Perfekt Order (The Ære Saga Book 1)

by S. T. Bende

  “No. Do nothing. I’ll be right there.” He turned off the phone and shoved it in his pocket. He swore one more time, then took a deep breath. When he turned around, his expression was hard.

  “Tyr?” I asked softly.

  “I have to go.” He stood abruptly. I scrambled to my feet.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” There was no point in asking if things were okay; they obviously weren’t.

  The corners of Tyr’s eyes crinkled. He reached out to touch my cheek with the back of one finger. My body responded, and I leaned into him, tilting my face into his hand.

  Tyr leaned down and touched his lips to my forehead. He inhaled deeply before pulling away. My heart dropped. “You are sweet. But no.”

  “Oh.” I tucked my hands in my pockets and shifted my weight to my back leg. Bury it, Mia. It’s just a guy. One you’ve only known two minutes. “Okay.”

  Tyr looked as if he wanted to say more, but as soon as he opened his mouth he snapped it shut again without a single mention of food, Italian or any other. He stepped down off the porch and walked toward the grass with long strides, then turned and looked back at me. “Take care of yourself.”

  With that he bolted. He was across the lawn and around the corner of the house before I could blink.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “SO NOTHING HAPPENED?” BRYNN didn’t try to hide the incredulity from her voice.

  “Nada. Zip. Zilch.” I took a drag of my coffee and stared at my chipper roommate. Even at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, she looked as if she had enough energy to run a full marathon. Loose blond curls were piled atop a face that looked unnaturally perfect without so much as a lick of makeup, and she sat on the living room floor in seiza position, wearing yoga pants and a sports bra.

  “That sucks,” Heather chimed in. She was sprawled across the love seat, still in flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt with the periodic table on the front. “Wonder what that call was all about.”

  “Who cares?” Charlotte waved her freshly manicured hand. “You don’t want a guy like that. You want someone who appreciates the awesomeness that is Mia Ahlström: athlete, brainiac, fabulous dresser.” Charlotte nodded at my Lulu capris and fitted vest, then pointed to the caddy of polishes on the table. “And a girl in need of a manicure. Come over here and pick your poison.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I cradled my coffee and moved to the couch next to Charlotte. Her nails now matched her pink silk pajamas. “Hmm. I think French tips, please.”

  “Classic taste.” She pulled two bottles and an emery board, and went to work.

  “I want to know how things went down with Texas Matt and the shirtless hottie.” I turned my attention to Heather. “What was his name?”

  “Jack.” Heather grinned. “He’s taking me to the beach next weekend.”

  “Because they already made out in the woods.” Charlotte raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  Heather stuck out her tongue. “Oh, you’re one to talk. You and Texas Matt looked pretty cozy on the porch swing when I got home last night.”

  Charlotte turned bright red. “You saw?”

  “The whole block saw,” Heather confirmed.

  Charlotte gave a delicate ‘harrumph’ as she filed my nails to gently squared tips.

  “What about you, Brynn? What happened with Henrik?” I asked.

  “Henrik? Oh, nothing. We’re just friends.” She sighed.

  “Do you want to be just friends?” Charlotte glanced up.

  “It doesn’t work like that for us. I’m not allowed to date,” Brynn grumbled.

  “You’re not allowed to date?” Heather balked. “How is that even possible? And how would your parents know, anyway? They’re in Sweden. Just don’t tell them.”

  Brynn shook her head. “I wish it was that easy. I’m supposed to stay focused on, um, on what I’m here to do. Besides, Henrik sees me as his little brother’s classmate. He’s one of those guys who gets something in his head and never changes it.”

  Heather lifted her mug. “I think you just described all men.”

  “Truth,” Charlotte chimed in.

  “So what are we going to do today?” I diverted the conversation. “Did the summer orientation week show you what’s fun around here? So far, I know there’s a forest behind the house and a Target somewhere that calls to Charlotte with its siren song. Brynn, what do you know about this place?”

  “Oh, about the same as you,” Brynn chirped. Her voice sounded slightly off.

  “You okay?” Charlotte looked up from my nails, and I pulled a hand away to take another hit of coffee.

  “I’m great! Why don’t you two give us a tour today? I haven’t seen downtown yet.” Brynn folded her hands in her lap.

  “We need more caffeine first.” Heather stood and padded to the kitchen in bare feet. She came back with the coffee pot, and held it up. “Refills?”

  “Yes, please.” Charlotte tilted her head toward her cup, and Heather poured.

  “Double for me,” I added.

  Heather filled my cup, then her own. “Brynn?”

  “I’m good.” Brynn beamed. “I had my cup.” She leaned back into her seiza and perched on her toes. “But if we’re going to take a tour, I’d better take a shower first. That six a.m. burn class at the gym was pretty intense. See you guys in half an hour?”

  “Uh, it takes me longer than that to look presentable, and we’ve only got two bathrooms.” Charlotte looked up from my hands. White tips now lined my nails, and she’d begun to paint the clear topcoat. “Say an hour-and-a-half?”

  “Perfekt!” Brynn stood and bounded up the stairs, her curls bouncing atop her head. Heather, Charlotte and I stared after her.

  Heather walked the coffee pot back to the kitchen. When she came back into the living room, she brought her mug to her lips. “Did she say she’d only had one cup?”

  “I think so.” I shook my head.

  “Man.” Heather set her cup down on the coffee table and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “It’s going to be a long year.”

  ****

  Early that evening, we traipsed through the front door of our little house, weighed down with shopping bags.

  “That, ladies, was a highly successful day.” Charlotte headed up the stairs, carrying a trio of bags in each arm.

  “The shoe industry won’t know what hit it,” Heather teased. “How many did you bring home?”

  “I stopped counting after the third pair,” Charlotte called over her shoulder. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Those ankle boots are going to look fabulous with your boyfriend jeans.”

  “I know.” Heather grinned sheepishly. She followed me into the kitchen carrying the bags of vegetables we’d picked up at a farmer’s market.

  Brynn bounded into the room as I set my bags on the counter and started moving perishables to the fridge. “Speaking of fabulous, I’m so excited to try your chicken parm, Mia! Can I help?”

  “It’s super easy. But here; you do this.” I traded spots with Brynn, and she started unpacking groceries. “And I’ll work up the dinner schedule real quick.”

  “I know Mia suggested we trade cooking nights, but you guys should probably know in advance that my skill-set is more boxed hamburger helper and salad in a bag.” Brynn handed Heather the produce and nestled cereal boxes in the cupboard.

  “You told me that. Don’t worry, I won’t give you anything you can’t handle.” I sat at the kitchen table and started sketching on a piece of scrap paper. A minute later, I had an outline. “Where did I put the whiteboard?”

  “That thing over there?” Brynn pointed at the white rectangle peeking out of the top of a shopping bag.

  “Thanks.” I carried my paper over to the bag, and removed the white board and colored pens. It was an erasable calendar, just like the one my mother used in our kitchen. I began to write, filling in each date with meals that could be made from the ingredients we’d bought that afternoon. When I was done, I peeled the stickers off
the magnets on the back of the board, and stuck it to the fridge.

  “Ta da!” I stepped back to admire my handiwork.

  Heather looked up from folding empty grocery bags, and stood beside me. She raised one eyebrow.

  “Wow, Mia. That’s kind of amazing.” Brynn burst into a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

  “Thanks.” I grinned back. “Will you please get out four chicken breasts, two eggs, and the breadcrumbs? I’ll start breading so we can eat soon.”

  “Sure.” As Brynn pulled out items, I cracked the eggs into a bowl and began whisking them smooth. Heather stood, still staring at the list.

  “This thing is intense.” Heather blinked.

  I shrugged. “It’s just a menu.”

  “And a chore chart. And it’s color coded.”

  “The chores are just a suggestion.” I flushed. “We can trade later, or come up with another system. This was just how we did it at my boarding school—saved fights, when everybody knew what to expect.”

  Charlotte came into the kitchen and furrowed her brow at the whiteboard. “This looks scary.”

  “Mia meal planned,” Heather explained.

  Brynn held up a frying pan, a question in her eyes. I nodded. “We need that. Add a little oil to it and set the burner to medium, please.”

  “Deal.” Brynn did as I instructed. “What do the colors mean?”

  “They’re our designated cooking nights, the ones we picked in the car. But we can always switch if our schedules change.”

  “We can give it a go,” Charlotte said agreeably.

  “You have a side column for who’s doing dishes, and who’s cleaning bathrooms, and who tidies common areas on weekends.” Heather took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “If it’s too much, we can erase that. I’m not trying to push my cleaning schedule on you; we can figure that part out later,” I hurried to explain. It had worked for us at Tottenham, but I didn’t want to come off as overly pushy.

  Heather tilted her head. “Not sure how I feel about a cleaning chart. But can you make me a study schedule?”

  “You’re pre-Med.” I laughed. “I doubt you need my help studying.”

  “No,” Heather agreed. “But I need help organizing my time. I want to volunteer at a clinic, but I’m trying to cram my course work into three-and-a-half years so I can do a semester with Doctors Without Borders before I graduate. And I’m not sure I can carry a full load of classes and volunteer.”

  “Hmm.” I battered a chicken breast in breadcrumbs before placing it delicately in the hot oil, then filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. “We can work out a schedule for you tonight. I’m sure we can clear a few hours on the weekend for you to volunteer somewhere.”

  Brynn bounded to the cabinet and filled water glasses. “What about you Charlotte? What are your plans for the semester?”

  “Classes, boys, shopping, more boys, and my internship.” Charlotte straightened a spoon on the table.

  “You have an internship already?” My brows shot up as I added noodles to the now-boiling water.

  “My parents own an art gallery in San Francisco, and they know someone up here,” Charlotte explained. “It’s super part-time, maybe ten hours a week, but I’m excited.”

  Well, butter my toast. Classes hadn’t even started and Charlotte was already working in her dream field. And Jason thought I was type A.

  Brynn’s phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket to check the screen. “It’s Henrik. I’ll be right back.”

  “Ooh, Henrik!” Charlotte teased. Brynn turned and beamed at us as she ducked out of the kitchen.

  “He’s cute,” I drawled, as I poured some sauce into a small pan and left it covered on the stove to simmer.

  “He’s gorge,” Heather chimed in. “Just friends, sure.”

  “Wonder how long that’ll last.” Charlotte grinned.

  “Probably not as long as she thinks.” I transferred the chicken to a baking dish, covered it with the remaining tomato sauce, and added a generous amount of cheese across the top before sticking the entire thing in the oven. “Time to parmesan. About four more minutes on the noodles.”

  “Four minutes?” Brynn poked her head into the kitchen. “Great. Be right back.” She ran down the hallway and opened the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

  “What the…?” Heather walked to the window and peeked outside. “Mmm-hmm.”

  Charlotte and I crossed to her side and poked our heads around the curtain. Outside, Henrik stood next to a jeep. I craned my neck to see if anyone else was in the car, and tried to ignore the disappointment that settled over me when I saw Tyr wasn’t with him. Instead, I watched as Henrik handed Brynn a package. She beamed up at him.

  “Aw. He brought her a present!”

  “Wonder what it is. Oh. Move.” Heather pushed us back to the table as Henrik turned toward the window. He didn’t need to see three curious faces pressed against the glass. We could interrogate Brynn when she came inside.

  “Act natural,” Charlotte hissed. She and Heather pulled out chairs and feigned nonchalance while I gave the noodles one final stir. By the time the front door clicked open, our giggles were somewhat under control.

  “I saw you guys.” Brynn rolled her eyes as she came into the kitchen.

  “Us?” Charlotte batted her eyelashes. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Subtle,” Brynn deadpanned. She grabbed something off the counter and slipped it into her pocket. I was too focused on not burning myself on the noodles to see what it was.

  “Serving up in a couple minutes, ladies,” I announced.

  “Great.” Brynn raced up the stairs while I stirred the remaining pasta sauce. By the time I’d plated the pasta and the chicken on two big platters for the table, Brynn was back in the kitchen. She leaned over the counter and held up my phone. “Looks like you missed a call, Mia. Who’s Jason?”

  “My brother. I’ll call him later. Go sit down.” I shooed her to the table.

  She picked up her water glass. “I’m starving. Can I help dish up?”

  “Nope. It’s family style.” I carried the dishes to the table and winked at my roommates. “Unless you want to tell us what Henrik gave you.”

  “Uh, nothing.”

  Knowing prevarication when I saw it, I raised my cup to divert the attention off Brynn. “To college life. And to dinners with new friends.”

  “Hear, hear,” Charlotte agreed.

  “Skål,” Brynn chimed in. “Cheers.”

  We clinked our glasses together. It wasn’t the Sunday night dinner I was used to—the one with Mama’s pot roast, Grandpa’s bad jokes, and Jason and me fork-fighting over the last slice of Meemaw’s mud pie. But this could be a different kind of family, and, I hoped, the start of a new kind of tradition. After all, Jason always said change was the first rung on the ladder of growth. And so far, my brother hadn’t steered me wrong.

  I winked at Brynn and brought my glass to my lips. “Skål.”

  ****

  At zero-dark-thirty on Monday morning, I laced up my running shoes and stepped outside. The air smelled fresh and crisp, like the tang of a freshly picked Macintosh. It was still early enough in the year that there was a sliver of light at this hour, but it wouldn’t be long before my morning jogs required streetlights for illumination.

  At the edge of our porch, I paused. The prudent thing to do would be to jog through the neighborhood and around campus. I was alone, I hadn’t brought the mace I’d promised Daddy I’d keep on me at all times, and I didn’t know what kinds of animals might be scouting for breakfast at this hour. Even though a couple of days had passed, the animal/mountain man hallucination was disturbingly vivid. But nothing had actually happened, and it would have been silly to let some weird nightmare keep me from those gorgeous jogging trails forever. Besides, if Google was to be believed, the trails behind my house were really popular hiking spots. People drove from all
over California to see this particular patch of Redwoods. If there were a legitimate danger, Hikers.com wouldn’t boast so many glowing recommendations.

  I’d just follow a different trail this time. No need to trigger any freaky flashbacks.

  I hung a left at the end of our driveway and headed toward the woods. The pavement turned to dirt, and my running shoes padded softly on the dusty surface as I inhaled forest air. The redwoods smelled of calm—pine, and dirt, and moss, and earth. The vibe was almost majestic.

  According to Google, this particular path should loop through the woods, creating a five-mile track that came out just above campus. As promised, it started as a gentle slope. I lowered my head as I jogged up the hill. It didn’t look difficult, but half a mile up, my calves were enveloped in a healthy burn. I ignored the sensation, and distracted myself with the first thought that came into my head. The image of Tyr offering me his hand wasn’t particularly helpful, so I focused on circular breathing instead, inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. When I neared the top of the hill, I glanced up.

  And immediately wished I hadn’t.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath. A familiar silhouette stood at the top of the hill, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. His back was to me, but his unnatural height, broad shoulders, and air of confidence left little doubt as to his identity. Cheese and crackers.

  Since I wasn’t awake enough to exchange fake pleasantries, I skidded to a stop and took a step back. A twig snapped under my feet. Tyr pulled his shoulders back and turned his head. The hood of his sweatshirt covered his hair, but his piercing blue gaze bore down on me from the top of the hill. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he gave a tight nod.

  “Hei hei, Mia. Going somewhere?”

  “Just out for a run.” I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if there was any graceful way to hightail it out of the forest.

  “Mmm.” Tyr didn’t move. Instead, he stared into the woods like he was surveying the woods for threats.