By the time Kieran appeared, whatever had passed between Karl and me had already been set aside. Or maybe contained was a better word for it.
“There you are.” Karl handed me a glass before reaching for another. “We were beginning to wonder.”
Kieran smiled, running a hand through his hair as he stepped into the room. “It’s called making an effort.”
“That would imply you don’t usually,” Karl replied.
“How rude,” Kieran shot back, but there was no bite to it. His gaze flicked briefly to me, an instinctive check, before Karl handed him a glass. He took it, then shifted closer to me, not quite closing the gap.
I didn’t move away.
Karl leaned back against the counter, positioning the three of us in a loose triangle, a neutral, balanced shape.
“To Berlin,” he said, lifting his glass.
“To Berlin,” I said, mimicking his movement.
Kieran looked from me to Karl, then back to me again.
“Have I interrupted something?” His eyes twinkled. “Were you two talking about me behind my back?”
Both Karl and I laughed.
“Karl and I have been discovering that we’re neighbours,” I told him.
“Your name didn’t crop up once,” Karl added smoothly.
I had been expecting something else entirely. The direct approach. The quiet, measured version ofWhat are your intentions?
It hadn’t come, not yet, which meant one of two things.
Either Karl didn’t need to ask, or he was waiting to see if I would answer it without being prompted.
Karl carried the conversation at first throughout dinner, directing it outward—music, Berlin, travel—topics that required nothing personal and revealed just enough.
I responded where appropriate, keeping my comments measured, engaged. Kieran relaxed a little, but not entirely. I could feel his underlying tension, as though he was waiting for something to happen.
Karl asked questions of both of us, easily engaging us in conversation.
But as the evening progressed, I became increasingly aware of the way Kieran’s attention returned to me between exchanges. A glance here, a pause before speaking, the way his hand hovered closer than necessary when reaching across the table.
Nothing deliberate, but not unconscious either. And I knew Karl had noticed.
I didn’t pull away. Karl noticed that too.
He set his glass down after a while, his gaze settling on Kieran. “You seem… different.”
Kieran blinked. “Different how?”
“More certain, I think.” He paused. “Or perhaps just less inclined to second-guess yourself.”
“That would be a nice change,” Kieran said, huffing out a small breath.
I felt Karl’s gaze flick briefly to me.
Kieran shifted again beside me, drawing his chair closer.
Karl leaned back, his attention still on us, though less directly now, as if he had seen what he needed to. The conversation moved on, the tone lighter, but I knew the essential part of it had already taken place. And as I sat there, aware of Kieran beside me, Karl across from us, I understood something with complete clarity.