Stefan’s gaze remained focused on the animal. “All that strength,” he said quietly. “All that instinct. And nowhere for it to go.”
My chest tightened, and I wasn’t sure why. We stood there a moment longer, close enough that I was aware—again—of Stefan’s presence. The heat of him. The solid line of his arm.
I shifted, not any great distance from him, but apparently enough for him to notice.
“Come,” Stefan said after a moment. “There’s more to see.”
I nodded, although it took me a second to move.
As we walked on, I became aware of something I hadn’t expected.
I wasn’t just noticing the city anymore—I was noticing Stefan.
And I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that.
“About Hans…”
I groaned. “Do we have to talk about him? Because that was embarrassing.”
“How did you come to meet him in the first place?”
“It was my friend’s idea. I used to speak German, a long, long time ago.”
Stefan’s eyes twinkled. “And how long ago is that, exactly?”
“I was still in my teens, put it that way.”
We stopped at the elephant enclosure and leaned on the rail.
“What German do you remember?”
I hesitated. “That depends.”
“On what?”
I bit my lip. “On whether you want the honest answer or the impressive one.”
Stefan grinned. “Let’s start with the impressive one.”
I cleared my throat. Then, with all the confidence of someone who hadn’t spoken the language in years, I intoned, “Mein Name ist Kieran. Ich komme aus England.”
Stefan nodded gravely. “Strong opening. I like it.”
“Danke,” I said, encouraged. “Ich habe einen Bleistift.”
He stilled. “I see.” He coughed. “Well, yes, itisimportant to have a pencil.”
And because I couldn’t stop myself, I added, “I also have a rubber.”
That did it.
Stefan turned away, his shoulders shaking.
“Do you now?” he managed to croak.
“It was very important in my German lessons,” I said defensively.
“I’m sure it was.”