This Christmas, in
Stockholm…
Michelle Betham
Copyright © Michelle Betham 2018
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without the prior permission of the author.
The story, characters and events in this book are a work of the author’s imagination, and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any person, place, name or actual event is entirely coincidental.
Michelle Betham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover Photograph – Mourad Saadi / Unsplash
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
About The Author
Also by Michelle Betham
Contact Michelle
One
There’s more to Sweden than Ikea. And ABBA. Although, I’m citing the latter as the likely reason why, from a very early age, I developed a fascination with the country. I’ve visited it many times over the years, from a long weekend in Gothenburg to holidays on some of its most beautiful islands. I fell in love with the country, with Scandinavia as a whole, if I’m honest. And that’s why now, at this point in my life, I’ve come back to Sweden. To Stockholm, this time, a city I’m not actually that overly familiar with, I’ve only been here once before, a fleeting visit last summer. I didn’t have a great deal of time to take much of it in, but I always promised myself I’d come back. I just wish the circumstances were different.
The past few months have been hard, for a number of reasons. Life threw a whole shed-load of lemons at me and I got tired of making lemonade, so, I made a decision – don’t dwell on the crap, don’t wallow in self-pity; don’t get angry or sad, make changes instead. Start again. Life begins at forty, right? Isn’t that what they say? And I turn forty in just a couple of days.
It’s around a thirty-five to forty-minute drive from Arlanda airport to Stockholm, and I could have taken the train – the Arlanda express takes just twenty minutes and leaves every fifteen – but I wanted to experience a more scenic route. So I’ve taken a taxi, and as it makes its way towards the city centre I stare out of the window; look up at the rapidly darkening sky, I want to see and experience as much as I can while I’m here, before I have to go back to whatever reality is waiting for me back home. Whatever reality I choose to go back to. But I’m determined that, next year, things are going to be different. They need to be different.
As we finally hit the city centre, it becomes more than apparent what time of year it is. Bright white fairy lights hang from the trees, wreaths and swathes of decorations are strung between buildings and in the distance I can see a huge Christmas tree, all lit up. It really is picture-perfect. The reason why I chose to come here, now. At Christmas. We’re just a couple of weeks away from another year ending, and a new one beginning. It’s a time for making changes. A time for making decisions. A time to start again? Maybe. That’s why I’ve come here. I wanted fairytale scenery and a chance to escape from reality, just for a little while. I need time, to get my head together. To think about what I’m going to do now, because I’m scared, if I’m honest. When you’re so used to something, and then all of a sudden it isn’t there anymore; when you know changes are coming, but you choose to ignore the warning signs, the result of that can be devastating. It can rock your once-steady world to its core, and sometimes – just sometimes – running is the only answer.
The taxi pulls up at the entrance to the street in which my hotel is located, in the Old Town. I pay the driver, and thank him in Swedish. I know the basics, and I’m trying to learn more, but it’s definitely a work-in-progress.
He kindly helps me with my bags, carries them along the narrow street that leads to my hotel, he takes them right inside for me, and that makes me smile because sometimes I forget that men like him exist. The age of chivalry isn’t dead just yet. I mean, I’m not really the kind of woman who expects doors to be held open or chairs to be pulled out for her. I’m not a romantic, hearts and flowers aren’t my thing. But it’s nice, knowing it’s still out there for those who want it. I know lots of women who do, but few men who are willing to play their Prince Charming.
I thank the driver again because, basically, I’m road-testing my Swedish at every opportunity, how else am I going to learn the language? And then he leaves me to check in, thankfully with an English-speaking receptionist. I’m not sure my knowledge of Swedish runs to checking into hotels just yet. I’m barely past asking for a coffee.
I’m shown to my room, a larger than expected, extremely cosy, comfortable room with a good-sized bed, a couple of comfy chairs, a dressing table, and a separate en-suite shower room. There are beams on the ceiling, the lighting’s dim, which only makes it even cosier. And because it’s Christmas, they’ve strung fairy lights from the ceiling beams and over the headboard of the bed, it’s beautiful. Different to any hotel I’ve ever stayed in before, but that’s why I chose it. It’s small – just a handful of rooms, and no bar or restaurant, but there’s a little café next door which is open early for breakfast, right through to early evening, so I don’t have to go far to find food. I didn’t want some huge, modern, bustling hotel, I’ve come here for some quiet time; to think. To escape. This place sounded perfect, and so far, it is.
Leaving my bags on the floor I sit down on the bed, and it’s only when I do that; when I take a second to remember why I’m here, that’s when I suddenly realise how alone I feel right now. All the planning, packing, travelling – I haven’t had time to think about the fact that’s exactly what I am now. Alone. After so many years of what I’d thought was a good, happy marriage, I’m on my own.
I take a deep breath, a second to gather my thoughts, and I glance down at my carry-on case on the floor. Unpacking can wait. I need a drink.
***
Outside, the streets are bustling with people, but it’s Christmas, this place was never going to be quiet at this time of year.
I make my way along the narrow streets and alleyways of the Old Town, glancing up every now and again at the decorations and lights, the sound of music and chatter flooding out of the bars and restaurants I walk past. I’m looking for a quiet one, somewhere I can grab some food and a couple of beers without feeling too self-conscious that I’m on my own.
“Are you lost?”
I swing around at the sound of a heavily accented voice coming from behind me. “No, I’m…”
The man who’s suddenly materialised in front of me is tall with dark-blond hair, a stubbled jawline and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Even in the darkness they shine like ice-blue diamonds from his ridiculously handsome face.
“I’m just looking for somewhere to grab dinner and a few drinks.”
He smiles at me, and I find myself looking away, it’s like I’m back in High School, all nervous and shy because the hottest guy in class is talking to me.
“You’re here alone?”
I turn back to face him, once more looking up into those ice-blue eyes. “Are you hitting on me?”
His mouth twists up into a slight smirk. “Would it be a bad thing if I were?”
“Your timing could be better.”
He frowns, but this man is a stranger, I have no idea who he is. I’m not explaining anything to him, least of all my personal circumstances.
“I know a little restaurant, just along the street there. It hasn’t been open long, but t
he food’s great, and so is the atmosphere. It’s fast becoming a very popular place to eat here in the Old Town.”
“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
I turn to walk away, digging my hands into my pockets as a gust of cold air suddenly whips up around me.
“Hey!”
His voice stops me in my tracks, and I slowly turn back around, cocking my head to one side as I look at him.
“Want me to show you where it is?”
As much as I’m loving that Swedish accent of his, I’m not looking for company, even company as handsome as him. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I’ll find it.” I turn to leave, again.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I stop, sigh quietly, and turn back around. “Yes, I have. I’ve just answered it.”
“The one about you being here alone. You didn’t answer that question.”
“I’m here alone. There. Are we done now?”
“Is there a reason why you’re so defensive? Someone as beautiful as you, you shouldn’t be so cold.”
I narrow my eyes and fix him with a look that, hopefully, tells him I’m not up for a conversation. With anyone. “I just need a drink, okay? And thanks for the restaurant recommendation. That was very kind of you.”
I start to walk away, striding along the narrow alleyway, the cold breeze freezing my exposed skin as I look for this intimate bar and restaurant Mr. Sweden told me I should try.
“It’s this one.”
I stop and spin around again. “Are you stalking me?”
“You look sad.”
“I think you’re mistaking that for mildly irritated.”
“Let me buy you dinner.”
“Look, I’m not sure whether this is something you do on a regular basis, you know, pick up random women and harass them…”
“I’m not harassing you.”
“You are, actually.”
He smiles again, and I don’t know whether to feel annoyed or amused. He isn’t coming across as threatening, but this is a first for me. Being approached like this, by a total stranger. A hot, handsome stranger…
“Okay. Sorry.”
“I can buy my own dinner.”
“Do you speak a lot of Swedish?”
I frown and back up against the wall, folding my arms in what is very much meant as a defensive action. “Not really.”
“Because, this restaurant, they don’t speak a lot of English.”
“I’ll manage.”
“It’d be easier if I was there.”
“I don’t need a translator.”
“What do you need, huh?”
“Right now? A large beer, and for you to leave me alone.”
“You really want me to go?” He arches an eyebrow, but it isn’t working. Not on me.
“I really want you to go.”
“You see, the thing is, I’m kind of hungry too, so…”
I shrug, I’m tired, I’m not playing this ridiculous game anymore. “Whatever.” I briefly wonder whether I should keep looking for another restaurant, but it’s getting late, and I really need some food, and that beer, so I head inside, even though I know he’s following me. But I’m pleased to notice that, once inside, he keeps his distance. He hangs around at the bar, talking to a couple of people he obviously knows while I’m seated at a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant. I even manage to order my own beer, in Swedish. When I say I know the basics, I mean the important stuff.
Looking around me, I see he isn’t wrong about this place. It’s a small, very intimate space with an extremely calming atmosphere. There’s a corner bar at one end of the room, and the restaurant itself is dimly-lit and made up of only around twenty or so tables, of which I got one of the last available ones, close to a roaring open fire. And the smell of the food that’s coming out of the kitchen, it’s incredible! As is the aroma of mulled wine and spices. I’d almost forgotten it was Christmas. This is reminding me. Well, that and the huge Christmas tree at the other end of the bar, it’s pretty hard to miss that.
I look up from the menu, I can’t really make head nor tail of it anyway, it’s all in Swedish. Dinner’s going to be guess work on my part, but I’m not one to shirk a challenge. I glance over at the bar again, but he’s gone now. My irritating stranger. And I’m not sure whether I feel relieved or disappointed. But I didn’t come here for company, right? I came here to get my head together. To think.
Looking back down at the menu, I frown as I try to make out what some of the dishes could be, it can’t be that difficult, surely?
“You should try the steak. The way they cook it here is phenomenal.”
I look up again to see him pulling out the chair opposite me. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I’d invited you to join me.”
But he sits down anyway, placing his beer on the table as he leans forward, steepling his fingers together as he looks at me. “You seem lonely.”
“I’m not lonely.”
I am. I’m heartbreakingly lonely, but a handsome Swedish stranger isn’t going to change that.
“I think you are.”
I drop my gaze, staring back down at the menu, only looking up again when I hear him talking to the waiter who’s just approached our table. He’s speaking in Swedish, so I can’t understand a word he’s saying, but the waiter’s written most of it down so I’m assuming he’s just ordered our food.
“Have you just ordered for both of us?”
His grin widens, he really is the cockiest, most self-assured man I’ve ever come across.
“I thought it would be quicker. Besides, I know what’s good on that menu. And I also know they do a couple of off-menu dishes that are sensational. But you only get those if they know you well enough.”
“And? Do they know you well enough?”
“I should hope so. My family own this place.”
I sit back in my seat, my mouth twisting up into the smallest of smiles. “So, you’re kind of biased then?”
He sits back too and shrugs, laughing quietly. “In a way. But, you know, I’m really not lying when I say this is one of the best restaurants in Gamla Stan.”
“Looks like I’m just going to have to take your word for that.”
“You’re going to be pleasantly surprised. I promise.”
I look at him, my eyes fixed on his, and for a beat or two neither of us says anything. There doesn’t seem to be a need, and the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s anything but.
“Okay.”
I’m not a fan of promises. I’ve had a lot get broken so I’m wary of people promising me anything, especially when I don’t even know their name… I’m having dinner with a man whose name I don’t know…
“I’m Erik, by the way.”
Can he read minds, too? “Eva. I’m Eva.”
“It’s good to meet you, Eva.”
When he says my name he looks right into my eyes and I feel my stomach do the kind of flip it hasn’t done in a long time, or that could just be the hunger kicking in. I don’t know. I just like the way he said it.
“So, now that we’re properly introduced, may I join you for dinner, Eva?”
“You don’t seem to have given me much choice, do you?”
He laughs again, his smile wide and so damn gorgeous. “Is that a yes?”
And that was very much a rhetorical question.
***
Dinner was surprisingly nice. No. It was better than nice, even if having dinner with a complete stranger less than three hours after arriving hadn’t been in my plans. Although, by the time dinner was over I at least knew his age – forty-two. His name – Erik Nilsson. His occupation – restaurateur. He owns – and helps run – this little family restaurant.
“You didn’t talk much about yourself,” he points out as we make our way outside.
“There’s not a lot to say.” I stop just outside the doorway, sliding my hands into my pockets as he leans back against the doorpost, looking relaxed, as he should. This is his
restaurant.
“Let me walk you back to your hotel.”
“There’s no need. It’s only around the corner.”
“I want to walk you back to your hotel.”
“I don’t need a knight in shining armour.”
“I never said you did. You really are big on being defensive, aren’t you?”
I glance down at the ground. There are glimmers of frost starting to form on the concrete now, the temperature’s dropping. It’s getting colder.
“Just let me walk you back, okay?”
I slowly look up, back into those ice-blue eyes. And I nod. I’m too tired to argue now. A day of travelling, too much food and one beer too many has made me sleepy, I just want my bed.
He falls into step beside me as we walk along the narrow street. It’s still busy out here, people still want to eat and drink and enjoy the Christmas spirit, which is all too obvious in this city right now. And I like that. It makes me feel oddly safe in a country that isn’t my home.
“You came here alone, right?”
I turn my head to look at him as we walk. “You know I did, I already told you that.”
“Why? Come here alone, I mean?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, it’s just a little unusual, for someone like you to be alone.”
“Someone like me?”
I stop walking and he turns to look at me. “Someone as beautiful as you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“It wasn’t out of choice.” I could bite my tongue for saying that, it gives him a reason to ask more questions. “And you can save the chat up lines for someone who’s interested.”
I start walking again, a little quicker this time, I just want to get back to the hotel. I’m tired.
“Eva, I’m sorry.”
He’s had to run to catch me back up, and he’s a little out of breath by the time he reaches my side.
This Christmas in Stockholm Page 1
