Of course he would. He had a life elsewhere, a career. Things that didn’t include me, and I wasn’t naïve enough to ignore that.
But lying there with him warm against me, his presence steady and real, I found I didn’t want to reduce it to something temporary. Not yet, not while there was still time. Notmuchtime, if I were honest, but enough to see where this might go.
Enough to allow it to be what it was, without deciding what it had to become.
I moved my thumb against his arm, a small, absent gesture, and he stirred in his sleep, instinctively pressing back into me.
I closed my eyes, and for once, I didn’t try to get ahead of it.
I’ll let the moment stand, for as long as it’s given to me.
For now, that would have to be enough.
Chapter Fourteen
September 4
Kieran
Morning light filtered softlythrough the blinds, muted and pale. Berlin hadn’t quite woken up yet.
I turned my head carefully. Stefan was still asleep, so I took a moment to take in all the details I hadn’t allowed myself to linger on before.
The silver threaded through his beard matched the hair on his chest—not all of it, but enough. There were faint creases at the corners of his eyes, the kind that spoke of time rather than age, of someone who had lived rather than simply existed. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, grounding me.
And he saidIwas beautiful.
It wasn’t a word I’d ever considered using about a man. Some of the young things on Canal Street could’ve been described as pretty, but there was nothing delicate about Stefan.
What I saw now wasn’t what I’d first noticed at the airport.
Then, it had been the obvious things: his height, his composure, the way he carried himself like someone entirely at ease in his own skin. His confidence. All in all, a striking man.
Now I saw the details that lived underneath that.
The roughness in his beard where the grey caught the light differently. The softness at the edges of his mouth when he wasn’t holding it in that almost habitual half-smile. The way his hand rested loosely against me even in sleep, as if letting go wasn’t something that came naturally to him.
There was strength there, but not the kind that needed to prove itself.
That was what made it different. What madehimdifferent.
I let my gaze drift over him again, slower this time, not searching, not assessing, but simplyseeinghim. And for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I didn’t want to look away.
Then his breathing changed.
I didn’t move. I just waited.
Stefan opened his eyes. “Good morning.” His voice was low, warm, and unguarded in a way I hadn’t heard before. He gazed at me with his usual steady focus, softened slightly by sleep. The morning light caught the silver in his hair.
His eyes met mine. “You’re staring at me.” It didn’t sound like an accusation, more like an observation.
I saw no reason to deny it. “Yes.”
He smiled. “And?”
“You look different.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Different from what?”