by K. A. Tucker
With a startled gasp, I peel away from Jonah’s mouth and look over to find a shirtless Björn ambling toward the kitchen, his eyes half-closed, his steps heavy with sleep.
Fumbling for the wool blanket stretched across the back of the couch, I quickly wrap it around our naked bodies, and then offer Jonah a scathing glare.
Jonah tips his head back to watch his stepfather dig a glass out of the cupboard and go to the fridge to fill it with water from the Brita. “I don’t think he saw us,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice as we huddle on the couch, naked other than the blanket, and in a compromising position.
I don’t think Björn is even fully awake. He casually scratches his round belly as he gulps a full glass of water. He then fills it up again and shuts the fridge, muttering something in Norwegian as he wanders back toward the stairs.
I hold my breath.
Just before he takes that first step, he turns to the couch and sees us there, silently watching him, and there is no way a lucid adult would not be able to put two and two together and realize what he interrupted.
“Nice hat,” he mutters and then eases back upstairs, using the rail to help him.
My cheeks burn with mortification. “I can’t believe that happened.” Did he see us on his way down and pretend that he didn’t? Did he know we were here, naked, the whole time and decide the least awkward handling of the situation would be to ignore us?
What exactly did Björn see?
Jonah lets out a heavy sigh of relief that I don’t feel at the moment. “Where were we?”
“Going to shower.” I climb off Jonah’s lap, taking the blanket with me to wrap around my nude body.
“Fucking Björn,” I hear Jonah grumble as I scamper up the steps.
Chapter Six
“You know, when I was a kid, we had a golden retriever who waited at the window for my mom to come home,” Jonah notes.
I cast a glare over my shoulder and catch Astrid delivering a soft whack against his biceps before she moves her game piece. Along with a gingerbread house—what she keeps calling the pepperkake—Astrid brought a suitcase full of housewarming gifts, including an advent candle that is burning in the corner of the living room, an ugly little Christmas gnome that is supposed to bring good luck and is sitting next to Ethel’s raven and goose-wife carving, and several jars of edible things for Christmas Eve that I can’t identify and most certainly won’t eat.
But what excited Jonah most was the Swords and Shields board game that he and Astrid are facing off at now. It’s the same one they used to spend hours playing when he was young.
“Come on. Why don’t you sit down?” Jonah pats the space on the couch beside him. Not too far over, Björn snores softly in the reclining chair he seems to have claimed as his own. He hasn’t made any reference to last night’s intrusion, and I can’t decide if it’s because he wasn’t aware what he’d walked in on or if even Björn has an ounce of tact.
“They were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago, and she’s not responding to any of my texts.” It’s dark. Far darker than anything they’re used to driving around Toronto’s brightly lit streets.
“Her phone probably died.”
“So then she’d used Simon’s phone.”
“Maybe his died, too.”
“Simon travels with battery packs.”
Jonah pauses in his move to give me an exasperated look. “I don’t know what to tell you, except they’ll be here. It’s a two-hour drive from Anchorage, it’s snowing, and they don’t know where they’re going, so they’ll be driving slow, but they’ll be here, Calla.”
I refocus my attention out the window, to the pitch-dark broken only by the white twinkle lights we stung around the porch. It’ll be a year tomorrow since Mom and Simon dropped me off at Pearson with my one-way ticket in hand. Sure, we talk and text regularly, and FaceTime often enough, but a screen can’t replace sitting across from real-life Simon while he sips his tea and doles out wisdom, and no matter how many times I inhale, I’ll never catch a whiff of my mother’s floral perfume through the phone line.
I knew I’d miss them when I left.
I didn’t realize how much.
Finally, I spot the dull beam of light, followed by two glowing orbs slowly moving up our driveway. My squeal awakens a dozing Björn as I rush through the living room to the door, throw on my bulky coat and boots, and charge outside. I slip and nearly wipe out on the snowy path as I rush to where the SUV comes to a stop.
“You would not believe the time we had at the rental place,” my mother exclaims in a flurry, sliding out of the passenger seat. “They tried to sell us an upgrade, and when we said we didn’t need an upgrade, they tried to downgrade us to a minivan—a minivan! On these roads!—because they didn’t have the SUV we requested. Can you believe that? Oh my gosh, I’m tired. Come here.” Mom ropes her arms around my neck and pulls me in tight to her. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I return the long embrace, exhaling at the first hint of her perfume. It’s a bit like the nostalgia of coming home. “Looks like it all worked out, though?”
“Oh, this?” She waves a gloved hand at the BMW. “Well, yes, I suggested that if they can’t accommodate our reservation, they’d better give us the next best thing for the same price.”
“Your mother has a funny way of ‘suggesting’ things.” Simon pulls his knit hat over his balding head as he rounds the hood of the SUV. “I’m surprised we didn’t leave there in handcuffs. No matter, though. We’re here now.”
I dive into Simon’s lanky body, my eyes burning with overwhelming joy at having them both here after waiting so long.
The front door creaks open and Jonah climbs down the front stairs without a coat, his boots unlaced. “Susan, Simon, good to see you again.” He envelops my mother in a hug that makes her laugh with surprise and then reaches for Simon’s hand to give it a firm shake. “We’re happy you made it.”
“I’m used to more streetlights at night. I had my eyes peeled for a moose.” Simon pops the trunk.
“You’ll see one around here in the morning. Here, I got ’em.”
“They’re heavy,” he warns. “Susan packed.”
Jonah hauls two of the three suitcases out. “How’s this thing in snow, anyway? Better than Calla’s Jeep, I’m guessing?”
My head falls back with a groan.
“What’s wrong with Calla’s Jeep?” My mother frowns at it.
“Nothing is wrong with it. He wants me in a tank.” I shoot an exasperated look at Jonah. He’s relentless.
“At least you wouldn’t be able to drive too fast in that.” He smirks on his way past me and up the path, effortlessly carrying the two cases by the handles, one in each hand.
“My future son-in-law certainly is strong,” Mom murmurs, appreciation in her voice.
Simon grunts as he struggles to heave the last suitcase out of the SUV. “Obviously, he took the much lighter ones.”
I wake to a grating sound, followed by silence, and then again that noisy rattle for another moment before more silence. I smile. Simon is attempting to grind fresh coffee beans without disturbing the entire household. It’s what he does whenever he forgets to prepare them the night before.
I’m eager to get to the kitchen and enjoy my first Simon-served latte in a year. I’ve been anticipating this moment for months.
Beside me, Jonah stirs momentarily at the pulsing sound but then settles again. It’s almost nine a.m. He’s always up by now, stoking the fire and checking the weather reports for the day. But I guess the last week of poor sleep in anticipation of everyone’s arrival has finally caught up to him.
The nightstand clock casts just enough light that I can make out the lines of his handsome face, peacefully boyish in sleep. I study it now, though I’ve long since memorized every detail of it—the mannish cut of his jawline, the curve of the scar across his forehead, the new scar above his eyebrow, the long fringe of lashes a sh
ade darker than his ash-blond hair, the crinkle lines at the corners of his eyes that seem more prominent now than they were when we first met. They only add to his attractiveness.
What will Jonah look like in five? Ten? Twenty years from now?
Still handsome, I’m sure. Probably more so, regardless of the wrinkles and scars that he’ll earn, chasing children on the ground and miles in the air.
“I can feel you staring at me,” Jonah suddenly croaks, a second before his eyelid cracks open. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Because you’re so pretty.”
With a deep groan, he shifts to climb on top of me, fitting his body between my thighs. One hand reaches down to tug my pajama bottoms off.
“Simon is right below us!” I whisper harshly. They probably all are. They’re all suffering from jet lag.
“Then don’t scream like you usually do.” Jonah slides off his boxer briefs. His skin is hot against mine as he pushes inside me without any foreplay. Neither of us seems to need it this morning, though.
The bed creaks noisily as his hips begin moving.
“Shhh!” I scold, but I can’t help the giggle that escapes.
Jonah thrusts harder in answer, and I press my mouth against his shoulder to muffle my moan.
Below us, the coffee grinder whirrs. This time, it keeps going.
The sun has crested the horizon and is pouring through our bay window, casting our house in a warm morning glow, when I reach the landing—well over an hour later than I intended when I first woke up.
“… I always recommend ranunculus and peonies. They’re timeless.”
“Hmm. Yes, you are right. Those are lovely.”
Mom and Astrid are sitting side by side at the kitchen counter, surrounded by a medley of scattered wedding magazines. They’re both dressed for the day, Astrid in a crisp white button-down top and jeans, my mother in a stylish cranberry-colored cable-knit sweater and black leggings. While I wouldn’t call them opposites, Astrid has a much more simplistic style.
“Oh, good morning, honey! Hope you slept well,” Mom offers, sharing a secretive, amused look with Astrid from above the rim of her latest reading glasses—she updates her frames each spring—before refocusing on her magazine.
My cheeks flush. At least they seem to be getting along. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”
“Indeed it does!” Simon echoes, pausing momentarily in his task at the stove to flash me a smile. “Give me a sec and I’ll whip you up a latte.”
I frown. “You sure you can manage it?” I can’t remember the last time I saw Simon cook anything beyond instant mashed potatoes. Yet, every burner is occupied with a pan or pot, the smell of bacon permeating the air. He’s even donned one of my Christmas aprons over his standard sweater-vest-and-slacks outfit.
“Of course! Low and slow is the ticket.” Simon gives the hash browns a swirl with a wooden spoon before shaking off his oven mitts.
“Since you’ve moved out, Simon has rediscovered his passion for cooking,” my mom informs me through a sip of her frothy beverage, adding dryly, “He’s also on his third cup of coffee this morning.”
“Third,” I echo, my eyebrows arching. His limit has always been one, and Simon’s nothing if not a creature of habit. “That explains a lot.”
“I’ll have another. Astrid,” Björn calls from his spot in the recliner, his attention riveted on the novel in his meaty grasp. He squints against the blinding sun while holding out his ceramic mug, as if expecting her to retrieve it.
Astrid doesn’t hesitate, shifting to leave her stool.
But I’m already on my feet and closer. “I’ve got it.” I veer toward the idle man in my living room.
Björn looks up from his page and appears momentarily startled to see me. “Oh. Okay. Black, please.”
“Hmm-hmm.” I saunter toward the coffee pot.
“What’s wrong, your legs don’t work, Björn?” Jonah casually throws out on his way down the stairs, fresh from his shower. There’s no bite to his tone, but I give him a warning look, anyway.
“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, smoothing an affectionate hand across the small of my back as he passes me, heading for Astrid. He leans down to drop a quick kiss on her forehead. “Better night of sleep, Mom?”
She beams as she peers up at him. “Yes. The twin beds are nice. I don’t have to deal with his tossing and turning.”
“And how about you two?” He looks between Simon and my mother, his eyebrows raised in question.
“Like a baby on Ambien,” my mother muses, holding up her magazine to show me a chic barn decked out in white lights and floral arrangements. “What do you think about this venue, Calla? It’s a vineyard in the County. That’s an up-and-coming wine region in Ontario,” she adds for Jonah’s and Astrid’s benefit, her green eyes flittering between them. “They only allow a few weddings a year, but I know the owners. I’ll bet if I contacted them, they would be more than happy to accommodate you two.”
“We haven’t decided where we’re getting married yet,” I remind her as calmly as I can. I was hoping to at least have my coffee in hand before she started in on this. “And the County is two hours outside of Toronto. Everyone would have to travel there.”
“Well, yes, I’m aware, but it’s much easier than your family and friends flying to Alaska, honey.” She’s using that coaxing tone, the one she pulls out when she’s trying to convince me to see that she’s right.
Simon clears his throat.
“Of course, there’s Jonah’s family to think of, too,” she rushes to add, looking to Astrid. “How much family do you have in Norway?”
“Oh, well …” Astrid slides off her black-rimmed reading glasses. “There is my one brother, Arne, and his wife and daughters, and my other brother, Oddvar. He has three children and four grandchildren. No, five grandchildren now. And there’s my one surviving uncle on my mother’s side …”
She rhymes off names as I top Björn’s mug with fresh black coffee and then hold out the pot, offering to fill Jonah’s mug for him.
“Great. A bunch of strangers at our wedding,” Jonah murmurs under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.
“They’re not all strangers. You know Björn’s kids,” I tease, waiting for his scowl.
It comes almost immediately while taking his first sip.
“I’ve mentioned this to Calla before but, with guests spread out from Alaska to Norway, it would make far more sense to choose a central location for the wedding. Like Toronto. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Astrid’s brow furrows. “I suppose so.”
“See, kids?” Mom smiles triumphantly.
“Mom …” I warn. She’s pushing too hard.
“Or they could get married in Oslo,” Astrid counters, flipping through pages of wedding dresses. “Right, vennen?” I note the edge of challenge in her tone. Is she suggesting this because it’s what she’d prefer, or because she suddenly feels the need to have an equal voice in her only son’s wedding?
“I don’t think …” My mom’s brow furrows. She wasn’t expecting that answer. “Well, I guess it’ll be easier to figure out once they choose a date and we draft a guest list. See where the majority of people are located. Agreed?”
Astrid nods slowly. “That sounds prudent.”
I meet Jonah’s gaze and find him smirking. We both know that no matter how many names Astrid produces, my mother will double that number and they’ll all be Toronto based.
And all of this is a moot point because neither of them is deciding where Jonah and I are getting married!
“You know, there’s a way to avoid all this,” he reminds me. He must see the ire in my eyes.
“It’s tempting at the moment,” I admit.
“What’s tempting?” my mother asks.
“Nothing,” Jonah and I say in unison.
Simon holds out an extra crispy slice of bacon with a set of tongs for me. “I think you and Jonah should decide what’s best for you,
and we will help make that happen. Right, Susan?”
If he feels her scathing glare at his back, he ignores it, smiling wide at us.
“Thank you—hey!” I squeal as Jonah intercepts the piece. I snatch it from his grasp with a glower, earning his playful grin.
“Is my coffee ready?” Björn hollers from the living room.
That playful grin evaporates instantly. Jonah opens his mouth—no doubt to offer a confrontational retort.
I shove the slice of bacon into his mouth to shut him up, capping it off with a finger waggle of warning.
“Here, I’ll take that.” Astrid holds out her hands to collect Björn’s mug from me.
“Calla, where did you say those eggs were?” Simon holds out an open carton with only one egg inside.
“Bottom shelf. I bought two dozen on Friday.”
“Oh, I used those,” Astrid says, setting Björn’s coffee on the table beside him before patting his shoulder with affection.
“All of them?”
“Well, yes. The Kvæfjordkake and Karamellpudding alone take a dozen eggs. The risengrynsgrøt doesn’t have any, but then there’s the …” Astrid names several dishes I can’t interpret, leaving Simon to scratch his chin as he studies the pans on the stove and the lonely egg.
I sigh. “I’ll run over to Roy’s and see if I can get a few more from him.”
“I don’t want you to go to all that trouble—”
“It’s just down the road. Ten minutes at most. No big deal.” Normally, it wouldn’t be. Who knows what kind of reception I’ll get after our fight the other night.
“If you’re sure.”
“That we can’t have Simon’s world-famous, English-style eggs-and-bacon breakfast without eggs?” I head for the coat hooks and slip on my winter jacket. “Besides, I have to drop off Roy’s Christmas gifts to him.”
“You want me to come with you?” Jonah offers.
I can’t tell if he’s offering because he wants to get away from all the wedding pressure or because he knows I’m nervous about Roy. Either way, it’s best if I approach the curmudgeon on my own. “I’m good.”