Chapter Twenty-One
Hans
Hans wished he smoked—just this once—as he walked home from Adrik’s cottage. The cold air bit at his cheeks, but it didn’t do a damn thing to quiet his thoughts. They spun in circles, faster with every step.
Adrik’s father.
The fight.
The threats.
Hans kept replaying it all, trying to piece together what could push someone to leave an entire country behind. He couldn’t imagine Adrik threatening anyone; the man barely raised his voice. So whatever happened… it had to be bad. Really bad.
And then there was the tutor. That little detail kept poking at him.
A private tutor who taught him German phrases tailored to his “lifestyle.” Who the hell had a tutor like that?
And why did Hans get this stupid, irrational twist in his stomach wondering if the tutor was someone Adrik had cared about? Someone he’d wanted?
By the time he reached his cottage, he felt wrung out.
He made himself a cup of chamomile tea—something his grandmother used to swear by—and hoped it would knock him out.
It didn’t. Even after a hot shower, even lying in bed, all he could think about was Adrik.
The way he’d looked at him. The way he’d kissed him.
Hans already knew he wasn’t walking away from this, no matter how messy Adrik’s past was.
He was in too deep.
The next morning, Hans took the train to the university, still tired. He checked the language computer lab first, scanning the rows of screens for that familiar brown head.
Nothing.
Adrik had skipped class.
That wasn’t like him. It tugged at Hans more than he wanted to admit.
Back in his office, he’d barely sat down to grade papers when someone knocked. His heart jumped, ridiculously hopeful, and he practically leapt to the door.
Amelia stood there with a stack of folders and her usual bright smile.
“Morning, Hans.” Her gaze swept the room, taking in the books scattered everywhere, papers on the floor, pens rolling near the chair legs. “What happened here? Did a storm come through?”
“Nothing,” Hans said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… need to straighten up.”
“I’ll help.” She set her folders down and started gathering loose papers before he could protest.
“Thanks,” he muttered, crouching to pick up a stack of books.
They worked in silence for a moment before Hans asked, “Have you seen Adrik today?”
“No,” she said. “He skipped class.”
Hans tried to keep his voice neutral. “I guess he got busy.”
“I don’t think he works,” she said casually, like she’d been thinking about it.
Hans shrugged. “I don’t know whether or not he does.”
Amelia paused, holding a pen between her fingers. “He’s… interesting.”
Hans looked up. “Interesting?”
“Yeah.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. He’s mysterious. Kind of intense. And honestly?” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “I think I want to ask him out.”
Hans froze.
For a second, he forgot how to breathe. His mind blanked, then flooded all at once—shock, jealousy, panic, something sharp and possessive he didn’t want to examine too closely.
Amelia kept talking, oblivious. “Do you think he’d say yes? You’ve spent more time with him than anyone else.”
Hans swallowed, trying to keep his face neutral even as his stomach dropped. “I… don’t know,” he mumbled.
And he really didn’t. Not about Adrik. Not about himself. Not about any of it.
But he knew one thing for sure: He did not want Amelia dating him.
Hans stacked a few books on the shelf, trying to look like a normal, functioning adult instead of someone who’d barely slept because he couldn’t stop thinking about a certain man. Amelia, meanwhile, was sorting papers like she owned the place.
“Do you have his phone number?” she asked casually, like she was asking about the weather.
Hans froze mid-reach, a pen dangling between his fingers. “No. Why would I?” His voice came out sharper than he meant.
Amelia shrugged, still kneeling on the floor. “Well, you brought him to the university, didn’t you? You had to make a plan. That generally requires a phone.”
Hans blinked. “We didn’t plan anything. I just… ran into him.”
Which was technically true. Mostly. Sort of.
Amelia gave him a look over her shoulder. “You ran into him? On his motorcycle?”
Hans stared at her. “His what?”
She laughed. “Oh, come on.”
Hans’ brqain short-circuited. “Motorcycle? He—he has a motorcycle?”
Amelia paused, confused. “Yeah? You didn’t know?”
Hans sat down hard on the edge of his desk, the pen still in his hand. “No. I didn’t know.” His mind raced. Adrik. On a motorcycle. That image alone was enough to knock the air out of him. The fact Amelia knew before he did? That stung more than he wanted to admit.
Amelia kept talking, still completely oblivious. “He said he rides it everywhere. I figured you two talked about it.”
Hans shook his head slowly. “He never mentioned it.”
Not once. Not even a hint. And Hans had been hanging on every word the man said like an idiot.
Amelia stood, brushing dust off her knees. “Well, maybe he just forgot. Or maybe he didn’t think it mattered.”
Hans swallowed, trying to play it cool even as his thoughts spun. How the hell did I not know he rides a motorcycle? What else don’t I know? The jealousy, the curiosity, the weird little ache in his chest—all of it tangled together.
He cleared his throat. “So he… rides a motorcycle.”
“Yep.” Amelia smiled. “Honestly? It’s kind of hot.”
Hans nearly dropped the pen. “Hot?”
“Well, yeah. The whole mysterious-guy-on-a-bike thing? It works.”
Hans stared at her, stunned, trying not to picture Adrik on a motorcycle and failing miserably. Great. Now he was jealous of a vehicle.
He forced himself to look away, pretending to straighten a stack of papers. “I didn’t know,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
And he hated how much that bothered him.
“So, can you please do me a big favor and give me his number?”
“Amelia, if I had his phone number, I wouldn’t be sharing it with you or anyone. Is Adrik really your type?”
“Well, he has a motorcycle, and you know how much I love guys with motorcycles.”
Hans wrapped up at the university later than he meant to, his head still buzzing from Amelia’s comments and the empty seat where Adrik should’ve been.
On his way out, he called the cleaning service to check on his cottage.
They were finished. Good. Something in his chest lifted at the thought of coming home to a place that didn’t look like a tornado had passed through it.
He boarded the train, dropped into a seat, and let his head fall against the window.
The rhythm of the tracks usually calmed him, but today his mind kept drifting to one thing: Adrik on a motorcycle.
The image wouldn’t leave him alone—brown hair, leather jacket, that confidence he carried without even trying.
And that Amelia knew before he did? That still stung.
When he got off the train, he took the long way home, looping past Adrik’s cottage like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stare, but his chest tightened anyway. No sign of him. No sound. Just the sparkling clean cottage and the memory of last night’s kiss.
By the time he reached his own cottage, he’d convinced himself not to expect much from the cleaning service—and then he opened the door.
And stopped dead.
Everything was spotless. The floors gleamed. The books were actually on shelves. The air even smelled different—like lemon and something faintly floral. He let out a low whistle and set his bag down, turning in a slow circle. Worth every damn penny.
He hoped Adrik would think so too. Six o’clock suddenly felt very far away.
He jumped into the shower, preparing himself for anything that might or might not happen. He picked out his best black slacks and an olive-green shirt that matched his eyes perfectly.
Hans grabbed a soda from the fridge, cracked it open, and headed into his office. The room looked unnervingly tidy now, which somehow made him feel both proud and exposed. He sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and—without even pretending otherwise—typed motorcycles into the search bar.
He had more than enough savings. Years of German parents drilling into him the importance of not squandering money meant he’d barely touched most of it. He’d always been practical. Sensible. Boring, maybe.
But now he was scrolling through pictures of sleek black bikes and imagining what it would feel like to ride one. To ride with someone.
He took another sip of soda, the carbonation sharp on his tongue, and leaned back in his chair. He checked the time every five minutes.