“Why would you say that?”
“He refused to share a hotel room when we went to a convention in Munich.”
Adrik just stared at her. “I’ve got to catch a train. See you again, maybe.”
She stuffed a card with her phone number into Adrik’s hand. “Call me.”
Adrik read her business card. Her name was Amelia Dirksen, graduate assistant.
“Thanks.” Adrik left in a hurry and then took the train home alone. Throughout the entire ride, he kept replaying Hans’ face, the tightness around his mouth.
He called him. No answer.
Called again. Nothing.
By the time Adrik reached the cottage, he couldn’t sit still. The dead silence only made everything worse. He grabbed his jacket and headed straight for the gay bar Hans liked—the one tucked just down the road, warm light spilling through the windows like it was trying to lure people in from the cold.
Inside, the place was buzzing. A man near the front was squeezing an accordion like it owed him money, belting out a loud German drinking song while half the bar shouted the lyrics back at him. A guitarist sat beside him, strumming along with a grin that said he’d been dragged into this chaos but wasn’t complaining. Beer mugs slammed against tables, people laughed too loudly, and the entire room smelled like hops, wood polish, and the faintest hint of fried onions.
Adrik didn’t understand a single word of the song, but the rhythm was impossible to ignore—messy, joyful, alive. It should’ve been comforting.
It wasn’t.
His eyes went straight to the bar.
Chapter Twelve
Adrik
Hans sat alone ona stool, shoulders tight, a drink he hadn’t touched in front of him. Condensation slid down the glass, pooling on the counter. He looked like he was trying to disappear into the noise.
Relief hit Adrik so hard he had to breathe out slowly just to steady himself. He crossed the room, weaving through the crowd until he reached the empty stool beside Hans.
He sat down gently. “Hans,” he said, voice low. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything.”
Hans didn’t look at him right away, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little.
“I didn’t enjoy seeing her all over you,” Hans said finally, still staring at the drink. His voice wasn’t sharp anymore—just tired. “You didn’t push her away.”
Adrik swallowed. “I didn’t know what to say. She was talking too fast in German, and I didn’t want to be rude. I wasn’t flirting.”
Hans let out a slow breath. “I know. I just… didn’t like it.”
That admission softened something in Adrik. He shifted closer, careful not to crowd him. “I’m still learning how to talk to people here. But I know what I want.” He nudged Hans’ arm lightly. “You.”
Hans’ jaw eased, more tension melting bit by bit. “You could’ve told me that earlier.”
“I tried,” Adrik said with a small, helpless laugh. “You ghosted me.”
Hans huffed—almost a laugh, almost not. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why did you?”
“Amelia is my fucking aide. That’s why.” Ah. That explains her comment about the room.
The accordion player launched into another verse, the crowd roaring along, but the noise felt far away now. Adrik watched Hans’ fingers tap restlessly against the glass, watched the way his shoulders slowly dropped.
“I was messed up,” Adrik admitted. “When you didn’t answer the phone. I thought maybe you were done with me.”
