Stockholm Diaries, Caroline

by Rebecca Hunter

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, girl,” Connor had replied, his lips curving into a smile. “And it ain’t about photography. You can’t tell your editor that your best shot was a mistake.”

  Where was Connor these days? If anyone she knew had access to the world of sports photography, it was him. He followed the action of the games like a predator, seeking out the moments of conflict, triumph and despair on instinct. And if anyone would know how to finagle a press pass to the hockey world championships, it was Connor.

  She found him in her search immediately, and as she clicked on a link to his site, Caroline wondered why she hadn’t thought to look for him before. But instead of spending her last year at the University of Michigan finding her way into photojournalism, she had settled for baby portraits and Brad. How had she not seen the years of restlessness—and worse—coming? Caroline gritted her teeth. That part of her life was over, but she still kept coming back to it.

  Caroline looked up, reminding her stubborn self that she was far from Detroit. Outside the window of the café, this new city was hers for the month. But as she gazed along the sidewalk, a man caught her eye. Tall, with hulking broad shoulders, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his face, mostly hiding the cut over his eye. Niklas. It was him—she was sure of it, but something in the way he held himself, stiff and alert, made it clear that he didn’t want to be seen. He walked slowly towards the bakery, scanning the outdoor tables. No one else seemed to notice him. Then he raised his head and saw her. At least she thought he did because he stopped for a minute, his face pointed directly at her, but the sunglasses guarded his eyes. She smiled a little, and she thought she saw the corners of his mouth turn up. He took a few steps in her direction, and Caroline could feel her heart skitter as she sized up the sculpted muscles of his arms. No, she hadn’t just let her imagination run away. He really was that hot.

  But as he passed a table not far from hers, a woman grabbed his arm and said something in Swedish. Niklas muttered something back, then turned and walked away.

  Caroline’s ridiculous grin fell from her face. What had just happened? Had he been looking at this other woman, not her? She could feel the flush of humiliation rising in her. Or had he headed over to talk but changed his mind? Either way, it felt like the social equivalent of slamming the door in her face, which would make this the second time in one day. Of course no one in their building had spoken to him, as Veronica had reported. Everyone else had enough sense to stay away from this rude brute of a man. And what made her anger flare even higher was the nagging sting of rejection—some part of her actually cared.

  Deep breaths. What had she been doing before he intruded on her thoughts? It was hard to remember. She glanced down at her computer screen. Conner. Hockey. Caroline forced her mind back to the words in front of her. She wrote a quick message, crossed her fingers and pressed send.

  Chapter Four

  Caroline knocked on the door and fluffed up the flower bouquet she was holding. Dinner with Veronica and Filip had sounded like the makings of a good evening until Veronica mentioned that Filip had invited a friend over as well. A single, male friend. Now, as she stood outside Veronica’s door, the idea of being set up with one of Filip’s friends seemed even worse than it had earlier that day on the phone.

  But Caroline owed her cost-free housing in Stockholm to Veronica and Filip, and if she were totally honest with herself, leaving Michigan would still be a wistful dream without their generosity that had propelled the final impulse to leave. Without it, she would probably still be following endless internet image searches of everywhere from Mumbai to the Australian Outback, only to quickly hide them when she heard Brad’s key in the door. So though Caroline wanted nothing more than to escape back up to her apartment and close the door for the night, she willed herself to stay in place.

  She knocked again. Caroline heard footsteps, but they weren’t coming from Veronica’s apartment. She glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Niklas walking up the stairs. A sudden burst of hope opened up in her. Was Niklas the friend Filip had matched her with? Logically, this didn’t make sense—she knew Filip and Veronica hadn’t even spoken to Niklas. But she could feel herself hoping that, somehow, it would be Niklas anyway.

  Caroline closed her eyes, irritated with the sudden leaps her mind was taking.

  But the footsteps stopped. She opened her eyes again. Niklas was a few feet away, watching her. Her heart skittered faster, and before she had the sense to stop herself, she traced his t-shirt across his broad chest and around his muscular arms, the same ones she was still sure her mind had exaggerated. But still this wasn’t the case.

  Niklas took a couple steps across the landing. Now he was close, distractingly close. The kind of close that made her momentarily forget why she was standing in the hallway in the first place. Close enough for her to smell his aftershave and… him.

  Oh, my, she thought as she felt a rush through her. Much better than beer and cigarettes. His blond hair hung over his forehead, sexy and tousled. He looked even better than he had the day before outside her apartment, if that was possible.

  “Wrong floor,” he said, looking amused.

  Caroline laughed. Niklas had assumed that she had stopped a floor too early on her way back home.

  “This is my friend’s place.”

  “The other American?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  “North American,” she corrected him with a smile. “She’s Mexican.”

  “If she’s the reason you’re here, I guess I’ll have to meet her,” he murmured.

  Whoa. He said this almost to himself, but his eyes were still firmly fixed on Caroline. She had no idea how to begin to interpret his comment, especially after his attempts to avoid her only days ago. He opened his mouth to continue, but at that moment, Veronica opened the door. Quickly, he turned back to the spiral staircase and disappeared. But Veronica had seen him, too, and for once, she was silent, taking in the situation.

  “Nice,” she whispered as he disappeared around the corner. “It’s a good thing Ludvig isn’t here yet. You’ve definitely gotten that guy’s attention, and he looks like he eats guys like Ludvig for breakfast.”

  She pulled Caroline inside with a soft chuckle, and they walked down the hall together.

  “Filip just ran out for a couple things. He should be back right about now.”

  The inside of their apartment was sparsely decorated, much like the one where Caroline was staying, but Veronica’s felt warmer, more like a home. Though the furniture was much the same—light gray, boxy and low to the ground—Veronica had hung a long, vivid painting of the Mexican countryside that made the room come alive. And it put Caroline a little more at ease, despite her hesitations about the evening.

  “Is that your work?” she asked.

  Veronica nodded. “I painted it the last time I visited. It makes me feel like I’m closer to home.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, studying the long brushstrokes that drew her eye up to the volcano she recognized immediately: the Popocatépetl, looming ominously in the background.

  “Sorry about tonight,” said Veronica, as if she had read Caroline’s thoughts through the front door. “Filip feels like we owe you for introducing us all those years ago. He wants to return the favor.”

  Caroline and Filip had met in a photography class her junior year in college, but she didn’t think to introduce him to Veronica until a few months before they all graduated. And when Caroline backed out of the trip to Europe Veronica and she had fantasized about for their whole senior year, Filip had casually offered to join her instead. Though Veronica had kept the full story of what had happened on that trip vague, as far as Caroline knew, Veronica had never looked back.

  “But you already did return the favor—the apartment, I mean,” she said. “I need that a lot more than I need to meet Ludvig.”

  Veronica smiled. “I already tried to tell that to Filip.
But he was really sad to hear that you and Brad broke up. And you know how he is when he gets his mind set on something. Besides, this is the sports photography connection I was telling you about. And Ludvig is a nice guy.”

  Caroline laughed. “That’s just what I need. Another nice guy. Weren’t you saying something about nice dentists the other day?”

  Brad was nice. But why had she stayed with him after the first few dates, when she realized that the spark between them wasn’t going to grow any stronger? He had been attentive and so sure of his future at a time when she had no idea what lay in front of her. He was comforting. And persuasive—that she couldn’t deny.

  Yes, he was nice. The kind of controlled niceness that sucked the excitement out of anything they did. Though she wasn’t much for hockey, she once bought them tickets to a Detroit Red Wings game for his birthday in hopes of catching a glint of thrill behind Brad’s even-tempered eyes. Maybe, she had thought, just maybe it would spark him to life.

  But she had left the arena disappointed. Even she had found herself jumping out of her seat as the Red Wings forward made a last-minute breakaway goal to win the game, but Brad, a self-professed Red Wings fan, had stayed seated, smiling at the excitement around him.

  “That was fun. Thanks,” said Brad in a voice that held nothing more than mild amusement as they filed out of the arena, celebrations still erupting all around them.

  The thought of being introduced to another nice guy made her insides sink.

  “It’s just dinner,” said Veronica, putting her arm around Caroline and giving her a squeeze. “Then Filip has done his duty and you both can move on.”

  The rattle of a key in the front door echoed through the apartment. Veronica disappeared down the hall and reappeared, accompanied by both Filip and another man.

  “Caroline, this is Ludvig,” she said, and Ludvig held out his hand for a soft shake.

  Caroline had to admit that Ludvig was good-looking, though in a careful, studied way. His hair was artfully sculpted into a messy spike in the front and neatly combed in the back. As Caroline shook his hand, she realized she could already confirm that Veronica was right: Ludvig was nice, though maybe not in the way that Brad was. He was certainly better dressed than Brad had ever been, and there was an edge to Ludvig that she couldn’t read.

  Filip set down the bottle of wine in his hand and whispered something in Veronica’s ear. Then they both disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Caroline and Ludvig to figure out an appropriate distance from each other on the couch. Caroline chose the middle-left, not too intimate, but not scared of him, either, she thought, hiding her smirk. After a few shifts, Ludvig settled into the middle. Filip and Veronica emerged from the kitchen momentarily to carry in small plates and napkins and then disappeared again. The room was silent. Caroline searched for something to say, but then Ludvig spoke first.

  “Filip tells me you and he studied photography together at the University of Michigan,” he said. He spoke in measured British English, and she had the sudden feeling that she was sitting for an interview.

  “He said that you gave up your life back there and bought an around-the-world ticket,” he continued. “And you’re working on a career change?”

  Caroline turned red. Stated this plainly, her trip sounded more flaky than exciting.

  “Well, I’m still working on the details,” she said, searching for something more dignified to say. “I’m part of a summer article series for a magazine. We’re doing interviews and photos of ex-pats around the world. I’m starting with Veronica. I have a friend in Italy and another friend in Croatia, and I’ll be looking for others to interview along the way.”

  “Sounds adventurous,” he said in a clipped tone. Caroline didn’t know how to read his expression.

  “Thanks, I think,” she said, smiling. “The jury is still out as to whether ‘adventurous’ will cross the line into ‘crazy’ or ‘hare-brained.’”

  He was studying her intensely, taking in her whole being as she talked, as if she were putting on a performance that he was now assessing, and he didn’t know how to react to it. Though his English was quite good, Caroline found herself wondering if he hadn’t followed her last sentence. But then he broke out into a smile.

  “It could be a good career move if you plan to stay in some good travel destinations. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said.

  Caroline almost laughed. He apparently thought she needed some comforting.

  There were murmurs and the low rumble of laughter from down the hall. Then Veronica and Filip reappeared carrying wine glasses and another platter, this one full of olives, grapes and cheeses. Filip arranged two armchairs next to the low table and offered one to Veronica before he sat down.

  “Has Ludvig told you yet that he’s one of the most sought-after sports photographers in Sweden?” said Filip with a mischievous smile.

  Caroline shook her head. She turned to Ludvig and saw his expression was almost smug.

  “I’ve had a lot of success over the years,” he said.

  He smiled at Caroline and then seemed to realize that the situation called for a little more humility.

  “I didn’t make it into the top hockey league here in Sweden, so photographing it seemed like the next best thing,” he said with a wry smile.

  His words were flippant, but behind them, Caroline thought she detected a hint of bitterness.

  “You’d think with the last name Sundin, I’d get a little more ice time,” he added.

  Caroline stared at him blankly, and Filip laughed.

  “Mats Sundin, Caroline,” he said gently. “A famous Swedish hockey player, though apparently not so famous over in the U.S.”

  Caroline blushed. If this guy could get her passes to the hockey tournament, she certainly needed to make a better impression.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I guess you’re talking to the wrong person. My experience is with college hockey.” And even then it wasn’t voluntarily. She decided to keep that last part to herself. Instead, she sat back and listened as the conversation switched over to stories from their pasts. Veronica was the center of attention, as always.

  Caroline sat back and admired her friend as she spoke. Sweden was far from Mexico in every way possible, and yet Veronica seemed to be very happy here. She had left behind a gaggle of sisters and cousins as well as warm weather and sun. The only parts of Mexico left in her daily life were her paintings, hanging on the walls of her decidedly un-Mexican apartment.

  For most of their years at the University of Michigan, Caroline had assumed that Veronica would head back to Mexico after they graduated, trading the icy winters for the ease of the upper-class future her parents had planned for her. But as they went into their senior year, something shifted. While Caroline quietly scaled back her own plans, telling herself that she’d travel with Brad when he was ready, Veronica’s world seemed to open up. She didn’t want to go back to Mexico, not yet.

  After reluctantly giving up on Caroline as a travel partner, she set off with jobless and decidedly un-Catholic Filip, scandalizing her family and effectively cutting off any hope of a good marriage back in Puebla. And as far as Caroline knew, Veronica didn’t regret that decision at all. Back in Michigan, Caroline had often tried to imagine what her life would have been like if she had set off with Veronica. It certainly would have changed both their lives, though looking at her friend now, it was hard to imagine that Veronica would have been better for it. But what had once felt like adventure had increasingly seemed more like an abyss of uncertainty for Caroline. And, after all, Brad was unfailingly nice. And Catholic, or nominally so. At least her parents were glad for that.

  Filip had said something to her, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  “Sorry—what was that?”

  Filip laughed. “I asked if you’ve ever been to Spain.”

  Caroline shook her head. “This is my first time outside of North America.”

 
“I’m working at the European soccer championships,” said Ludvig in the same, understated tone. “They’re in Spain later this month. It’s going to be big.”

  “As a photographer?”

  Ludvig nodded.

  Caroline wondered how he had found his way into a photography career with that kind of assignment—the kind that made real money. She searched his face for hints of his age. He certainly looked a bit older than she was but not enough to solely explain his position. It had to be ambition, she guessed, if first impressions meant anything.

  “But we don’t have anyone on our team that speaks Spanish,” he continued.

  Both Veronica and Filip were looking at her.

  “Me?” She looked from one to the other. “No, my Spanish is terrible. You know that,” she said to Veronica.

  And this wasn’t modesty speaking, Caroline thought with a smirk. Despite all her years of Spanish classes, the only time she had actually been forced to use her Spanish was on her family’s one and only trip to Mexico. She always spoke English to her father, even when he spoke Spanish back to her. Now that she was older, she regretted not trying a little harder when she was younger, but it was too late. As Veronica had pointed out more than once, she sounded like a gringa stuck in elementary school.

  “Your Spanish is just terrible for someone whose father is Mexican,” laughed Veronica. “You could definitely get by in Spain.”

  “You sure know how to flatter a girl,” Caroline said, giving her a wry smile. “But I’m still working on hockey passes.”

  “For the world championships this week?” asked Ludvig.

  “Yes. But I have some leads,” she quickly added. The last thing she wanted was to sound desperate for a job. And her statement was almost true. She had an idea for a lead, though Connor hadn’t responded to her email yet.