Dieter let out a slow breath, somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Well, that’s significantly more inconvenient.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Andthat’swhy 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.
“Thatispart of it,” I said finally.
He shook his head. “No, that’sallof it.”
I lowered my gaze to the tabletop before returning to him. “You’re reducing it.”
“I’mclarifyingit,” 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.”