It had been a weekend a while back, Jonas had been here, and his wife had just had their first baby, and they were moaning about being skint and he was apologising for the lack of some kind of stupid gift for Valentine’s Day. Pontus had gone all weird and defensive, and I had almost spat out my coffee.
“No bloody gifts” I had boomed. “Last time you pulled that one, bro, you almost had my boyfriend here concussed.” I had shaken my head and stared at poor Jonas, who had just laughed.
“But we need to do something. I mean P here may have got himself a nice boyfriend, and even got your sorry arse to move in with him, but he’s still a loser and nobody is going to buy him roses on Valentine’s Day.” Jonas had winked while I had stood up and pointed at the nice Cacti arrangement I had purchased for my prickly boyfriends’ birthday a few months back.
“I can be romantic, don’t be a dick.” I had laughed.
“But it’s tradition!” Jonas had insisted, leaning over the table, waving his hands about. “We always buy him something weird. It’s just that I have maxed out my credit card buying my Mamacita here a pram. And to be honest I don’t know what to get. It’s like my head is mush.”
“Welcome to sleep deprivation.” Pontus had yawned from the armchair where he was sat cradling our new Godson. Yeah. Because Jonas thought that was a good idea too. Us. Pontus and me. Godparents? We can barely function on our own, but together? We do all right these days.
“Don’t trust a word he says.” Jonas lovely wife, Marta, had said and smacked him over the head. “He snores like a trucker all through the night, and has still to do a single night feed on his own accord. Bloody useless he is.”
“She just moans! I make her herbal tea and rub her feet!” Jonas had protested as his wife had laughed.
We’re not having babies. Nope. Not us.
Despite my Pontus beaming like a beacon every time Jonas and Marta turn up with that baby. He loves it, coos and talks baby talk and carries the thing around like it’s precious. He’s more dramatic than me, and I am supposed to be the Latino drama queen in this house.
My house. Well, it’s still officially Pontus’ flat, although he keeps threatening to write me into the lease. At least from next month I will be contributing with a full-time wage.
He pushes me. Pulls me. Carries me when I start to doubt myself. He makes me angrier than anyone I have ever met before. He’s a twat, but at the end of the day, he’s my twat. My partner in crime, my lover and my best friend. The guy I can’t stop staring at, and the guy who crawls into bed with me at night. After I make him drink a full glass of water. I can push too.
He’s looking good these days, with a bit of colour in his cheeks. His firm is doing well, and he shuts the computer off at six o’clock sharp. Every night. We have his health under control. He eats. Drinks. Loves. He loves me. Whatever weird things I get up to.
My cleaning firm went tits up a while back, and it was kind of my fault. I just liked spending time with Pontus here rather than dragging my steam cleaner around Copenhagen all day long. Then I didn’t pay my public liability insurance on time, and I had to take time off to renew my nursing degree.
I told you I was a mess. I still am, but thanks to Pontus, I am now an organised, and employed mess.
I have a job, a new certificate on the fridge, and I am going to be naked most of the time. Meet the new Naked Yogi at Copenhagen’s finest Spa Retreat. A gleaming newbuild, with visions and environmental goals and steam baths and twenty-four-hour classes, and yes, Yoga, in all its forms.
I already have most of the Yoga instruction training done, having once had plans to work with my mum. Just a few more things to sort out, and an exam to sit. Well, surprise, surprise, guess who will be running Women’s Only Naked Yoga? Mum of course. I scratch her back, she scratches mine. And anyway, the owner of the Spa Retreat is a friend of my dad’s and a part-time naturist, and yeah. Things just happened, and before I knew it, I had a contract on the table and replacement cleaners to find.
Pontus just smiles and shakes his head. Whatever I do, it seems, he supports me, even when I mess up, he sorts it out. He had even sat down and helped me cancel my orders and he made the call to Mr Holte himself, letting him know his cleaner wouldn’t be coming around anymore. They have become quite good friends after I insisted on dragging Pontus along for a few cleaning rounds to meet the people I consider my friends. My clients. The people who make me smile. And of course, Mr Holte just laughed and asked if I would be doing pensioner’s naked yoga, because he may be up for that. Ms Anita moved into a home a few weeks later, and things just. Happened.
I bring the bowls into the living room, only to be met by a loud cheer from our guests. A table full of our friends. It’s Valentine’s Day, and as I said to Jonas, I couldn’t think of a better gag gift, than to fill Pontus’ flat with people and trash the place. Not that that’s what we are doing. We’re just a bunch of people sharing a meal over laughter and stories. A few blokes who went to school together. Their wives and girlfriends. Clara, and her girlfriend. We didn’t even know she had one, until she turned up an hour ago with this gorgeous thing in tow, looking smugger than anything. She’s even smiling and holding the baby, making Pontus pout and do grabby hands, asking for his Godson back.
I’ve made a vegan chilli. Just a rich warming stew, home-made flatbreads and my mother has brought the dip. She’s wearing a proper kaftan. My father is naked. Not that anyone cares.
We’re kind of all family here, and Jonas’ wife keeps joking that she will veto any kind of nudity once the baby starts to talk. Even Pontus defended me there, saying that Uncle Nudey-Rudey Lou-Lou can be naked all he wants, because this baby is a Soto, and we are all bloody naked in this family.
He jokes that he will take my name when we marry, because he wants to be a Soto too.
He doesn’t need to take my name to be family, because he already is.
He works from home, mostly naked, all day long. He’s naked when we go stay with my parents. It’s not even weird anymore. He stares at me if I wear clothes. Shakes his head like he’s all weirded out.
“Drop them.” He will hiss, and then once I am me again, all naked, he will wrap me up in his arms and whisper, “There you are. All you. All mine.”
Yeah, because I am one lucky bastard.
“We need more rice.” He says, following me out into the kitchen, dropping the empty bowl on the side.
“In that pan.” I point, fiddling with the wine opener. We should have bought more wine. We’re six bottles down already.
“Lou?” He says, stopping and just standing there, staring at me.
“Yes?” I say, dropping the wine cork into the chilli. Then picking it out again.
“I love you so much right now.” He almost whispers.
“I love you all the time, you dork.” I smile.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“This is not a date.” I giggle. “We tried that once. We once had a date on Valentine’s Day. The first day we met. It didn’t end well, if my memory serves me right.”
“It was a bloody disaster.” He smiles. Then he smiles even wider. “I hated you. But at the same time, you were irresistible. So bloody cute. “
“I’m not cute.” I pout. “I’m a red-hot Latino stud.”
“Fuck off.” He whispers and leans over to kiss me. “But babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Drop ‘em. You look like you are about to combust. Nobody fucking cares out there. You’re you. I’m me. Just be. “
I kiss him. Hard and fast. Over a bowl of rice.
Then we return to our guests, him wearing his shirt and jeans. Me? I drop my underpants in the hallway, kicking them into a corner.
I’m me. That’s all I am. Me. And you know what? That’s enough. I’m me, and I am loved and I am good enough, just like this. Because I’m happy. The people here? They are happy. And as long as we are happy, perhaps, this will all last. Last a lifetime. I hope.
Acknowle
dgments
This story wouldn’t have made it to the end without Haidee and Jenni, who are my constant cheerleading squad. You laugh at my antics and push me when I am slow and you know exactly what makes me tick. So, thank you.
To Aurelia, wow. That cover blew me away. Jeez! Good job.
Massive thank you to my Danish Experts Louise, Christina and Simon. You guys rock.
To all of you who read, push, comment, shout, ask, kudos and cheer. This one is for you too. Thank you.
Thank you to the RoMMance Valentines PW Giveaway team for letting The Naked Cleaner sweep into this event! It’s been an honour to be part of the group!
Finally, a massive thank you to Ann Attwood for editing, Katie Jaarsveld for proofing, Erika for beta reading and my amazing team of people for all the handholding.
You all know who you are. Big hugs. x
About the Author
Sophia Soames should be old enough to know better but has barely grown up. She has been known to fangirl over tv-shows, has fallen in and out of love with more popstars than she dares to remember, and has a ridiculously high-flying (un-)glamourous real-life job.
Her long-suffering husband just laughs at her antics. Their children are feral. The Au Pair just sighs.
She lives in a creaky old house in rural London, although her heart is still in Scandinavia.
Discovering that the stories in her head make sense when written down has been part of the most hilarious midlife crisis ever and she hopes it may long continue.
Aurelia Morris is a cover artist, photographer, photoshop wiz and eternal fangirl. She works in many mediums under more aliases that she can keep track of.
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Also by Sophia Soames
717 miles
717 miles Christmas
The Scandinavian Comfort Series
Little Harbour
Open Water
BOOK 3 coming in 2020
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie
What if it all goes right? (MMF)
The Naked Cleaner
The Cloud Hotel series
Sleep (book 1) coming in 2020
Breathe (Book 2)
TASTE (Book 3)
The Naked Cleaner Page 13
