by S. T. Bende
“Cookies,” I confirmed. He held open the door so we could step into the house. “My maternal great-grandmother’s recipe.”
“Takk, Mia. We’ll have them for dessert.” Henrik followed us into the house, holding the box. “Well, welcome to our humble home. For the weekend, anyway. Will it do?”
If by ‘humble’ he meant perfectly understated, he’d hit the nail on the head. Someone with an impressive attention to detail had chosen colors and fabrics to create a restful yet rustic vibe. The entry had a soothing beige and white color scheme, with white wainscoting covering the bottom third of the walls. An informal living room was to the left. It could have been the feature story from last month’s Modern Country Home, with a dark leather sectional couch, low iron lamps on mahogany end tables, and an entertainment center anchored by the predictable oversized flat-screen. A fireplace sat in one corner, covered in the same grey stone as the outside of the house.
“I had no idea you were into design.” I shook my head. “The grey houndstooth throws are a particularly inspired touch.”
Henrik nodded at my compliment. “I’m not, but I’ll take it. We just called Pottery Barn and told them to ship whatever would work for a hunting cabin. We’re dudes. We don’t decorate.”
Seriously? I was familiar enough with the contents of the Pottery Barn catalogue to know they were not cheap. Henrik and Tyr’s families must be pretty well off. At the thought of Tyr, adrenaline shot through my veins. I looked around to see if the house’s other occupant was home.
“Tyr’s not here.” Henrik correctly interpreted my glance. “He’ll be back later tonight.”
“No biggie.” I feigned nonchalance. He’d given me a ride. We could totally co-exist.
Oh, who was I kidding? Between the would-be lovebirds making eyes at each other and the guy I couldn’t have running underfoot, this was going to be the most uncomfortable forty-eight hours of my life.
“Relax, Mia. Everything’s going to be fine.” Henrik gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and sauntered down the hallway. “How about a tour, and then we can order pizza? I’m famished.”
“Okay.” My voice sounded feeble.
“You’re staying in here, Mia.” Henrik ducked into a doorway just off the hall and I followed. A queen-sized sleigh-bed stood in the center of the room, swathed in plush cream bedding. Wrought-iron lamps stood on matching nightstands, bookending the headboard, and thick blue curtains hung from black rods, pulled back to let in the late afternoon light. Henrik pointed to the en suite. “Bathroom’s in there, and towels are on top of the sink. Let me know if you need anything else. Come on.” He walked out of the room and we followed him up the stairs.
“Brynn, you’re over here.” He pointed into an open doorway. Brynn’s room had a four-poster bed and navy bedding, with windows that looked out onto the front of the house. “I’m across the hall, and Tyr’s down at the end. The office is back here.” He pointed. “But stay out of there. Scary man cave.”
“Afraid we’ll play with your iPads?” I teased.
“Mmm. Something like that.” Henrik chuckled.
Brynn hung back and spoke in a quiet voice. “Seriously, though, stay out of the office. Tyr’s weird about his technology.” She didn’t blink.
“Duly noted.”
“Kitchen’s downstairs.” Henrik shot Brynn a look before jogging down the staircase. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Plates and glasses are up here.” He pointed to the spotless glass cabinet containing rows of meticulously organized white plates and sparkling cups.
“It’s obvious an engineer lives here.” I admired the attention to detail.
“Thanks, but this is all Tyr’s doing. I have no problem with mess, but it drives him insane. Sometimes I move one of the glasses, just to see how long it takes him to notice. He won’t say anything, but when I go to check, he’s always realigned everything so it’s perfekt.” Henrik snorted.
“Sounds like somebody I know,” Brynn teased me.
“Order can bring a tremendous sense of calm.” I raised my chin. “Especially in a kitchen.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you two can bond over your organizational OCD. Sort the pantry according to box size or something. Playing house might get you two to lighten up already.” Brynn giggled. My neck prickled as I pictured doing something so domestic with Tyr.
“I… erm…”
“Seriously. Just relax.” Brynn skipped after Henrik. “Besides, we’re only here for two days. What’s the worst that could happen?”
****
Later that night, we sat in front of the television. Brynn snoozed on Henrik’s shoulder while I worked through Much Ado. Henrik clicked back and forth between the Oregon/Washington football game and an extreme skiing competition somewhere in South America.
Henrik looked up from the couch. “How’s the reading, Mia?”
“Fine, I guess. I just don’t understand why Hero couldn’t tell Benedick to ask Beatrice out. If she knew Beatrice would say yes, why all the deception?”
Henrik shrugged. “Sounds like everybody was too pigheaded to see what was right in front of them. And Hero just wanted to make sure her cousin wasn’t being a total idiot and sabotaging her own chance at happiness. Come on, you telling me you’ve never tricked someone into doing the right thing?”
“Maybe.” I smiled. “My brother might be a little stubborn.”
“And speaking of stubborn.” Henrik rolled his eyes at the sound of Tyr’s motorcycle in the driveway. My stomach churned as I looked to the window, where the swoop of a solitary headlight confirmed Tyr’s arrival. Every muscle in my body went on lockdown. “Things cool between you?”
“Cool enough.” I shrugged.
“Tyr comes off kind of rough at first. But underneath he’s a good guy. He’s just got baggage you couldn’t even begin to understand.”
“He mentioned that,” I admitted.
“He did? That’s a big step for him. He’s a pretty guarded guy; he’s had to be with what he does.” Henrik adjusted the blanket over Brynn’s legs. She smiled in her sleep.
“He’s military?” I asked.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes.” Why had Henrik put it that way?
“Ja. He’s military. He’s never been in a position where he’s been allowed to get close to anyone. He doesn’t know how to do it.”
“What about Freya?”
“That’s different.” Henrik shrugged. “She’s like a sister to him.”
Right. The baben was hot in a sisterly way.
At the sound of the key, my eyes darted to the door. I gripped my book so hard my forearm cramped.
“Hei hei,” Tyr’s voice bellowed from the entry.
“In the living room, kille.” Henrik shot me a reassuring look. “The girls are here.”
“Mmm.” Tyr walked into the room in fitted jeans, a white T-shirt, and a thin leather jacket. He held his helmet in one hand and raked the other through his hair. My stomach fluttered, and an irritatingly familiar tingle ran up my spine. Stop that.
“Hi.” I jumped up nervously.
“Hei.” One corner of Tyr’s mouth turned up.
“The rat whisperer guy says we can go home Sunday night. I’ll spend most of my time in the library, so I’ll hardly be here at all.” The words poured out of my mouth at light speed. I sounded like a total dimwit.
“Be here as much as you like.” Tyr took off his jacket and hung it in the hall closet. When he came back, I tried my best to look nonchalant.
Tyr looked me in the eye as he lowered himself onto the L-shaped couch. “Good to see you,” he said simply. “How’s the ankle?”
“All better. Thanks.” I sat back down on the loveseat and settled under my blanket. With a conscious effort, I unclenched my fists and attempted to breathe normally.
I totally failed.
“Mia made us cookies. Try one.” Henrik nodded at the empty plate. “Oh… guess I ate them all.”
&n
bsp; “Typical. Did Henrik show you around?” Tyr ran his palms over his thighs.
“He did.”
“Do you need anything? Toothbrush? Towels?” Tyr offered.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
Tyr looked at my hands. My book was positioned in front of me like a shield. “What are you reading?”
“Um…” I glanced down. “Oh. Much Ado About Nothing. I have a paper due Monday.”
“Huh. Can’t say I’ve read that one.” Tyr shook his head.
“Neither have I,” I admitted. “In fact, I should go to bed and finish reading it. Thank you for letting me stay here. See y’all in the morning.”
I jumped to my feet and moved for the hallway.
“Night, Mia. Help yourself to anything you need,” Henrik called after me.
“Okay. Thanks.” I hurried toward the guest room. Recessed lighting bathed the walls in a dim glow as I padded down the hardwood hallway. When I was just outside the bedroom, I heard a deep voice behind me.
“Wait.” Tyr must have followed me out of the living room.
The butterflies in my stomach commenced an Olympic-level trampoline routine. When I’d settled them enough to turn without throwing up, Tyr stood two feet away. He looked adorable, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, his head tilted to one side, and a lost expression on his face.
“Yes?” I asked.
Tyr stared at me with a focus that took me by surprise. He took a step closer; heat radiated off his chest. Our eyes locked. No matter how much I told myself to stop thinking about this guy, I couldn’t ignore the pull I felt to him. He was charming, and gorgeous, and dangerous, and completely and utterly unattainable.
Falling for him would be extremely imprudent.
Squaring my shoulders, I drew myself up. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to say…” Tyr took another step. Now we were less than a foot apart. I took a deep breath and inhaled the intoxicating scent of spruce and sweat. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.
“What did you want to say?” I forced myself to meet his gaze.
“I wanted to say, uh… it’s nice to see you.”
“You already said that.” I spoke calmly.
“Then I wanted to say this.” He bent down and brushed my forehead with his lips. Oh, hot bejeebus. A current flowed from my face down my spine, and settled in the base of my belly. My skin felt as if someone had shoved me in a slow cooker and turned it on high. And if the burning in my cheeks was any indication, I must have been redder than a tomato patch.
“Oh.” My weight shifted to my back foot. Tyr looked unsteady, the question on his face clear. Did I want more?
Well, did I?
That wasn’t an easy question. The only thing I knew was that I couldn’t possibly think with my head when he looked at me like that, and I wasn’t about to hand over decision-making duties to my heart. Not when it came to Tyr.
“Night,” I mumbled, as I darted into the guest room and closed the door behind me.
But not before I’d caught the twinkle in Tyr’s eye. I’d inadvertently issued him a challenge, and something told me he wasn’t about to turn it down.
****
An hour later, I was pillow-deep in the plush sleigh-bed, staring at my book. I’d spent forty-five minutes trying to read the last act, but I hadn’t registered a word. Needless to say, the quiet knock on the front door made me jump. Who knocks on doors in the middle of the woods this late?
When nobody answered, the knock came again. It was firmer this time.
“Tyr?” A voice called. It was a female voice. A musical one.
The sound of silence echoed from upstairs. Awkwardness washed over me like a wet blanket. Whoever this visitor was, I doubted she’d want to be greeted by a pajama-clad co-ed. Maybe Tyr couldn’t be bothered to greet his guest, but at least Henrik should come answer the door.
The knocking continued in an insistent rhythm.
“Tyr, it’s Freya. Open up.”
Friends my foot. If Freya was just a good chum, she had no reason to be knocking on his door this late at night. I’d been right about their relationship. That lying son-of-a…
I was done being lied to. The covers couldn’t come off fast enough; I flung them aside and stomped down the hall with all the grace of an irate rhino. The doorknob was cold in my hand as I wrenched it open and got my first look at Freya. Oh, fantastic.
The chill shot up my arm and settled on my heart like a frost blanket— baben didn’t even begin to cover it. Standing opposite me was an extremely beautiful, and extremely surprised, supermodel. She had waist-length strawberry-blond hair and perfectly applied makeup. And though she was dressed casually in mid-calf boots, skinny jeans, and a fitted fleece, she exuded the kind of glamour I’d never achieve. I was girl-next-door pretty. Freya’s ethereal beauty had been lowered from the heavens so all the men of Earth could worship at her feet like an army of lovesick puppies. And she got to be BFFs with the one guy at Redwood who’d caught my eye.
Life was so unfair.
“Oh. Mia. Hei hei.”
“You know my name?”
“Of course.” Freya’s smile brightened. “It’s nice to see you here. Does this mean you and Tyr are together?”
“Us? Oh. No. My house is being, uh, de-ratted, so I needed a place to stay.” And then, because I just couldn’t help myself, I added, “I’m sorry, who did you say you are?”
“I didn’t.” Freya’s eyes sparkled as she held out a perfectly manicured hand. She’d done a twist on the classic French—her bases were pale pink, her tips silver. Even her nails were perfect. “I’m Freya. Tyr’s friend.”
“Hi.” I shook reluctantly. Freya had a surprisingly firm grip.
“Is Brynn staying here too?”
“Brynn’s in the upstairs guest room.”
“Interesting.” Freya put her hands in her jacket pockets.
“So… did you want to go up and see Tyr?” The words lodged in my throat. If there was anything between him and me, a beauty queen had no reason to be on his porch at this hour.
“I think it’d be better if you went up and told him I was here. Would you mind terribly?”
“Um… okay. Come on in.” I held open the door. Freya stepped into the foyer. Her long legs moved in seamless steps; she looked as if she were floating.
Geez, she was beautiful. She was graceful. If she got hold of my Meemaw’s cookbook, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Do you want me to get Henrik or Brynn, too?” I asked. Or instead?
“No. Just Tyr.” Freya smiled sweetly.
Dang it.
“Be right down.” I jogged up the stairs without looking back. When I reached the second story, I paused. Tyr’s was the one on the end. Stepping lightly on my toes, I padded down the hall and knocked softly. “Tyr?”
My knees buckled when Tyr opened the door. The T-shirt was gone. He was in a loose pair of charcoal grey sweatpants, nothing else.
Five years of mandatory etiquette training failed me miserably; there was just no way not to stare. He was inhumanly gorgeous.
Tyr’s body was unlike anything I’d ever seen. He looked like the live model for one of the paintings from Art History. Norse God of Bodybuilding, by Thorson Larson Bjornson.
“Thank Odin you’re okay.” Tyr’s voice was husky, as if I’d woken him up. He pulled me into his arms and hugged me, hard. Had he turned nuttier than a fruitcake in a pecan factory?
“Of course I’m okay.” Better, now that my face was pressed against a bare chest that was hard as a plank and smelled absolutely divine. But why in the world was the king of stand-offishness hugging me, of all things? I hadn’t taken him for a hugger. “Are you okay?”
“I am now.” Tyr exhaled slowly, then leaned back to hold me at arm’s length. “You’re not hurt?”
“Why would I be hurt?” This interaction made zero sense.
“I just thought…” Tyr shook his head. “It was a dream. Förbaskat realistic dream.�
��
“Nope. I’m fit as a fiddle.” I shrugged. Then I forced myself to step back. Being this close to a half-naked Tyr was a really, really bad idea. The man was hotter than blue blazes in July.
“Um, you have a visitor. Your friend Freya is downstairs.” I crossed my arms.
“Freya?” Tyr leaned against the doorjamb and touched his jaw. His fingertips grazed the unnecessarily sexy touch of stubble kissing his skin. “What’s she doing here?”
“No idea.” I shrugged. “Is she a frequent late-night guest?”
“Mia.” Tyr rubbed his neck. “It’s not like that.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, turning on one heel.
Tyr’s fingers wrapped around my bicep. He spun me back and pushed me gently against the wall. With his hands on my arms and his chest inches from my face, it suddenly got very difficult to breathe.
Tyr leaned in so our noses practically touched. I stood frozen, drawing ragged breaths. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire as my chest rose and fell, pressing lightly against his with each intake of air.
“Look at me,” Tyr commanded.
My eyes moved up his body with agonizing slowness. Tyr’s gaze bored into me with a focus that wiped any remaining breath from my lungs. He rested one forearm on the wall next to my head, maintaining eye contact as he spoke.
“Do you want me to show you how uninterested I am in Freya? Because right now, she is the absolutely furthest thing from my mind.”
“And what exactly is on your mind?” I whispered.
“What do you think?” Tyr breathed into my ear.
“Not me,” I blurted out. “You avoid me, remember?”
“Yeah. I do.” Tyr’s breath was warm against my skin. “Because you’re so förbaskat fragile, and I don’t want you to get hurt. But it’s stupid to stay away from you when that monster is—”
I stilled. “Monster? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Tyr rested his forehead against mine. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. I just had a bad dream.”
“Maybe you need to rest. You’re not acting like yourself.” You’re being sweet, attentive, concerned. Where’s the real Tyr?
