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Yeah. I do.
“Saylor?”
I glance at Sophia, surprised she’s talking to me instead of focusing on Karl. “Yeah?”
“I was wondering if you’d like a tour of the house?” she asks.
“Sure,” I reply, standing and walking back around the table to the doors that lead inside. As we enter the living room, I hear Hans ask Beck something in German.
“This is the living room,” Sophia announces, spinning in the center of the plush rug.
The color scheme is muted, and seems like it was crafted by a professional interior decorator. It’s almost too perfect; the light grays, pale pinks, and dark blues melding together seamlessly. There’s an oil painting hanging above the fireplace. Below it a series of photographs are displayed on the mantle, several staged family portraits and a few candid shots. One catches my attention. A sixteen-year-old Beck stands between his parents, beaming. I know he’s sixteen because of the stadium in the background, the German flag draped across his shoulders. It’s a snapshot of the moment following his breakout performance that won his home country a World Cup.
“Do your parents play football?” Sophia asks, following my gaze.
“No,” I reply, laughing a little at the thought. “I don’t think either of them have even seen a game.”
“Not even yours?” Sophia asks, sounding surprised.
“Nope,” I respond, keeping my tone light. “Did you ever play?”
Sophia scoffs. “No.”
“Did you want to?”
“Not really.” She glances at the photo. “They’re a hard act to follow.”
We head to the library next, followed by the sitting room, dining room, and an actual conservatory. Sunshine streams in through the glass, illuminating all the thriving plants.
“I feel like I’m in a game of Clue,” I tell Sophia.
She laughs. “I haven’t played that game in forever.”
“It’s my favorite board game,” I admit. “I get sort of competitive. None of my housemates back home will play with me anymore.”
“We’re totally playing after brunch,” Sophia decides, grinning.
“It’s a deal,” I reply, smiling back.
We walk back through the entryway, past a doorway that must lead to the kitchen, based on the flash of shiny appliances, and end up back on the terrace. Breakfast has been served. Beck’s eyes dart up from his full plate to meet my gaze as soon as I step out of the house. Erika’s taken the seat at the other end of the table, and I make my way around the back of her seat to sink down beside Beck.
“All good?” he asks me in a low voice.
I nod, studying the array of food spread before me. I tend to be a picky eater, and I could characterize my relationship with German cuisine as more misses than hits. There are some familiar dishes—waffles and what looks like a cheese tart with cherries—but the rest are foreign. There’s some sort of smoked fish topped with a swirled cream, a green soup sprinkled with crispy brown croutons, a salad scattered with seared meat, and rolls with crispy bacon and sauerkraut peeking out.
No pancakes or eggs in sight.
I take a small helping of everything, trying to be polite.
“I ran into Headmaster Schneider yesterday,” Erika states as she eats some of the green soup. “He’s looking forward to the camp, Adler.”
“Good. I’ve got four guys coming,” Beck replies.
“Herrmann?” Hans asks.
“And Ludwig.”
Hans nods in approval.
