“Fika?” She tried to pronounce it the same way as Greta had: fee-ka.
Greta laughed. “Good try. But you must know how to fika if you’re going to be a real Swede.”
“I’m not sure three weeks will turn me into a real Swede…”
“Ah, you never know.” She stood up and pushed in her chair. “It’s a start. Come on.”
Soon they were sitting at the table in the big guesthouse kitchen, with mugs of coffee and a selection of baked goods. Zoe breathed in the aroma of her coffee—hot, strong, and reviving—and sighed. “So good.”
Greta offered her a plate. “So. Fika is not just eating and drinking. It’s to slow down, take some time. Life is so busy, you must stop and enjoy the moment.”
She chose a sugar-topped kanelbulle. “That sounds very civilised.”
“It is.” Greta took a bun for herself. “But…maybe we don’t have to be civilised all the time. Sometimes we can be a little bit wild too.”
Zoe paused halfway to taking a bite. “Okay, now you have my attention.”
She smiled. “I have a party for you to go to.”
“Oh, that would be fun.” A bead of pearl sugar fell onto the plate, and she popped it into her mouth. “Maybe my Swedish will improve with a few drinks.”
“It usually works that way.” Greta laughed. “Malin asked me to invite you. It’s her birthday, but her husband isn’t here, so she decided to have a party for herself.”
“Oh, good on her,” Zoe said. She’d enjoyed spending time with Malin and her sweet girls yesterday. Malin seemed like someone who might be fun to have a few drinks with.
“I’m going to babysit the girls for the night, so I won’t go.” She didn’t look sad to miss out, just pleased at the prospect of playing grandma again, with Malin’s own mother apparently too far away. “I’ll go and get them this afternoon, so Malin can get everything ready.”
“It’s tonight? Is it okay for me to take the car then?”
She shook her head. “No, Jakob will drive you. I already asked him. You can’t drink anything at all if you want to drive, and we want you to have a good time.”
Zoe wasn’t sure that being accompanied to a party by a stone-cold sober Jakob would equal a good time, but she appreciated the thought. She hadn’t seen him since the visit to the sleigh, and she was starting to wonder if he was avoiding her…
Truthfully, she was half-and-half on whether she wanted to see him or not. The hopeful half kept thinking about those dark eyes, and how they’d sat so close in the sleigh, she could feel him breathe. But then the other half piped up with reasons to not let her mind go there. Judging by Greta’s comment, she was probably just one in a long line of female volunteers with crushes on him. Plus there was the whole angsty-and-brooding thing, which was usually guaranteed to make her roll her eyes. She didn’t suppose he’d be any better in the company of vodka-infused party people. She, on the other hand, would love that company, so maybe she’d just let him angst and brood to his heart’s content.
“If he doesn’t mind, that would be good.”
“Of course he doesn’t mind. I told him he didn’t.” Greta grinned. “He doesn’t like driving in bad weather, but there won’t be snow tonight.”
Ah. Hearing that, Zoe was pretty sure he did mind…but she didn’t mind that he did. A party would be a lot of fun, and maybe a chance for her to crack that reserve of his. The days were counting down, and she was determined to go back to The Shark with a result. To do that, she needed Jakob to let her in.
* * *
Later, she ate an early dinner with Bengt and Greta and the girls. They usually had whatever Greta had prepared for the guests, but ate comfortably in the guesthouse kitchen while the visitors dined in the high-ceilinged dining room. Tonight it was Swedish meatballs—a meal so cliché that Zoe had half expected it to be a myth. Cliché or not, they were delicious, accompanied with sweet-tart lingonberry sauce, and Lena and Ebba tucked in with glee alongside the adults.
After dinner, Zoe helped clean up, then went to get ready while Greta and Bengt took the little ones back to the house for bed. Walking back to her cabin, she laughed as she repeated the Swedish words Lena had taught her after dinner, puffing each one out in a miniature cloud.
Hej då. Banan. Tuggummi. Bajs. Goodbye. Banana. Bubble-gum. Poo.
Maybe she’d better get some grown-up input on her vocabulary.
The contents of her suitcase didn’t hold much party-wear, but she found skinny jeans and a glittery silver jumper. She’d thrown it in at Denise’s insistence, in case she met a ‘hot Swede’. At the time, she’d rolled her eyes, but now she was pleased she had—even though she wasn’t supposed to be getting entangled with any Swede, no matter how hot. The one guy who had caught her eye definitely qualified as that, but—probably luckily—her secret admiration seemed to be an entirely one-sided thing. Even so, she put on some makeup, and decided to risk the slippery London boots, for the sake of vanity. It was a party, after all.
By the time Jakob knocked, she was ready.
“Hej,” he said, when she opened the door. And smiled.
And there went her heart again.
Ten
As they walked from the cabins up to the garages by the house, Zoe felt a single snowflake land on her cheek. She reached up with a gloved finger and dotted it away, waiting for another one to land. Maybe Greta was wrong, and there would be snow tonight after all. But that was it. She looked over at Jakob, whose face was as austere as the sky again, giving nothing away. But, like the one snowflake, that smile had hinted at something more. Maybe, maybe, he wasn’t completely immune to her either. It was a satisfying thought.
“Maybe it’ll snow tonight after all,” she said to him.
But he frowned. “No. No snow tonight.” It sounded more like a dictate to the weather gods than disagreeing with her suggestion.
“No?” She shrugged. “Well, you know, the weather forecasters get it wrong something like sixty-two per cent of the time.”
He was unconvinced. “Where did you hear that?”
“On the internet, of course.”
“Well, if the internet says so…” He opened the car door for her, and she laughed as she got in.
“We’ll see,” she said. That one snowflake just might be a sign.
Malin’s place was on the outskirts of Lillavik, a two-storey, golden-yellow house worthy of Pippi Longstocking. Zoe smiled as they pulled up—it was nice to know that Lena and Ebba had such a charming home.
Judging by the music and voices as they went up the steps, the party was in full swing already. They added their boots to the pile in the entranceway, and went into the living room. And with just one glance, she could see that the vibe was the polar opposite of that supposed Swedish reserve. She felt herself relax, a smile spreading across her face. Seriously, she didn’t go to enough parties.
The room was lit with fairy lights and soft lamps, and candles sat in snowball-shaped glass holders on the coffee table. There were more candles on each of the deep windowsills, and the flickering light reflected in the glass. The music was loud enough that people were leaning close to talk to each other, or conversing loudly. Even though Zoe didn’t understand the snippets of conversation she caught, she did recognise a familiar word or two. Anyway, she’d spent large parts of her youth having people talk around and over her in a foreign language. It didn’t bother her. It was much the same as letting the PR-speak of her colleagues swirl around her head when she tuned them out.
The living room opened onto a dining area, where a table was set up so prettily that she wanted to take a photo of it. Small Swedish flags stood between vases of winter twigs entwined with white ribbon, the cutlery was chunky silver, and crystal glasses glittered in the warm light. Since she’d been here, she’d started to wish she was on Instagram after all, so she could share the gorgeousness she came across every day. Apart from the stunning scenery, there seemed to be an effortless style evident in everything, from Gr
eta’s wreath on the cabin door, to the way the women were so smooth-complexioned and high-cheekboned. With her uncooperative sort-of-red hair, and her neither elegant nor willowy figure, it all made her feel positively clunky, and she thought back to her chaotic London flat with shame.
To be fair though, with six of them elbowing their way around in what had originally been a three-bedroom flat, that place was never going to be in the running for a design magazine feature. With some creative and probably illegal construction work by the landlord, her own room had been carved out of a quarter of the living room and a slice of dining room. Anyway, as nice as it would be, she was hardly ever home to think about painting her floorboards, or stencilling a blanket box, or arranging snowball candles. The closest she got to Scandinavian style was the occasional trip to Ikea…maybe that counted for something?
Next to her, Jakob sighed, bringing her back to the moment. For a second she almost felt guilty that Greta had made him bring her. But then it passed. Wouldn’t it do him good to get out and relax, after all? Okay, he couldn’t have a drink—the Swedish drinking laws were brutally strict, Greta had explained—but a dose of good food and good company, and apparently good music too, might loosen that reserve a little. He spent too much time by himself—that couldn’t be healthy for anyone. Maybe there hadn’t been any romance that afternoon in the boathouse, but they had made a crack in the ice between them…surely she could break through a little more.
“Come on,” she told him. “Let’s find Malin and say hello.”
“Okay,” he said.
By his tone, you’d think she’d suggested they go for a tooth extraction, but she kept going, and he followed. She said hello to Stina, the cheerful girl who did housekeeping at the lodge, and then she saw Malin emerge from the kitchen carrying a platter of food.
“Malin, hi. Happy birthday!”
“Oh, hej, Zoe!” she said. “Thank you. I’m glad you could come.” She nodded at Jakob, and he nodded back.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Zoe said.
“You’re welcome.” She put the platter on the table. Finely sliced salmon sat with thin crispbread, sprigs of dill, and a dish of creamy sauce.
“That looks so good.” And stylish.
Malin nodded. “Gravad lax. Something Swedish for you.”
“Yum.” She gestured towards the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, just relax, and eat,” she said, adjusting one of the Swedish flags on the table so that it hung exactly the same way as the others. “The girls had so much fun yesterday. They talk about you all the time.”
“They’re so sweet and funny.” She looked around. “This looks amazing. I’m sorry your man isn’t here to celebrate your birthday.”
She waved a hand, her nose crinkled. “Pah. More fun without him, probably.”
“Oh, well then…” That was awkward. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of husband she wanted around at all.
But then Malin laughed. “It’s okay, he’s not so bad. His name is Anton. He’ll be back in a few weeks. With a big present, I hope.”
“Ah, you can’t go wrong with a big present.”
Over Malin’s shoulder, she noticed Fredrik from Defrost Digital, talking animatedly to a couple of people in the corner. He turned and saw her, and immediately came over. Without a word, Jakob turned on his heel and headed for the drinks table. Fredrik watched him go, then turned his attention to Zoe.
“Is my sister making you eat her terrible cooking?”
Malin rolled her eyes, and he grinned. This was obviously a well-practised routine.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were related!” Zoe looked from one to the other. With the two of them side by side now, the resemblance was obvious.
“Yes, poor me.” Malin stuck out her tongue. “Imagine growing up with this baboon. And he lives next door now. It never ends.”
“Well, I’m an only child,” Zoe replied. “Any sibling looks good to me, human or ape.”
They laughed, but she was glad they didn’t know how much she meant it.
“So you’re saying I look good.” Fredrik took a step in Zoe’s direction, one eyebrow raised, and Malin rolled her eyes again.
“Good luck with that,” she told Zoe. “There are bananas in the kitchen, if you want to shove one in his mouth to make him shut up.” She went off to talk to someone else.
Fredrik took a sip from his almost-empty glass and grinned again. “Sisters. You’re better without them.”
She knew otherwise. “Maybe.”
“Brothers, though…” He slipped his free arm around her back, and rested his fingers on her spine, ever so gently. Then he leaned closer, his breath laced with sweet whiskey fumes. “Being with brothers is better. Didn’t you ever have a crush on a friend’s big brother?”
Wow. That was…right out there.
Maybe Denise had been right. She was quite the internationalist—in the man department anyway. And when she’d first heard Zoe was going to Sweden, she’d tiptoed into the office shared by several of the firm’s consultants, a conspiratorial look on her face.
“Here are those clips, Zoe,” she said in an over-loud voice.
“Thank you,” Zoe replied, taking the folder with a heavy heart. This client was breaking records for bad press, and being spectacularly unhelpful in crisis management. She added the file of clippings to the pile on her desk. Then she looked up. Denise was still hovering. “Was there something else?”
Denise threw a glance over her shoulder, waiting until the other consultant had left the room. Then she perched her generously-rounded bottom on the corner of Zoe’s desk.
“I can’t believe you have to go.”
Zoe grimaced. “I know. But everyone knew it would be me.”
Denise checked the door again, then leaned in. “But, Swedish men,” she said in a low voice, followed by a meaningful nod.
“Um…what about them?”
She tilted her head, raising one on-point eyebrow. “You know what they say.”
“What Swedish men say?” Zoe couldn’t resist messing with her.
“No, what they say about Swedish men! Seriously, they’re all proper and haughty, like ‘how do you do’ and ‘you must wear a seatbelt in my Volvo’, and then when they have a few drinks…holy shit.” She blew out a lusty breath. “Let’s just say things change. For the bet-ter.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m only going for three weeks, so…”
She thought back to the last time she’d slept with anyone. She’d finally given in and gone home with one of the guys from IT, after Friday night drinks. Ack, such a cliché. But it had felt like an eternity since she’d had any kind of fooling around. Unfortunately, Jason’s competence at fixing computer glitches hadn’t translated into competence in other areas. And the few drinks he’d had—actually, the many drinks—definitely hadn’t helped him for the better. There was nothing Swedish about him, obviously, just a London lad who really should have had a curry and gone home alone.
Denise leaned further over the desk, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her snugly tailored suit jacket. “It only takes one night. And you’ll have twenty-one of those. I expect regular reports.”
Well, she was probably going to be disappointed. Not that Zoe was on the prowl, but she was up to the fourth night already, and so far Fredrik was the only one who’d shown an interest, which she totally didn’t feel like reciprocating. Jakob, on the other hand...well, drinks or not, it didn’t seem like he was in any hurry to loosen up.
Then she realised that, with perfect/imperfect timing, Jakob had come back just in time to hear Fredrik’s shamelessly blatant question about crushes on big brothers. She took a breath, trying not to look at him as he stopped next to her—out of the corner of her eye, she could practically see the light from all the glowering he was doing—and gave Fredrik a level smile.
“No,” she said. “No crushes.”
“You should try it,” he said, steadfastly ignoring Jakob. �
�I’m always available.” Then he held up his empty glass. “Can I get you something to drink?”
By now the heat from Jakob’s glower was threatening to scald her cheek. He stepped forward and passed her one of the pretty crystal glasses.
“No need,” he told Fredrik.
Watching them, she thought it was going to be pistols at dawn, the atmosphere between them was so charged. They regarded each other with barely concealed venom, and she held her breath, her fingertips growing chilled from the cold liquid in her glass. Then Fredrik shrugged, laughed, and walked away into the other room.
Zoe looked at Jakob. There was a flush in his cheeks, and she could literally see a vein throbbing in the side of his neck. She thought that only happened in movies, but there it was.
“What’s the story with you two?”
“No story.” He looked at her glass. “Try it. It’s akvavit.”
Hmm. Definitely a story. But she decided to leave it alone for now. Maybe she could subtly try to get some info from Greta. She looked at the liquid in the glass, admiring the pretty light gold colour, then smelled it. At the first hit to her nostrils, she ducked her head back.
“Whoa.”
He smiled for the first time since they arrived. “Yeah. About 40 per cent.”
“Huh. Aquavit, did you say?”
“Ak-va-vit.”
She took another sip. Behind the fire it tasted sort of spicy, in a weird way, with a flavour she couldn’t quite pin down. A clear, almost outdoorsy flavour, like the forest distilled into a glass. Another sip, bigger this time. “It’s…not bad. I might like it.”
“You get used to it,” he said. “Really you should just…” He mimed throwing a drink back in one hit.
“Ah. Okay.” She swallowed the rest as one shot, shuddering as the alcohol hit the bottom, making her eyes water. “Whew.”
Just then Stina came and grabbed her arm. “Zoe, come on. I want you to meet some people!”
She hesitated. Really, she should stay with Jakob, seeing as he’d brought her here as a favour and was obviously not having the time of his life. Or she would have hesitated, if she’d been physically able to, but Stina was propelling her with determined force towards the other room. She looked back over her shoulder, but Jakob just raised a hand, part farewell, part go.
The Near & Far Series Page 7
