“That part sounds good,” she said crisply. “How long did it last?”
“We got divorced when I was 30, but the relationship was bad for a long time before that. I was jealous, controlling… surprised?”
His wry smile caught her off guard, and she let out a laugh.
“I don’t really blame her for wanting someone else,” he said, his own laugh tinged with disgust. “Sometimes I can’t stand to be around myself, either.”
Her smile faded. His words cut through her, leaving a heavy ache she could feel in her stomach. All the well-controlled distance she had felt from him was a front for this simple statement. And he had given it, plainly and willingly to her, simply because she had asked.
The conversation that was supposed to give her perspective had instead taken her somewhere much more intimate. The urge to touch him, to somehow comfort him and ease his self-loathing was almost irresistible now. His hair had fallen over his forehead, and she lifted a hand to brush it away.
But before she reached him, he turned to look at something behind her. Mel glanced over her shoulder. A man stood a few feet away—a tall man in running clothes. He had apparently just run up the incline she and Henrik had hiked, but he wasn’t breathing hard. He looked a lot like the guy she had seen from her deck a couple days ago. Alice’s boyfriend?
“You speak English, right? Sorry to surprise you,” he said, running his hand through his shaggy blond hair.
Mel shook her head. “No worries,” she said. “We’re just enjoying the view.”
“You’re the American?”
Mel nodded and stood up. Henrik moved next to her, with his fingers pressing into her shoulder. She looked up at Henrik, and the corners of his mouth turned down.
The man in front of her smiled a little.
“I’m Jonas. I think I just bought a cabin next to yours. My girlfriend Alice told me all about meeting you. She’s thrilled to have another native English speaker on the island.”
Jonas was good, she thought with a grin. He had said this to her, but the message was just as much for Henrik—relax.
And it worked. Henrik’s grip loosened from her shoulder, and he shook Jonas’s extended hand. Mel introduced herself as well.
“I’ve inherited my father’s cabin, so I’m just here for the summer.”
Jonas laughed.
“Alice thinks she’s just visiting, but I’m trying to convince her otherwise,” he said. “We’re back and forth between here and Stockholm this summer, though she’s happier to stay out here now that she has you to explore the island with. And discuss the idiosyncrasies of Swedish men.”
Mel could feel her face turn red. This guy had overestimated Henrik and her relationship, and she didn’t want to see Henrik’s reaction.
“Sorry,” said Jonas. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Henrik.”
Jonas studied Henrik for a moment, brow furrowed.
“Högberg, right? We’ve met before at the Gothenburg book expo. Jonas Hällström. I write mysteries, too.”
Henrik nodded and smiled. Mel felt his hand on her shoulder relax a little more.
“Yes, I remember.”
“Good location to write, right?” said Jonas, gesturing out at the expanse of the archipelago around them. “What are you working on?”
Henrik frowned.
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
Henrik looked away, scowling. Jonas raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He shrugged and looked back down the hill.
“Okay. I’m sure we’ll see you later.”
They watched Jonas jog away, disappearing back down the rocky hill and into the trees. Henrik’s hand was still firmly planted on her shoulder. Mel took a deep breath and turned to him.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice quiet.
His face was only inches from hers. He was looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t read.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“You were downright rude to that guy when he asked what you were writing,” she said, her voice gentle. “And then this?”
Mel raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her shoulder. He looked down, too, as if he’d just registered where his hand sat.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, but he didn’t pull it away. Instead, he brushed his fingers over her skin, his eyes fixed on her exposed shoulder. Henrik’s mouth twitched into a frown, and he let his hand fall to his side.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice rougher now. “I think I should head home.”
Chapter 8
Henrik brushed the crumbs from his hands and leaned back in his chair. They had read for two hours that morning, ignoring the schedule until their stomachs couldn’t hold out any longer. As she listened to Henrik’s steady, low voice, her mind skittered to their walk the day before. What would have happened between them if Jonas hadn’t appeared?
The raw tension from their encounter had disappeared with the new day. When he came to the door that morning, Mel found herself staring at his expression for an extra beat before averting her gaze. The creases in his forehead had eased. They were probably caused by worry or stress, not age, she realized. Today he looked more relaxed, more… content as he gazed across the table at her.
“Do most people on this island have their own boats?” she asked, taking the last bite of her sandwich.
“Sure,” he said. “You have one, too.”
She wrinkled her nose until she remembered.
“That rowboat down at the shore?” she asked. “The little one turned upside-down?”
“Yes, that one,” he said, standing up and heading to the sink with his plate. “In fact, you should probably test it.”
Mel carried her plate over to the sink and headed to the front door, but Henrik was walking towards the back of the cabin.
“Where are you going?” she said as he opened the door to her father’s bedroom.
Henrik reemerged a moment later with two life jackets.
“Remember?”
Mel rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice her flush at the reference to the boat incident.
“I would have remembered when we got to the boat.”
“Yes,” he said, handing her a life jacket and then passing through the door she held open, “I know.”
She could hear that he was smiling again.
They walked down to the shore, and Henrik pulled away the tarp to reveal a small, aluminum rowboat resting on a long, thin log. He stepped back and gave it a little gesture of presentation.
“All yours,” he said.
Mel picked the boat up by the edge and lifted it, but it was heavier than she had expected. She switched her grip and lifted it again. This time, she succeeded in raising it high enough to prop the edge onto her shoulder while she considered her next move.
“You can gently ease it over onto the log,” said Henrik. He was standing a few feet away, arms crossed.
“Gently ease it?” Mel rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I can gently do anything to this enormous hunk of metal right now.”
Henrik laughed.
“The boat’s not so little anymore?”
Mel glared at him. “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to give me a hand?”
Henrik raised his eyebrows.
“I think it’s better if you give it a try by yourself,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “You know, learning how to get by on your own, all that stuff?”
“Oh, that,” muttered Mel.
She took a deep breath and heaved the boat higher, and it toppled over with a crash. They both stared at her work. Mel brushed off her hands.
“Look. It’s still on the log,” she said, flashing Henrik a satisfied smile.
Henrik gave her a smirk.
“I’ll work on my technique,” she added before he could comment.
Mel glanced into the boat. Dried l
eaves and pine needles hung from spider webs that clung to the metal. She put her hands on her hips.
“What’s next, boss?”
“Grab the front and roll it down into the water. Just make sure the log doesn’t float away, or you’ll have a hard time getting the boat back out of the water.”
Mel had been in plenty of boats in her life, but as far as she could remember, they had always been conveniently tied up onto docks for her, compliments of the owners. This was new. Luckily, the boat felt significantly lighter when most of it was propped up onto the log, so rolling it into the water wasn’t too hard. Getting the log back onto shore was another story.
“Grab the line—the rope tied to the front—and push the boat out a little. Then you can use both hands,” he said from dry land.
She, on the other hand, was knee-deep in the water at this point, her shoes soaked through. She followed his instructions, bracing her feet against the rocks so she wouldn’t slip into the deep water. Carefully, she rolled the log back up on land.
“Great,” Henrik called. “Now you just need the oars.”
Mel stared at the oars that lay back where the boat had been.
“Did you do that on purpose?” she said.
Henrik looked amused.
“No, but now you won’t forget next time, right?”
Mel held the boat steady and shook her head. Henrik picked up the oars, chuckling. He came over to a long, flat rock at the edge of the shore and handed them to Mel. She stood carefully on the last row of shallow rocks before the water dropped off into a dark abyss.
“Hop in,” she said, gesturing to the back bench of the rowboat.
Henrik just raised his eyebrows. Mel narrowed her eyes at him.
“You don’t trust me?” she said, silently daring him to agree.
Henrik shook his head as he bent down to grab the side of the boat.
“I know better than to answer that.”
He got into the boat with remarkable ease, considering his size. The same couldn’t be said about her. Despite the fact that she probably weighed half of what he did, the boat rocked precariously as she heaved herself—and more than a little sea water—in. Mel didn’t even bother looking up at Henrik; she knew he was probably smiling at her, but he had the decency to remain silent about it as she drew in the line.
The water was calm and still, though the morning had ended. Mel locked the oars into place and began to row out, along the dock and out of the little cove where her father’s and his neighbors’ cabins were hidden. Henrik watched her carefully as she took her first strokes.
“Which way?” she asked.
Henrik pointed in the direction of the ferry docking, though it was completely hidden by the island at this point. He looked out into the Baltic, dotted with islands as far as she could see.
“It’s good that there’s no wind today,” said Henrik. “Otherwise you wouldn’t make it far in a rowboat.”
“I wouldn’t make it?” she said, biting at the challenge before she could stop herself.
Henrik just shook his head.
Mel started to form her reply, but she thought of a much better kind of answer. On her next stroke, she intentionally skimmed both oars over the top of the water surface, splashing the entire back of the boat, including Henrik.
“Oh, sorry. Did I do that?” she asked with an innocent smile. “I’ll have to work on my rowing skills.”
The shock of the cold water showed on Henrik’s face. Then he began to laugh, first just to himself and then louder. He rested his head in his arms and shook with laughter. Mel continued to row, watching him with growing amusement.
“Melanie,” he said when he finally lifted his head, “I wasn’t criticizing you in any way. There are plenty of days when the wind blows too hard for me to get out of the cove in a rowboat. For anyone. I haven’t spoken this much English in a long time—I phrased it wrong.”
Mel looked up suspiciously at him.
“Your English seems just fine to me,” she grumbled.
Henrik shook his head, still smiling. “You don’t believe me?”
“I know better than to answer that.”
They were both laughing before she finished her sentence. Then he made an attempt at a serious look and took a deep breath. He scooted closer to her until his knees were only inches away from hers but still not touching. The last of her laughter faded. She froze, letting the boat drift, and her breath turned shallow and fast. His voice was soft and low.
“Melanie, you are a talented rower. Great with the oars. Even brilliant.”
He was teasing her, of course, but he gazed at her with such warmth that she couldn’t look away. She, who had successfully navigated her way through relationships without ever once feeling used or heartbroken, couldn’t take her eyes off this man who was too closed off, too close to her most vulnerable points… too everything for her.
And the most maddening part was that he seemed to be in full control of his emotions. He must have sensed the shift that this understanding brought, because he drew himself back. His voice was huskier when he spoke again.
“Now, at the risk of further offending you, I’m going to ask you to switch places with me so I can make a chivalrous gesture and take a turn rowing,” he said. “And maybe get you wet, too.”
Mel smiled a little.
“Well, that was clever. There’s no good way for me to say no, is there?” she said with a little snort. “What happened to your English struggles now?”
He just smiled at her.
He was a big man in a little boat, and of course, Mel knew that if he moved to the side, the whole boat would rock. And, yet, somehow she didn’t quite calculate her own influence on the boat correctly. Or maybe she was still dizzy from the feeling of his body so close, his eyes fixed intoxicatingly on her, a feeling that hadn’t completely disappeared. In any case, when she shifted to move around him, the boat tipped precariously to her side, and suddenly the water loomed below her. With nothing to grab onto.
Panic pounded in her ears, and the horror of her last meeting with the water paralyzed her. It was going to happen again. She was going to be stuck underwater, desperately reaching for the surface and watching it float farther away.
But she never hit the water. She didn’t hit anything, in fact, except for two, large arms that pulled her away from her seemingly unavoidable fall into the water. He did this without moving much—luckily, she thought later, or else they both would have probably ended up wet. He pulled her up and held her against him, and it took a while to register that she was clinging to him as well.
“Oh, no,” he said in her ear as they stood together in the middle of the boat, his arms still around her. “You’re not allowed to do that twice.”
His voice was calm, but his quick breaths gave him away. Mel’s mind went straight back to the last time they had been this close, his wet body behind her, warming her, his lips settling in her hair. The life jackets between them in this awkward embrace were probably for the best, since any more of him would be too much right now. He pulled back a little, looking at her carefully. He pushed a strand of hair out from in front of her eyes.
“You haven’t been in the water since you fell in that day, have you?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“This might have been funny under different circumstances, but you looked, well… frightened isn’t strong enough of a word,” he said, not taking his eyes off of her. His voice was low and warm, and his British accent gave way to what must have been Swedish influences.
“That frightened me,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I can’t stop thinking about you under the water that day. If I had been slower to jump in…”
She shook her head, telling him to stop. She couldn’t even begin to let her mind go there.
Her heart pounded in her ears, and Mel struggled between the urge to push him away and the urge to lean forward and touch him. No, touch was
n’t exactly what she had in mind, she thought with a little laugh. She wanted to lean forward and kiss his soft, full lips. She wanted to run her hands over the shoulders and down the arms that had just saved her from what would have been another string of nightmares.
Henrik was still watching her, she realized, studying her expression, his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down at the corners. Then he drew back further, and his tone was once again casual.
“Enough fun for the day,” he said with a wry smile, shifting them both so he could settle onto the middle bench of the rowboat. He picked up the oars, but he stopped mid-stroke.
“I almost forgot what we were doing out here,” he said. “Can I take you a little further? We won’t change places again.”
Mel nodded, and he started again towards the point at the end of the island. This rocky trail, with a small scattering of pine trees, curved out, protecting the ferry landing from an onslaught of waves from the sea. But today the water was flat and still, mirroring the rippling reflections of trees, clouds and rocks.
Henrik turned to watch a bird settle in a tall pine. She couldn’t take her eyes from the long, dark lashes of his eyes as he surveyed the shore. The scene was beautiful and quiet, and Mel felt the pull of Henrik’s nearness. She found it impossible not to focus on him. He pulled the oars gently towards him, his muscles moving and flexing. They had strained against her as he had gathered her up and placed her on the back bench of the boat only a few minutes before. If this short encounter left her so acutely aware of him, what would an encounter far less innocent do?
When they reached the point, Henrik stopped rowing and let the boat drift noiselessly through the dark water.
“See that next island? The big one?” he asked, pointing through the brush of trees on the point.
Mel looked in the direction of his finger at the long stretch of rock and trees. She had seen the island on the ferry and again on their trip for groceries. It didn’t look significantly different from the one she was staying on, only bigger.
Stockholm Diaries, Melanie Page 9