He reached for a score, placing it on the stand. I smiled when I saw what he’d chosen. “Ravel’sMother Goose Suite. We played that when I was a student.”
He smiled. “I know.”
We placed our hands on the keys, and for a moment, neither of us moved. Then Karl began, his playing soft and measured. The opening unfolded without effort, the notes settling into the room as if they had always belonged there. I followed a breath later, easing into the harmony, letting his phrasing guide mine. The music moved between us, gentle but precise, each phrase requiring attention, awareness, restraint. Our hands crossed once, briefly, and I adjusted without thinking, the movement instinctive.
The final notes faded, leaving the room quieter than before. Karl lifted his hands from the keys, but didn’t move away. Neither did I.
“Well,” he said after a moment.
“Well what?”
“Are you seeing Stefan again tonight?”
“Yes.”
He moved his hands over the keys, and Beethoven’sMoonlight Sonatafilled the air. “What’s going on?” he said as he played. “And don’t tell me nothing, because I canreadyou, Kieran Walsh.”
“How can you do two things at once?” I demanded. “Men can’t multitask. It’s a fact of nature.”
He chuckled. “You’re avoiding the question.”
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “Stefan’s been invited to a private party.”
Karl’s expression didn’t change. “And you’re considering going with him.”
“Yes.”
There was still no reaction, which made it easier to continue.
“I want to go,” I said. “I said I would. But now I don’t know if that’s—” I stopped.
Karl tilted his head. “—wise?” he suggested.
“Yes.”
He considered that. “Tell me why you want to go.”
The question was simple, not loaded.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Curiosity, I suppose. Wanting to understand it. To… see what it’s about. Maybe even… experience it.”
Karl nodded. “That seems reasonable.”
I let out a breath. “But?”
He smiled. “There is no ‘but.’ Not in the wayyou’reexpecting.”
That caught me off guard. “You’re not going to tell me it’s a bad idea?”
“On the contrary. I think it could be a very good idea.”
I stared at him. “Really?”
“Yes.” He stopped playing, stood, then crossed the room, heading towards the kitchen. “You are in Berlin,” he called out. “Not Manchester. The rules are different here. Or perhaps”—he peered at me through the open doorway—“they are simply more honest.”
I sat with my hands clasped, trying to process that. “It’s not… too much? For someone who’s never?—”
“Done anything like this before?” Karl finished.