I glared at her. “Like hell you will. No. You stay here—I’llfind a place.”
“You don’t have to,” she argued.
I took her hand in mine.
“I do. If I want to live a different kind of life, I do.”
Diana swallowed. “I know the situation at college is beyond messed up, but if it’s forced us to be honest with each other…”
I had to smile. “And there’s the Diana I know so well, the one who always finds a silver lining.” I forced a wry chuckle. “Only you could see me getting suspended as a positive outcome.”
“It’ll get sorted, I know it will.” She looked me in the eye. “Whoever this guy is, he’s lied, and they’ll work it out eventually. But until then…”
I nodded. “Until then, I get to?—”
“Follow your dreams?” she proffered. “Or live out your fantasies?”
Maybe a bit of both.
While I wait for someone to take the pause button off my career and hitPlayagain.
Chapter Three
July
Stefan Weber
I stoodat the kitchen window, watching the late afternoon light settle over Schöneberg.
The city moved below in its usual rhythm: cyclists gliding past along Eisenacher Straße; the rumble of trains leaving Nollendorfplatz; and voices rising from the café on the corner. It was a familiar view. A comforting one.
Behind me, I caught the softclinkof glass.
“Red or white?” Cole asked.
I turned. “Red.”
Cole was already pouring the wine.
He looked as he always did at home—barefoot, worn jeans, an old T-shirt stretched comfortably across a broad, solid chest. I took in his dark hair threaded with the odd wisp of grey, his thick beard, the kind of body I had always found impossible to ignore.
Cole was a bear, through and through.
I crossed the room to take the proffered glass, our fingers brushing briefly. Ordinarily I would have taken advantage of that contact, but not this evening.
A conversation had been brewing for weeks, and we both knew it.
Cole leaned back against the counter, studying me. “Did you mention something about a trip to Rome this morning?”
I nodded. “An IT software conference, but it isn’t until the end of next month.”
“How long will you be there for?”
I recalled the email I’d received. “Four days, maybe five.”
A wistful expression crawled across his face. “I’ve always wanted to visit Rome.”
I chuckled. “Trust me, Rome in August will be hell.” I knew he wouldn’t ask to accompany me, however.