by S. T. Bende
My cheek sought solace on the steering wheel, and I closed my eyes. I was psyching myself up for the two-mile walk home when I a knock at my window made me jump. I turned my head and opened one eye.
This was just not my day.
A vision in a black leather jacket winked at me. Casually disheveled hair, pale pink lips, the square jawline with more than a hint of stubble because he couldn’t possibly be bothered with something as trivial as shaving when he had a drop-dead gorgeous “best friend” to entertain.
The berries, the berries, the berries.
My finger tapped a button, lowering the window. “Stop following me. It’s creepy.”
“Need some help?” Tyr tilted his head, barely contained laughter brimming from irritatingly beautiful eyes.
My head met the steering wheel. Hard. The ensuing honk made me jump. “Go away.”
“And leave you stranded? What kind of gentleman would that make me?”
“You’re no gentleman.” I didn’t bother looking up. The day couldn’t get any worse, so I decided to tackle the Tyr situation head on. Running away hadn’t gotten me far. Thanks a lot, deer. “Why didn’t you ever call me?” It shouldn’t have bothered me so much. I fought to remember which of Jason’s adages applied here. Two runs does not a relationship make… or something.
“Because.” Tyr chuckled. “You never gave me your number.”
I didn’t?
“And besides, I’m trying to do right by you. You might be the kind of person bunnies follow around the forest, but I’m definitely not. If you knew the skit I bring to the table, you’d avoid me like the plague.”
I sized Tyr up with a steady look. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m tougher than you think I am.”
“Mmm.” Tyr reached out as if he was going to touch my cheek, but he pulled his hand back so quickly I barely registered the movement.
“I am,” I insisted, cringing at how pathetic I sounded. As my fingers inched for the window switch, Tyr’s hand shot out to cover mine. Electricity prickled up my arm, making me jump. Tyr’s lips parted slightly, and he withdrew his touch, looking drawing a shaky breath.
“Look, Mia—” Tyr began.
“Please, stop. I just want to go home and cook dinner.” I opened the door and stepped out of the car. My heel sunk into the mud, and I nearly fell over trying to wrench it free. Tyr put his hands on my hips to steady me, and that heat shot through me again. It settled in my abdomen, a warm pulse radiating down to my thighs. My eyes widened, and I looked up at him. He stared down at me with an expression that bordered on nervous, and quickly dropped his hands. What in the world does he have to be afraid of?
“I can take care of myself. Now if you’ll excuse me…” I faltered. My mind told me I needed space from this guy to clear my head; to stop thinking about him; to figure out what was right for me when it came to Tyr, since he was clearly doing what worked for him. But my heart was afraid that if I walked away, I’d never be this close to him again. And for some irrational reason, the thought of being away from Tyr made my heart ache.
What is wrong with me?
As I pondered my illogical vulnerability, something snapped inside of Tyr. His eyes were hard now, his voice cool. “If you had any idea what was really going on, you’d let me drive you home. You don’t always have to be so stubborn.”
Whoa.
I leaned back on one heel, jutting my hip out to the side and folding my arms across my chest. “Well then, enlighten me. What’s really going on? Because you’ve done a whole lot of talking without saying anything that makes a lick of sense. The way I see it, what’s really going on is some overbearing guy who somehow manages to avoid me whenever it suits him, and show up everywhere I go when I don’t want to see him, is keeping me from cooking a really delicious dinner.”
I reached into the front seat and grabbed my purse and the bag of groceries, then slammed the door and stomped past Tyr, bumping him with my shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Home.” One of my roommates could give me a ride back to my car—with my jack—in the morning.
“It’s two miles away. You’re wearing heels.”
“I’m aware.” I stomped down the dirt shoulder with my head held high.
And then I stepped in another hole.
My ankle burned from the painful twist. My purse slipped off my arm and my groceries flew out of my bag as I launched forward. But before I hit the dirt, solid arms wrapped around me. Tyr held on tight and set me gently on my feet. I tried to step away but he didn’t let go. His arms circled my waist from behind, and he rested his chin on the top of my head. I leaned into him and tested the weight on my ankle. It hurt, but it would be okay.
My cheeks seared as I realized the position I’d put myself in. Tyr’s chest was hard against my back, and my stomach was white-hot where his forearms were wrapped around me. I rested my head against Tyr’s torso and closed my eyes, breathing in his woodsy smell.
“Let me take you home,” he murmured into my hair. “You can’t walk on that ankle.”
I snapped back to reality. At the moment I might have been in his arms, but he had a baben waiting for him at home. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“It’s just a ride, Mia. What’s the big deal?”
The big deal was I felt way more than I should for a guy who’d made it abundantly clear he just wasn’t that into me. And whom I barely knew.
I stepped out of his arms and turned around, and my ankle wobbled. Darn it. He was right. I couldn’t walk home. “Fine,” I caved. “You may drive me home.”
“Gee, thanks.” Tyr propped me against my car and bent to pick up the groceries and purse I’d dropped when I fell. He fastened them to the back of his bike, then took his helmet off his handlebars and set it on top of my head. “Wear this. You need it more than I do.”
“Harrumph.”
Tyr scooped me up in his arms and set me on the back of the motorcycle. He swung one long leg over the seat, and settled in front of me. “Hold on to my chest.”
“No thanks,” I muttered. Being this close to him without actually being close to him was painful enough. If there truly wasn’t going to be anything between us, I didn’t need to know how good it felt to be snuggled against him. No point making things harder than they already were.
“Safety first, Mia.” Tyr turned to face me. “If you don’t hold on, you’ll fall off. Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”
“No,” I admitted. The helmet made my voice sound funny.
“Then it’s doubly important you hold me. We’re not that far from your place, and I can go slow, but for the love of Odin, don’t fall off the bike to prove some point. Last thing I need is you getting hurt again.”
Well, when he put it like that…
Tyr turned around and brought the steel beast to life. I flung my arms around him at the sound of the engine, and tried not to moan at the way his stomach muscles tensed under my arms, or the way his chest vibrated in a sigh when I touched him. He was probably going on a date after he’d dropped me off, where he’d laugh about this whole thing with Freya. I didn’t need to embarrass myself any more.
Tyr wrapped one hand around mine, squeezing so I held him even tighter. Then he gently eased the motorcycle onto the road. I rested my helmet against his back and closed my eyes, feeling the vibrations of the bike through my body all the way to my skull, and ignoring the panic I should have felt at riding what my mother referred to as a “death trap.” Being on Tyr’s motorcycle didn’t feel dangerous. It felt good—my body pressed against Tyr’s, the engine thrumming beneath my legs. It was easy to imagine this was our normal, that we rode together and touched and hung out and laughed. In this one moment, everything between us felt right.
But it was only one ride, and it was only one moment. Tyr wasn’t mine, and he probably never would be. Too quickly, he eased the bike onto Daffodil Drive. He pulled to a stop in front of my house, and I reluctantly r
eleased my grip on his abs. Tyr climbed off, lifted the helmet from my head and placed it on the handlebar, and scooped me up in one arm. My cheeks burned as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear without a word, then held my grocery bag and purse in his free hand. He walked up my front path, without moving to put me down.
“It’s okay, I can—uh, I can walk,” I stammered. He hadn’t stopped staring at me, and his proximity was overwhelming. Every nerve in my body pinged to attention.
“We’ll see about that.” Tyr’s voice sounded as shaky as I felt. He waited until we reached the porch before lowering me to my feet. He didn’t take his hand off my waist as I put weight on my ankle. “You need me to call a healer?”
“In America we call them doctors. And I think it’ll be fine.” I drew a wobbly breath and took my bags from his arm. “Uh, thank you for the ride. You’ve probably got stuff to do, so…”
“Yeah.” Tyr’s eyes darted to the street. “Well, if you need anything else, I’m around.”
“Okay.” I watched as Tyr walked backwards to the curb. He climbed on his bike and lowered his helmet over his head, without seeming to break eye contact. After half a minute, he nodded. He revved the engine and took off down the street, leaving a trail of rubber in his wake, and a hollow feeling in my gut.
****
“Sorry again about the late dinner,” I apologized to my housemates. Being kept waiting was one of my pet peeves; I felt awful doing it to anyone else.
“Stop apologizing.” Charlotte dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Wow, that was delicious, as always.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Hey, would anyone be willing to drop me off at my car on the way to school tomorrow? I’ve got a spare tire in the trunk, I just need to grab my jack out of the garage so I can change it.” I folded my napkin and put it next to my plate.
“Självklart.” Brynn nodded. We stared. “Of course,” she translated. Then she passed a plate of brownies; my mea culpa for the late meal. “Oh, I forgot! Henrik’s other exterminator guy called. He has an opening this weekend, but we’re going to have to stay somewhere else while he works. I guess he’s some kind of a rat whisperer, and he needs all the human energy out of the house so he can communicate with the rats and trap them humanely before he ushers them to their new home.”
“You hear the words as you’re saying them, right?” I asked.
“He communicates with rats?” Heather stared. “And I thought Portland people were weird.”
Brynn shrugged. “It sounds crazy, but Henrik says the guy’s good. Honest.”
“Well, if Henrik says it’s true…” Charlotte giggled.
Brynn put a hand on her hip. “Do you guys want the rats gone or not?”
“Gone.” Heather and I spoke in unison.
“Good. So prepare to clear out tomorrow afternoon. The rat guy says we can come back Sunday.”
“It takes two days to clear out bad rat juju?” Heather snickered.
Brynn raised an eyebrow. “If you want your private study space back, I suggest you stop mocking the rat guy.”
Heather held up her hands. “Fair enough. I turned in my paper, so I’m heading to San Francisco with Charlotte this weekend anyway. I’ve never been.”
“You two are still welcome to come with us,” Charlotte offered.
I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. I have a lit paper due on Monday. I need the library this weekend. Maybe I’ll just stay at a hotel.”
“Don’t be silly.” Brynn waved her hand. “Henrik said he’d be happy to have us both. He owes me, anyway.”
“That’s okay. I’ll find something else.” Brynn didn’t need me getting in the way of whatever might be going on between them. Another Jason-ism—two’s company, three’s a crowd. And there was no way I wanted to spend two nights in Tyr’s house.
“You don’t really have a choice,” Charlotte pointed out. “The Antiques Festival is this weekend. All the hotels in town have been booked out for weeks.”
“And by ‘all the hotels,’ you mean both of the hotels.” Brynn fingered a blond curl. “I love this little place.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously,” Charlotte confirmed. “But you really are welcome to come with Heather and me. San Francisco’s gorgeous this time of year. Some days are actually sunny.”
“I’d love to, but I have to work on my paper.” I bit the inside of my cheek while I imagined staying out of Cupid’s way for two days. Shouldn’t be that difficult, since Cupid clearly had no problem steering clear of me. And without another viable option, I really didn’t have much of a choice. “Are you sure the guys won’t mind if I stay at their place?”
“The guys?” Heather asked.
“Henrik lives with Tyr,” Brynn explained.
“Oh. Oh!” Charlotte’s mouth settled in an O. “Oh, honey. Forget your paper. Just come to San Francisco with us.”
“It’s going to be a quarter of my grade. I need to write in the lit library so I can look stuff up.” I sighed. “Thanks for inviting me, though.”
“And we probably won’t even see Tyr. He’s hardly ever around the actual house,” Brynn added.
“Really? Where does he go?” I asked.
“Oh, around.” Brynn waved her hand. “Somewhere. I don’t keep tabs on him or anything. Besides, Henrik will probably keep us busy working on Fred out in the garage or something.” Brynn rolled her eyes. “He’s such a nörd.”
We stared again.
“A nerd,” Brynn translated.
“Well.” I nibbled on my bottom lip. Henrik was a good guy. Tyr might not be around all that much. And it wasn’t like I had a lot of other options. “Okay. Thanks, Brynn.”
“Don’t mention it.” She bounced in her chair. “This is going to be great!”
“So everybody’s set?” Heather glanced around. We nodded. “Awesome. Come Sunday night, no more rats.”
“The house is going to feel so empty without them,” Charlotte joked.
“Thank the maker,” I muttered.
“Oh my gosh, Mia. You are going to die for Henrik’s kitchen. Did you know he loves to bake too?” Brynn giggled.
“Henrik? The big dude?” Heather interjected. “He bakes?”
“Oh, ja.” Brynn nodded. “His pies are legendary. I’ll bet he’ll make his grandmother’s Dutch apple crumble.”
I raised an eyebrow. Heartbreaker Hercules underfoot or no, Henrik baking his grandmother’s dessert was something I most definitely had to see.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I threw my suitcase in the back of my freshly re-tired Audi. Brynn climbed into the passenger seat and checked her appearance in the mirror.
“You look great,” I reassured her.
“Takk.” She breathed. “Thanks. Head back to the main road and go toward the forest,” she instructed. “The guys live in the hills.”
“That’s right. They’re super outdoorsy.” From what I’d gathered from Henrik, their woodland activities put my family camping trips to shame.
We drove another mile and turned into the hills. “Left up here.” Brynn pointed. “And then just head through that grove of trees.”
“There’s no road.”
“I know. It’s galen back here, right?” Brynn stared out the window.
“Takk? Galen? Seriously, Brynn. If we’re going to make it through the year together, you have to teach me some Swedish.”
“Sorry.” She laughed. “Takk means thanks—that word’s actually Norwegian. And galen means crazy in Swedish. We kind of mash up our languages.”
“Tyr mentioned that. And yeah. It’s totes galen here.” I followed her directions, pulling off at the forked tree when she told me to.
“It’s about half a mile up ahead.”
We drove until a light shone in the distance. After another minute, I could see it came from a house. The building was massive—almost as big as my parents’ place in Buckshire, but with a rustic cou
ntry charm. Towering redwoods may have dwarfed it, but the two-story structure was still fairly substantial. Large, shuttered windows offset a grey stone façade. A crimson door with a wrought-iron knocker popped against the beams of the rail encasing the vast porch, and the makeshift driveway that circled in front of the house led to a four-car garage.
This house belongs to some twenty-something exchange students?
“Here we are!” Brynn chirped. “Cabin sweet cabin.”
“This is nothing like a cabin.” I craned my neck over the steering wheel to stare at the house.
Brynn shot me a curious glance as she opened her door. “This isn’t cabin-y to you?”
“Unless cabin is Swedish for stately manor, then nope.” I stepped out of the car and grabbed my bag. “Are all the houses like this where you guys live?”
Brynn shrugged. “Yeah.”
Interesting.
“Hei hei, girls. Welcome to the hus.” Henrik opened the crimson door of his palatial ‘cabin.’ In loose jeans, a Chili Peppers T-shirt and an open flannel shirt, he was frat-boy meets mountain man. The silver-framed glasses he adjusted with one hand added an intellectual edge.
“Hei!” Brynn ran the rest of the way to the porch and skidded to a stop in front of Henrik.
“Hei sötnos.” Henrik cuffed her shoulder. I still didn’t know what that word meant, but it must have been a good thing; Brynn’s smile lit up the entire forest.
“Thanks for letting us stay with you, Henrik.” I made my way to the front door, then handed him my hostess gift—a white box wrapped with a red ribbon. “I made these for you; I hope you like red velvet.”
Henrik’s eyes lit up. “I do. Are these cupcakes? Cookies?”
