Adrik leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Fine. Answer mine first, then it’s your turn.”
“Yes,” Hans admitted. “I’m writing a novel about a New York mobster.”
Adrik gave a slow, knowing nod. If only you knew. “Okay. Ask your question.”
“Are you from New York City?”
“I was born and raised in Westhampton Beach,” Adrik answered easily. It was the truth, even if it was the polished “vacation” version of his life.
“So you were raised in a ritzy area near the beach?”
“Something like that,” Adrik said, checking his watch. The tension was back, but it was lighter now—a game. “Are you ready? I don’t want us to be late for our reservation.”
Hans looked surprised. “You made reservations?”
“Yes I did. Let’s go.” Adrik grabbed Hans’ hand, his fingers lacing through the other man’s as he pulled him out of the cluttered house and back toward his own place.
Chapter Thirteen
Adrik
Once Adrik changed athis cottage, they headed for the train station, and the interrogation resumed.
“You weren’t impressed with my cottage, were you?” Hans asked as they walked side-by-side.
“You need a maid, Hans, seriously. And why so much food? You’re one person.”
“So, wherever you flew in from, did you hire a cleaning service and eat out every night?”
Adrik shrugged, looking at the scenery as they walked. “I did. I didn’t have time to play house. I worked long hours at the family business.”
“In the city or at Westhampton Beach?”
Adrik cut him a look. “I’ll answer only if you answer one of mine.”
“Fine. Answer first.”
“I lived and worked in the city for my family’s business,” Adrik said.
“Are you really German?”
“Enough questions, Hans.”
Hans rolled his eyes, a playful huff escaping him at the name.
“Your last name is Brandt,” Hans countered. “That’s a German surname. Public knowledge.”
“Maybe I was adopted,” Adrik quipped, his tone shutting the door on that topic. “Stop with the questions.”
“Would you come to Munich with me next weekend to meet my parents?”
Adrik nearly tripped. He stopped, staring at Hans in genuine shock. “Meet your parents? Why? Are we getting married?”
“Because,” Hans said, looking uncharacteristically earnest, “I want you to see Munich. And we could have fun.”
The train ride to Rostock was quieter after that. Adrik stared out the window, his mind racing. Munich sounded great. The “parents” part? Not so much. He had zero desire to sit across a dinner table and be scrutinized by a couple of nice German folks who would probably see right through his family business stories. No way in hell.
But as they stepped off the train and walked toward the restaurant overlooking the Baltic Sea, the salt air hitting his face, Adrik didn’t say no. He just kept walking, Hans’ presence a steady, complicated warmth at his side.
