On A Cold Winter's Night

by Leanne Burroughs

  Joel leaned back and sighed. He was formulating a wish of his own.

  When Annika gathered the class around a large table for julglogg and gingersnaps, Joel relaxed. He was better at socializing than sitting in a lecture hall, and while she interacted with other students he could watch her less noticeably.

  * * * *

  Annika, too, was glad of the break. She liked to make eye contact with her students but hadn't been very successful with the man who'd arrived late to class. Even though he'd been looking right at her, she'd gotten the sense he was present only in body, not in mind. And what was up with his earlier interruption? From his guilty reaction you'd think he'd been caught with his hand in the gingersnap bag. Annika laughed to herself as she remembered the look on his face.

  As she approached, the gentleman grinned and held out his glass for a shot of glogg. “Quite the operation you've got here.” He indicated the group with a nod of his head. Its members produced a background swell of conversation and laughter.

  "Thank you.” She felt discomfited by the intensity of his gaze and those blue eyes. “Why don't you show me your registration papers?"

  He took them from his shirt pocket and handed them over. He helped himself to a couple of ginger cookies as the plate passed by, and crunched into one of them.

  "Bonaduce. That's not a name you hear often around here. Welcome, Joel.” Annika risked looking him over. Besides the blue eyes, he had curly brown hair that ran to just below his shirt collar, a square jaw line, and strong cheekbones. His broad shoulders and expansive chest suggested that he liked to work out. Her eyes wandered down to his narrow waist, and she felt her heart beat faster.

  "It's Italian."

  "Hmm?” she asked, raising her eyes quickly to his face.

  "The name.” His smile was gently mocking. “It's Italian."

  "Interesting.” She returned his registration form while flames of heat licked at her neck on their way upward. “I'd better circulate."

  After the last student departed and Annika was ready to go home, she turned out the classroom light and stepped through the doorway. She gasped when she saw Joel Bonaduce leaning against the hallway wall.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Just thought I could see you to your car."

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “The college has a safety program. One of the security guards usually accompanies me."

  "I promise I don't bite.” Joel flashed a set of white, perfect teeth.

  It went against her better judgment, but if anything happened to her, they'd check her student list first. She squinted and set aside her reservations. He looked so pleading and earnest. And it wasn't his bite that frightened her, after all. “All right. I'll trust you this once."

  And there was his smile, an unguarded splash of brilliance.

  * * * *

  "I can't,” she said, as she stood between the open door of her car and its interior.

  "Why not?"

  "It's my policy. I don't date coworkers or students. It's not advisable."

  Joel shook his head in disappointment. “That's rather narrow, isn't it? I mean, it must limit your opportunities."

  Annika bristled at the man's arrogance. “I have all the opportunities I want."

  "You could've just told me you were married."

  "But I'm not!"

  "Oh, then you have a boyfriend."

  "No.” She was becoming exasperated.

  "Oh, I must have misunderstood. I thought you must have several."

  She blinked and shook her head. “What?"

  "Never mind. Since you don't have a boyfriend—or many—I'm sure going to hate missing the rest of the course."

  Annika's brain felt thick. Her heart skipped a beat. Was he saying what she thought? She crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Mr. Bonaduce, it's late and I don't think I quite understand you. But you seem to have no trouble speaking your mind. Make yourself plain."

  Joel shot her a boyish grin. “Any chance I could get private tutoring?"

  * * * *

  For their first date, Joel took her to a romantic comedy in which a female chef competed with a male chef at her restaurant, and experienced a roller coaster of emotions as she fell in and out, then in love with him again. The storyline moved Annika to tears. She was still wiping them away as they shared dessert at a local cafe afterward.

  "Sorry,” Joel said, taking her hand across the table. “It didn't occur to me to preview it. It was supposed to be funny, not make you cry."

  "It's not your fault,” she sobbed. “I'm being such a sap."

  "It's okay.” He patted her hand. “I should have found out more about it, I guess. I just assumed a restaurateur might enjoy seeing a film about chefs. I thought you'd be able to relate."

  Oh, I can relate all right. To the years of being alone. Deciding to be content. Then having some devilishly handsome man, who could apparently be sweet and sensitive as well—not to mention aggravating—sweep in and turn your life upside down.

  Joel dipped his spoon into the gooey hot fudge sundae and offered it to her. “Can I make it up to you?"

  As Annika let the syrupy chocolate confection melt on her tongue, it passed through her mind that this couldn't lead anywhere good. Heat rushed to her head and she felt a sick pit in her stomach. Fate was only tempting her, making her think she might find love at last. What an impractical idea! But the chef in the movie had to take down her walls to find real love and maybe she did, too. What had Mamma said? “You play too safe."

  Joel was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. What should she do? Give up the security of her predictable life for the possibility of something surprising and grand? If she stepped out, who would be there to catch her if she fell?

  Over the pounding in her ears, she heard a voice much like her own say, “Why not, Joel? You gave up my class. It's the least I can do."

  He took her hand and kissed its palm. A jolt of electricity shot through her.

  * * * *

  It didn't take long for her mother to find out Annika had a gentleman caller. It was hard to keep a secret in Minnetonka especially in the Swedish community.

  "So, who's the new man?” Mamma asked without preamble when Annika answered the phone.

  She laughed. “No use trying to hide anything from you, is there?"

  "Not a chance. Who is he, and what does he do?"

  Annika didn't blame Mamma for wanting to know all the details. They fascinated her, too. After only three dates, she didn't know everything, but Joel had told her enough to satisfy Mamma for the short term.

  "His name is Joel Bonaduce,” she began. “His friends call him Bonny. He's forty-three. His father's Italian, and his mother's Swiss. They still live back east, somewhere in New York, I think. He has two siblings."

  "Has he ever been married?"

  "Bonny says he and his ex-wife married too young. He has a son, Francesco, whom he's very close to, though. Francesco is twenty and studying music in Cincinnati."

  "I guess that's all right. That he's been married before, I mean. At your age it's hard to find a man who hasn't been."

  "Mamma!"

  "Well, it's true."

  "Fine, but why do you have to say ‘at your age'? You make it sound like I'm ancient."

  "Come, alskling. Don't get carried away. If anyone knows how old you are, it's me. I want to hear more about this Bonny person. How does he make his living?"

  Joel had colored when she'd asked him about his profession, and she'd assumed that because he was a writer he worried she might think she was hooking up with a starving artist. Now she repeated his response. “He's a working writer. He's written about pretty much everything from soup to nuts."

  "Is he any good?"

  "I imagine so.” She shrugged. “He gets paid for it."

  "You mean you haven't read any of his work?"

  "I've only gone out with him three times, Mamma.” Annika laughed. “Besides, you know how these writer types are.
They're very protective of their words. They don't want to expose what they've written until it's finished."

  "I thought you said he was published."

  "He is. But, no, I haven't read any of his stuff. I don't want to be too pushy. He'll show me when he's ready. And, let's face it, who knows if we'll be dating long."

  "I can hear in your voice that he makes you happy."

  "So far, so good. But I don't want to get my hopes up. Maybe he doesn't feel the same way."

  "Time will tell. But take it easy. I don't want to see you get hurt."

  "You urging caution, Mamma?” Annika chuckled. “That's a rare treat."

  "You're still my little alskling, you know,” Mamma chided. “And it's been a while since you've put yourself on the market. I hope this Joel gets you to slow down."

  "We'll see."

  "You'll bring him over for dinner on Sunday?” At least it was a request, and not an order.

  "I don't know, Mamma. It's a bit soon, I think. Besides, we both have the kind of work we take home with us."

  Mamma snorted.

  "I promise . . . you'll get to meet him soon. I'll give you a call."

  When Mamma finally met Joel, it was a hurried affair. He usually ate lunch at The Smorgasbord once or twice a week and Mamma was coming in to see Annika just as Joel was leaving. When Annika introduced them, Mamma looked him up and down, turned toward Annika and said, “Nice,” causing him to burst into laughter. He then put an arm around her shoulders and declared Brigitte his ‘kind of woman.’ Annika was charmed by their mutual approval and felt the glow of it for the rest of the day.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  * * * *

  As time went by Annika was amazed at all that was accomplished in the space of twenty-four hours. She'd decided to hire another chef, so now part of her workday included interviewing applicants, as well as working in the kitchen and preparing for her classes. She'd also run across a countrywide Comfort Food Competition and decided to enter her rice pudding. The hours spent with Joel in late evenings were precious, especially on the nights she had to teach. He liked taking her dancing, or for walks in the park, or to carefully chosen movies that prompted long, thoughtful discussions afterward. They went out for dinner a couple of nights a week, and Joel introduced her to cuisines with which she was less familiar. He expanded her taste buds and her world. When she thought back to their first date, she laughed at how silly she'd been to dread what loving him might bring.

  Each night after his last sweet kiss at the door, she went to sleep thinking about him. Each morning, she looked forward to seeing him later in the day. She didn't know how she'd lived without him, and didn't understand how one person could come to consume her so entirely in the space of just four weeks. She thought the feeling was returned—if you could judge by actions, it was—and even began to think about the future. But neither of them had yet said, “I love you.” And Annika was darned if she was going to say it first.

  When Mamma extended a second dinner invitation to Annika and Joel, she didn't hesitate. “We'd love to come. Can we bring anything?"

  "When have I ever asked you to bring something, alskling? Just come and relax. You're doing too much already. I can never find you at home anymore.” She laughed. “Not that I'm complaining! It's good to see you cooking up something other than restaurant food."

  * * * *

  Joel thought Annika had never looked more beautiful. Of course, in his eyes she always looked pretty, but there was a special glow radiating from her tonight. In his experience, women were usually nervous when they introduced him to their parents, but he sensed no such hesitation or anxiety in his lovely girl. In fact, her rosy cheeks bespoke an excitement about the prospect. Or maybe it was just the November air.

  He was personally apprehensive about seeing Brigitte again. He and Annika had just been dating for a little over a month, but they spent a lot of time together, and he sensed now that they were moving more quickly than he was comfortable with. Thus, even though he'd claimed Annika's mother his “kind of woman,” and there was no doubt she had a lot of panache, he felt sure she was a force to reckon with if you got on her bad side. He was determined to charm her socks off while retreating from a rush he wasn't by any means ready for. He cared for Annika very much. But the memory of his first disaster still lingered strong, and he wasn't prepared to marry her. Or anyone.

  In spite of these thoughts, he stood close behind Annika and wrapped his arms around her as they waited at the front door of the Svenson home. She wore only a light jacket over her form-clinging dress, and the delicate Givenchy scent she'd sprayed on her wrists and throat invited him. He nuzzled her neck and heard her murmur with pleasure.

  "Not now,” she whispered, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.

  "Why not?” He laughed and snuggled closer. But he quickly lifted his head away from her nape as the front door opened.

  "Come in, come in.” Brigitte waved them past her into the house. “We can't have you standing out here huddled together for body heat.” She looked from side to side at the neighboring houses before she shut the door. “What will people think?"

  Annika laughed as she let her jacket slide into Joel's waiting hands. He transferred it to a coat hanger and hung it in the closet.

  "They'll think we're a couple of young pups in love,” he said, then mentally kicked himself. For heaven's sake, he'd just decided to slow things down and here he was being overpowered by the force of Brigitte's personality. He looked at Annika to see if she'd noticed his choice of words.

  She was beaming.

  "Will you excuse me?” he said. “I need to use the restroom."

  Inside the powder room, Joel leaned his hands against the pedestal sink and glared at his reflection in the mirror. He needed a pep-talk big time. Yes, what had been happening with Annika was special, the first apparently real connection he'd felt since divorcing his wife. But even though his youthful impetuousness had produced one fine son, marital bliss had eluded him and he no longer trusted himself. He believed in “till death do us part” but it hadn't worked out that way. And while he'd had girlfriends since the demise of his marriage, they'd never lasted more than a year or two. As soon as they started talking about a trip down the aisle, he dropped them. It was hard, but better to cut things off when he had no intention of making a commitment. He hadn't spent day after day with them either, the way he had with Annika.

  He hoped he hadn't given her the wrong impression with that “young pups in love” comment. He wiped a hand over his face and groaned as he remembered the expression on Annika's face after he'd said it. Who was he kidding? He usually didn't put his foot in his mouth like that, was usually more careful at guarding his words. He was a writer, right?

  There was a light knock on the door. “Everything okay in there?” came Annika's voice.

  "Fine. Sorry. I just have to wash my hands. I'll be out in a sec.” He turned on the tap, then wagged a finger at his image. “Pull it together, wise guy."

  He turned off the water and exited the room.

  Brigitte extended her hands to him as he and Annika entered the kitchen. Her sequined caftan style dress billowed and gave her the aura of a Scandinavian queen. “I'd like you to sit beside me.” She indicated the chair on her right. “And alskling, you sit on Joel's other side."

  Joel pulled Annika's chair out and seated her. “May I assist you as well, Mrs. Svenson?"

  "That's very sweet of you to ask, and please call me Brigitte. I'll look after myself. There are still a few dishes to bring to the table."

  Rolf had been a silent presence in the room, but went to the stove to help his wife. Joel didn't know how they could squeeze any more casseroles into the little available space, but with some maneuvering the task was accomplished. Rolf then scraped Brigitte's chair noisily across the floor and pushed it in clumsily as she sat. One corner of her mouth curved into a smile as she caught Joel
's eye.

  "A traditional Swedish table grace tonight, I think, Annika?"

  Annika nodded. “Certainly, Mamma.” She bowed her head and Joel followed suit. “I Jesu namn till bords vi ga. Valsigna Gud den mat vi fa. Gud till ara, oss till gagn. Sa fa vi mat i Jesu namn.” She looked up at Joel and smiled. “That means, ‘In Jesus's name to table we go. God bless the food we receive. To God honor, to us gain. So receive we food in Jesus's name.’”

  "Cool."

  Annika arched an eyebrow in his direction and he blushed. He was usually more eloquent. “Sorry. That's interesting. You'll have to teach me Swedish some day.” Oops. There went that foot again.

  "I'd like that,” she said.

  Brigitte touched his arm. “Please. Have some rye bread and pass the basket along."

  He took a piece and tore it in half before spreading on a small amount of butter and setting it aside. “Tell me about these other dishes,” he said, as Brigitte requested his bowl and ladled out some thick and steaming soup from the tureen. “It looks like you've been slaving in the kitchen all day. I hope you didn't go to extra trouble on my account."

  "Of course, I did,” Brigitte objected. “You're a special guest in our home tonight, and you've apparently been amusing my daughter for the last several weeks. I'm in your debt for keeping her out of the kitchen. Anyway,"—she pointed at his bowl—"you're starting off with artsoppa—boiled yellow peas, a little onion, salt, and small pieces of pork. Simple. Traditional. Very good for this time of year in Minnetonka. It'll stick to your ribs and stave off the cold."

  Joel spooned some into his mouth and let it sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. Then he nodded. “Excellent."

  "Try it with a little mustard.” Brigitte swirled some yellow mustard over the top of his soup. “Not too much—it gives it a stronger flavor."

  Joel mixed the condiment in well, then sampled the soup again. He looked up and smiled. “That does change it. The Swedes don't use a lot of spices, so this is a way to enhance the taste."