by L. R. Olson
A waiter steps in front of me, a tray in hand. “Something to drink, Miss?”
I shake my head, and dart around him, frantic to escape. Why does the door seem so far away? I can’t breathe, my chest feels tight. I refuse to have a panic attack here.
On the front steps I finally pause to take a breath. A soft, cool rain is falling. Puddles shimmer like obsidian under the street lights. Everything smells musty and clean. I tilt my head back and relax my shoulders. Pure relief. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’m not worried. Despite being dark, the street is busy enough that I know I’ll find a cab.
“Hope,” Christian calls out.
Shit. No sly escape for me. “Yeah, hey,” I say, starting down the steps, not daring to turn and meet his gaze. “I’m not feeling well. I’m just going to go.”
He grabs my hand, his fingers so strong and sure, I sort of hate him. “It’s raining. Wait here, I’ll get a cab.”
But he doesn’t leave and we stand there on the stairs, staring into each other’s eyes. Is he going to pressure me to stay? No, because he’s Christian and he doesn’t ever pressure. He’s too damn respectful. Hell, maybe I was delusional to imagine I could have a one-night stand with this guy. Why did I have to pick him? Why?
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I said anything negative about your father.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “No. Don’t be.”
The rain thickens. My dress is getting soaked. A fine sheen of water covers my arms and legs and I’m starting to shiver from cold. He’s soaked too, and it’s ruining his suit. Still, we don’t move. I have this horrible, wretched feeling that once I get into that cab, I’ll never see him again. “You seemed…upset.”
He reaches out, resting his hands on my upper arms, his fingers so damn warm. Water trails down the harsh planes of his face, highlighting the masculine angles. “You think that’s what upset me?”
I give a little shrug. “What else?”
“Hell, no.” He rakes his hands through his hair, slicking it back. “I’m upset because you’re leaving tomorrow. You’re right about my father.”
My breath catches. He’s upset about me leaving? “Oh.”
He paces in front of me, flustered and confused in a way he’s never been. “You overheard us talking, didn’t you?”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep warm. I know with my weakened immune system I shouldn’t be at a damn party anyway, nor should I be standing out in the cold rain, but I can’t seem to leave. “Maybe.”
He curses in Danish again and turns his back to me. His shoulders are stiff, his anger palpable. He hates his father. It’s something he’ll have to deal with for the rest of his life, but I won’t be here to offer him support. He turns to face me again, shrugs off his jacket and places it around my shoulders. It smells like him. I have to resist the urge to bring it close and breathe deeply.
“I wondered why he switched to English.”
I stiffen. “You mean he knew I was there?”
“Most likely. Everything he does is planned.” His white dress shirt is getting wet, and clinging to his chest. His jaw is clenched, his gaze dark. He’s all but admitting his father is an ass. “I’m the one who is sorry.”
I don’t understand this world. I don’t understand these games. Frankly, I don’t want to understand. I leave tomorrow. Which, at this point, is probably a good thing. We were getting too serious. It needs to end. So why am I not hailing a cab? “It’s okay.”
He’s so close he’s practically blocking the rain with his tall body, broad shoulders. “I guess we both have less than ideal fathers. Yours abandoned you, and…is it horrible to say I wish mine would?”
Before I can respond, he takes my hand and leads me under an awning of the building next door. He releases my hand only to wrap his arms around me. “I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”
I close my eyes and press my face to his shoulder. Because I want to memorize every detail, I breathe in the scent of rain and his cologne. His hands are moving up and down my back. Comforting. Soothing.
“Christian, my dad didn’t abandon us.”
His hands pause. “What do you mean?”
“He died…of cancer.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m so sorry.”
My voice is muffled against his chest, but I don’t want to move. I want to hide away within his arms. “You know when he found out, he didn’t tell us. He just left for two weeks. I was young, I had no idea what had happened. He came here. I guess he just needed to get away. To learn to accept it.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s my fault. I should’ve explained. It’s just that when something defines you most of your life, sometimes you just want to pretend it doesn’t exist. Start over.”
He cups the sides of my face and forces me to look up at him. “I understand.”
And I know he does because he’s kind and caring, and is completely empathetic about everything. His thumb brushes my lower lip. I close my eyes and sigh. He pulls me close, resting his chin atop my head. For a long time we stand there, his arms wrapped around me, as the rain falls, pattering on the overhang above us. And I wish I could ignore the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow. Ignore the sting of tears that dare to burn.
“I don’t want you to go,” he repeats.
We can’t stand here forever. It has to end, and I’m going to have to be the person who ends it. I force myself to smile and step back from him. Distance. We need distance. “Christian, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
He rests his hands on his slim hips, looking out over the streets. “Yeah, about that…”
Shivering, I pull the lapels of his jacket closer, huddling within the warmth. “What?”
He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes lock on mine. “Why not stay with me in Norway? I can go home early…”
I turn, starting back toward the road, startled by fear, and a hope I don’t want to dwell on. My heart is thundering so loudly I barely hear him call out to me. “No. That’s crazy. We just met.”
He catches up to me. “I have a small cottage in Stavanger. You’d love it there. I have roommates, but there’s an extra room. I don’t expect you to stay in my bed—”
“You’re serious?” I stop and face him fully. “You want a woman you just met staying with you?”
He gives me that lopsided grin as if he realizes how insane this is, but doesn’t care. “A week…right? Then you’re off to Sweden. I can show you my country.”
I don’t respond because I’m too stunned to speak. Stay with Christian? In his home? Is he insane? Or…is he brilliant? I can’t. I won’t. So why is the thought working its giddy way through my mind? I won’t have to say goodbye. One more week.
He lifts his hand, hailing a cab, his gaze flickering from me to the road and back. “Just think about it. Will you?”
This is a bad, bad idea. It’s stupid. It’s horrible judgement. My mom would freak out. I can’t. I won’t. “Okay, sure,” I say, just to appease him. “I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow.”
He gets the hint. I’m not asking him back to my place tonight, and I’m not going to readily agree to his insane offer. He takes my hand as the taxi slows next to the curb. I don’t want to say goodbye, and maybe he senses that. Or maybe he, too, doesn’t want to say goodbye. He kisses me gently, and then opens the cab door.
“It’s just a week, Hope. Just a week.”
But I know how much damage can be done in a week. It’s been only two weeks and I’ve fallen so very hard, so very deeply for him. I start to shrug off his jacket.
He steps back, his hands in his pockets. “No. Take it.”
With his coat still wrapped around me, I slide inside the warm, dry interior of the cab. The door closes. But like the gentleman he is, he hands the driver money, speaking to him in Danish. I should reject his offer to pay, but I don’t. I just want to get home. To be alone.
To think. He’s still standing there in the rain, watching, as the cab drives away.
With a sigh, I settle back against the seat and close my eyes.
No way.
As tempting as the offer is, no way am I going to Norway with a man I met two weeks ago. I might be a lot of things, but I am definitely not insane.
Chapter 10
Travel to Norway
Travel to Norway with Scandinavian Hottie
I’m definitely insane.
As we’re taking a taxi through Stavanger, Norway, I wonder for the hundredth time what the hell I’m doing. Last night I had been so determined that Christian and I would go our separate ways, this hadn’t even been a possibility. Yet, somehow I ended up here…now.
I can’t stay with him another week and not tell him the truth about my cancer. But how do you tell the guy you’ve given your virginity to, the guy you’re living with (if only temporarily) that you have a terminal disease?
Oh, by the way…
“Oil is the main support of the town,” he explains. “Hence all the ships and platforms you can see not far from shore.”
Oil. He’s been talking for ten minutes about oil. My chest feels tight and I’m near to panicking, but I have a smile on my face as if I’m actually listening to him talk about freaking oil.
He’s holding my hand, but I can feel the tension between us. No doubt, he does too. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, that crease between his brows. Is he actually nervous? And that’s when I realize maybe I’m not the only one rethinking this trip. He’s either anxious, or way more interested in oil than a guy should be. Any other time, I would have found it amusing.
If my mom realizes I’m staying with a man I just met, she will blow her top. Hell, she’ll board the first flight and stage an intervention. And maybe she should, because I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my damn mind. The crazy thing is that I’m not even positive how this happened. What if his roommates hate me? What if they think I’m weird? And why the hell do I even care?
Last night I’d told Gabrielle everything. Without asking me if I’d accept his offer, she’d started packing for me. And for some reason, I didn’t stop her. She knew before I’d even known, that I would accept.
I’d hardly slept. When he text’d me at six to ask if I was going, I typed back a simple “yes.” He showed up an hour later, waiting patiently while Gabby and I shared a tearful goodbye. Since then, I’ve been working on auto-pilot, barely aware of where I’m going, what I’m doing. I don’t miss the glances Christian keeps throwing my way. He’s concerned. He should be. I want to demand the driver stop, so I can jump out of the car, and hightail it back to Denmark. Want to fast forward through today so things are normal again.
“Right here is fine,” he calls out to the driver.
The man pulls to a stop alongside a road. To the left is the wharf, where a cruise ship is docked. On the other side is a small hill covered with little white houses. In the backdrop are tall high-rise buildings and apartments that look strangely out of place next to these historical homes. I admit my interest peaks. Christian lives here? In this cute little village surrounded by modern technology?
Christian pays the driver, then helps me out of the car. He smiles at me. A truly happy smile that reaches down into my soul, touches me, and I can’t help but smile back. He’s not anxious. He’s excited I’m here, thrilled to show me his town.
He’s different here, I realize. More relaxed. No cold ice lurking within the blue of his eyes. This is where he grew up. This is where he can be himself. A soft rain is falling, but I don’t mind. The mist comforts and cools me.
I start to hike my pack upon my shoulders, but he takes it, throwing it on his broad back instead, while lifting his own bag. “What do you think?”
We start up a cobbled road. “I love it.”
“I knew you would.” He smiles, pleased with himself. Perhaps he does know me. “Was actually my grandparent’s home, but they left it to me.”
They must have been close. We make our way through tourist groups, up a steep incline of a narrow, cobbled road. A variety of brilliant flowers are in bloom in small gardens surrounded by white picket fences. It’s so perfect, it looks like the set of a movie.
“The cottages are mostly from the 1800s.”
As I start to relax, my panic eases, and my attention is swept up into my environment. It’s like I’ve stepped into a magical world of quaint fairy-tale homes, flowers and cobbled lanes. This is the Europe I was hoping for. “You live in one of these?”
“Yes. The tourists can get a bit annoying at times, but it’s fun to be around so much energy, so many different people.”
He’s an extrovert. He loves life. He loves people. He makes friends wherever he goes. I’m the opposite. At the top of the hill we stop in front of a small, white house with a blue door. Was I more of an extrovert before the cancer? I remember fun, friends. I remember going to movies and skating rinks. But my childhood before the illness is a vague memory. A dream.
We move up the front stoop. Christian unlocks the door and we step inside. It’s much larger than I assumed. A small foyer opens into a large kitchen and living room. A narrow set of stairs dissects the two areas. The wooden floors are scuffed with age, the walls brilliant white. Beams cross the ceiling, breaking up the monotonous color. Instead of looking boring…it looks so very clean and Scandinavian.
He calls out a greeting in Norwegian, his voice echoing through the house. We move from the foyer into the kitchen. Coffee is brewing, the bitter scent filling the air. It’s comforting in its normalcy. The same scent I wake up to at home.
“Christian!” A woman in skimpy shorts and t-shirt races down the stairs and throws her arms around his neck. They speak in French, oddly enough, leaving me to stand there once again confused and feeling slightly left out.
“Hope, this is Audrey, one of my roommates.”
He has a female roommate? I smile even though I’m not sure how to feel. She’s still got her arms around his neck. I contemplate pointing that out, but don’t think it will win me any awards. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”
She nods, a lock from her pixie cut falling across her forehead. She’s cute and exotic all at once. “You as well.”
She also has a French accent that gives her a sexy vibe I could never replicate. She’s studying me curiously, as if trying to understand our relationship. I wonder what Christian has told her.
“What the bloody hell is all the racket?” someone yells. The great, booming voice bouncing down the narrow stairs is from Australia. “Is the house on fire, because that’s the only justifiable reason for this noise.”
A monster of a man stumbles down the steps; he looks half asleep. He’s wearing only boxers, and rubbing his eyes. While Christian is all tall, lean, fit, this man is a giant. Blonde hair, bulging muscles, probably 6’4.” Holy hell, I’ve found Thor.
“And this is Max, Audrey’s boyfriend and my other roommate.”
He smiles groggily, a charming grin that actually makes him look boyish, despite his size. “Hello.”
Boyfriend. Audrey has a boyfriend and she’s finally torn herself from Christian’s side and heads to Max. The relief I feel is entirely uncalled for, and I hate myself for being happy that this female roommate is attached.
Almost immediately the ribbing starts. Max claims Christian has become a pansy Danish man since going to University. Christian says Max is just a muscle meat-head who doesn’t understand anything outside of the pub where he works. Audrey merely shakes her head, as she moves to the coffee maker.
These two roommates are so different from the people I met at the museum benefit. They’re open and lively and actually nice. Christian’s friends are the complete opposite of his family and his father’s acquaintances. Maybe he doesn’t choose to be around Kirstin, but he does choose these people. These happy, kind, caring, fun people are the real Christian.
‘You’re here for a week?” Audrey asks as she pulls mugs
from a cupboard, sparing glances at me.
I nod. “Then off to Sweden.”
“Unless I talk her out of it,” Christian says, surprising me. He leans over and kisses my cheek, then takes the mug Audrey offers. I’m too stunned to reply, and sink onto a bar stool near the counter. He wants me to stay longer? Maybe he’s just joking.
“Nothing to see in Sweden anyway. Just really hot Alexander Skarsgard type guys.” Audrey pours a cup of coffee for me with a grin.
“Exactly,” Max says, slapping her on the bottom. “Which is why we’ve never gone.”
She turns and punches his arm. With a growl he jerks her close and kisses her. I’m watching the two interact, wishing I could have that sort of relationship, when I feel his attention. I might be watching Audrey and Max, but Christian is leaning against the counter, drinking his coffee, his gaze on me.
I give him a quick smile and sip my coffee, mostly to have something to do. Out the window of the kitchen I can see the tourists wandering the streets. I love it here. I could live here.
“Tea?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Coffee is growing on me.”
“I gotta get to work.” Audrey takes a last drink, then dumps her mug into the sink. “Can’t wait to see you guys later!”
She skips up the stairs, full of energy.
Max remains in the kitchen, joking with Christian. It’s pleasant here. Comfortable and warm. I realize that the bundle of nerves that had been knotting inside my stomach since we left Copenhagen have faded. While Max and Christian chat, I take the opportunity to explore.
Did he decorate the house himself? I move to the cozy living room. Large windows allow plenty of sunlight. A small, black piano sits polished in the corner of the room, while a fireplace dominates the opposite end. Although he continues to chat with Max, I can feel his gaze on me.
There’s only one picture in the living room, tucked away in the corner of a shelf. A younger Christian, standing with a pretty brunette. I smile reluctantly. He has a type. Was she someone who broke his heart? A first girlfriend?