Amelia stood, brushing dust off her knees. “Well, maybe he just forgot. Or maybe he didn’t think it mattered.”
Hans swallowed, trying to play it cool even as his thoughts spun.How the hell did I not know he rides amotorcycle? What else don’t I know?The jealousy, the curiosity, the weird little ache in his chest—all of it tangled together.
He cleared his throat. “So he… rides a motorcycle.”
“Yep.” Amelia smiled. “Honestly? It’s kind of hot.”
Hans nearly dropped the pen. “Hot?”
“Well, yeah. The whole mysterious-guy-on-a-bike thing? It works.”
Hans stared at her, stunned, trying not to picture Adrik on a motorcycle and failing miserably. Great. Now he was jealous of a vehicle.
He forced himself to look away, pretending to straighten a stack of papers. “I didn’t know,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
And he hated how much that bothered him.
“So, can you please do me a big favor and give me his number?”
“Amelia, if I had his phone number, I wouldn’t be sharing it with you or anyone. Is Adrik really your type?”
“Well, he has a motorcycle, and you know how much I love guys with motorcycles.”
Hans wrapped up at the university later than he meant to, his head still buzzing from Amelia’s comments and the empty seat where Adrik should’ve been. On his way out, he called the cleaning service to check on his cottage. They were finished. Good. Something in his chest lifted at the thought of coming home to a place that didn’t look like a tornado had passed through it.
He boarded the train, dropped into a seat, and let his head fall against the window. The rhythm of the tracks usually calmed him, but today his mind kept drifting to one thing: Adrikon a motorcycle. The image wouldn’t leave him alone—brown hair, leather jacket, that confidence he carried without even trying. And that Amelia knew before he did? That still stung.
When he got off the train, he took the long way home, looping past Adrik’s cottage like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stare, but his chest tightened anyway. No sign of him. No sound. Just the sparkling clean cottage and the memory of last night’s kiss.
By the time he reached his own cottage, he’d convinced himself not to expect much from the cleaning service—and then he opened the door.
And stopped dead.
Everything was spotless. The floors gleamed. The books were actually on shelves. The air even smelled different—like lemon and something faintly floral. He let out a low whistle and set his bag down, turning in a slow circle. Worth every damn penny.
He hoped Adrik would think so too. Six o’clock suddenly felt very far away.
He jumped into the shower, preparing himself for anything that might or might not happen. He picked out his best black slacks and an olive-green shirt that matched his eyes perfectly.
Hans grabbed a soda from the fridge, cracked it open, and headed into his office. The room looked unnervingly tidy now, which somehow made him feel both proud and exposed. He sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and—without even pretending otherwise—typed motorcycles into the search bar.
He had more than enough savings. Years of German parents drilling into him the importance of not squandering money meant he’d barely touched most of it. He’d always been practical. Sensible. Boring, maybe.
But now he was scrolling through pictures of sleek black bikes and imagining what it would feel like to ride one. To ride with someone.
He took another sip of soda, the carbonation sharp on his tongue, and leaned back in his chair. He checked the time every five minutes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adrik
Adrik showered, dressed, andwalked into town for a quick breakfast, though he barely tasted any of it. His mind kept circling the same thing: the knock on his door, the man in black, the envelope. He knew then he wouldn’t be going to the language lab. He had too much to sort out, too many questions clawing at him.
He dropped his keys on the counter, pulled out his phone, and called Yakov. It was early afternoon in Russia—late enough that Yakov would be awake, grumpy, and honest.
Yakov picked up on the second ring. “What’s going on?”
Adrik rubbed a hand over his face. “My mother hired a Russian guy to find me. He showed up here last night.”
