Page 77 of Riesling with My Roommate

“Your tour isn’t for months, right?” That Chris thinks it’s such a sure thing that we’ll be together that far down the road makes me feel like I might float away.

“Oh, shit. There’s a charity concert this weekend. I may have forgotten to mention it with your friends being in town, but I got you a backstage pass so you can come hang out with me and the band. If you want.”

“Wow, that’ll be different.” I don’t think I’ll fit in backstage at a rock concert. I definitely do not look like I could be backstage at a concert, and the idea of seeing what it’s like is a little overwhelming. I wouldn’t know anyone—aside from Chris and Alwin, who will be on stage—so being back there alone sounds weird.

“You don’t want to go?” Chris’s eyebrows draw together in concern.

“I do, definitely. Where is it?”

“Berlin. It’s a daytime concert at one of the stadiums, so it won’t be too intense.”

“Could Zoe come? She would love it and could keep me company.”

“Of course. I’ll call Marcus and see about getting another pass.”

Diedrich interrupts by putting two plates down in front of us. It’s another strudel, this one with a light brown filling and white, lacy drizzle over the top.

The filling is light and spiced, the apples perfectly cooked, and I contemplate licking the icing off the plate—and that leads my thoughts to what else I could drizzle it on, and then that train of thought gets very X-rated.

“My Oma used to make apple strudel when I was very young. It’s one of my few memories of her,” Chris says wistfully.

We talk about our childhoods while Diedrich cleans up, and we drink the last of the Riesling. Before he leaves, Diedrich shows me the fridge and the stacks of leftovers he’s made for us, like meal prep for a week of German vegan food. He gives Chris instructions in rapid-fire German, and I expect we’ll have to call Diedrich for a reminder later. Chris gives him a hearty handshake and a back slap, and I offer him a handshake of my own before he wheels a small cart of supplies out the side door and drives away.

“So,” Chris says, resting his hands on my hips and backing me up to the edge of the counter. “What should we do next?”

I rub my hand over my belly. “Excuse me, I just ate a giant three-course meal. I can’t possibly be—Ah!”

Laughing, Chris picks me up in a fireman’s carry and takes me back to his bedroom.

29

Chris

When I walkinto the yoga studio three days later, Sara’s already at her desk at work. She’s got her laptop set up, a secondary screen to one side, and a microphone with a pop filter in front of her, huge black headphones on her head.

I have a similar setup back in my studio to record vocals. Maybe I should suggest Sara record in there?

When Sara and I have bothered to leave the bedroom, we’ve been recording the three yoga sessions for her series. We finished the final one last night, and Sara assures me she just has to edit everything, and my work is done.

In fact, her exact words were, “Get back to your own work, you sex fiend.”

I pad over, staying as quiet as possible, and when she catches sight of me, she looks up and gives me a smile, pulling the headphones off.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m not recording right now.”

I walk normally, coming to a stop behind her chair and wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “What are you working on?”

“This is a voiceover for the third Rock Steady video. I already finished the second one, and it’s scheduled to publish today.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s good. You know, you could record in my studio.”

Underneath me, she shrugs. “Then I’d have to move everything back and forth.”

“Maybe we should set you up with a desk in there.”

She nudges me. “I’m not invading your space enough?” she teases.

I look at the software she’s using. It’s simple, straightforward. I move one hand to the mouse and brush hers away.

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