finally.
He shook his head. “No, that’s all of it.”
I lowered my gaze to the tabletop before returning to him. “You’re reducing it.”
“I’m clarifying it,” he remonstrated. “You’ve already done the complicated version.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
His attention didn’t shift. “You walked away from Erik because you knew it wouldn’t work. But you’re not walking away from this.”
“No.”
“And you’re not calling him.”
“No.”
Dieter lifted his brows. “Which leaves you exactly where, Stefan?”
I didn’t answer immediately, because the answer wasn’t comfortable, not easily reframed into something more manageable.
“Undecided,” I declared.
Dieter studied me for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice low. “You’re not undecided.”
I blinked. “Then what am I? Tell me that.”
He didn’t hesitate. “You’re already in it. You’re just trying to control the point at which you admit it.”
The noise of the café continued around us, unchanged, indifferent, but the space between us narrowed. There was no ambiguity in what he’d just said, no room to reinterpret it or reduce it into something safer.
I felt the truth settle on me with a quiet, undeniable weight.
Dieter watched me for a moment longer, then reached for his drink. “You can take your time deciding what to do about it,” he said with a shrug. “After all, that’s your usual method.” He paused for a heartbeat. “But don’t confuse that with not already having made the decision.”
I didn’t respond, because I couldn’t, not without confirming exactly what he’d said.
Dieter took a sip of beer, then added, almost as an afterthought, “He matters. You said that much yourself. And you don’t do that lightly.”
No, I didn’t.
Then he set his glass down and looked at me again, this time without any trace of humour. “So whatever you think you’re protecting, it’s not yourself.”
His statement stripped away the last of my justifications.
I looked at the phone again. Still there, still within reach. For the first time since I’d made the decision not to call, I understood exactly what that decision was costing.
Dieter followed my gaze, then stood. “I’m going to leave you to it. You’re clearly very busy doing nothing.”
I gave an eyeroll.
He paused, one hand resting against the back of the chair Rolf had occupied. “And Stefan?”
I looked into his eyes.
“When you finally decide to act,” he said, “try not to be surprised if he’s already made his own decision.” He held my gaze for a moment longer, then strolled out of the café.
Nothing about the moment felt neutral anymore.
I looked at the phone. The question wasn’t whether I would call him.
Only when.
That was not the reassurance it should have been. Because Dieter was right. Kieran would not remain suspended in the space I had left him. He would return to his life, make decisions, and move forward, as he should.
As I had insisted he do.
Then it dawned on me. With Erik, I’d known. With Cole, and with those who’d preceded him, I’d understood. In both cases, the outcome had been clear before it had taken shape.
This? This was not.
There was no certainty here, only the growing awareness of what it might become—
And what it would require if I chose not to step away from it.
This is not about whether I act. It’s about whether I’m prepared to accept what happens if I don’t.
That was new.
Because beneath all of it, the analysis, the restraint, the delay, there was something far simpler. Something I hadn’t needed to say aloud.
Until now.
I don’t want this to end.
And for a man who had always known when to walk away, that was the most significant change of all.