Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Claire
The bell over Grace’s deli door sings as I step inside, a familiar chime wrapped in the scent of comfort itself.
I smell the scent of garlic, basil, fresh bread, and something sweet that I think is cinnamon and sugar.
The place hums with the soft rhythm of a weekday rush: utensils clinking, conversations weaving, and the espresso machine sighing between orders.
For a second, I just breathe it in. Normalcy. God, I need this. I’ve been so stressed lately with email orders for specialty books and attempting to create a new marketing strategy to help pick up sales at my shop. The stress I experience in keeping my little shop alive is beyond overwhelming.
Grace stands behind the counter, hair piled in a messy knot, cheeks pink from heat and laughter. Grace radiates a brightness that surpasses my own, as if happiness has become a permanent part of her being.
“Finally!” she calls when she spots me. “I thought you ditched me for a romance novel and a cup of tea.”
“Tempting,” I say, dropping onto the stool at the end of the counter. “But the romance novel doesn’t serve sandwiches.”
“Which is precisely why you keep me around.” She winks, sliding a glass of sparkling water across the counter.
“I see you’ve already decided what I’m eating.”
“Of course,” she says. “You’re predictable. In a charming way.”
I laugh, the sound coming easier than it has in days. “You always know what I want.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Careful saying that. It sounds like a quote your own Viking might recite to you.”
I groan. “Grace.”
“What? Don’t give me that look. You think I don’t notice the way you blush every time he walks into a room? It’s like a live-action slow burn happening right in front of me.”
“It’s not a slow burn,” I mutter, instantly regretting how defensive that sounds.
Her grin widens. “Ohhh. So it’s already burning?”
“Grace!”
She throws up her hands, laughing. “Okay, okay! I’m done. But for the record, he looks at you like he’s memorizing your pulse.”
The comment lands deeper than I expect. My pulse stutters, just as expected.
She softens when she sees it. “Hey. You look good, though. Seriously. Brighter. Like you’re sleeping again.”
I trace condensation around the rim of my glass. “He makes me feel…” The words hover between us. Vulnerable. Whole. Seen. “Anchored,” I settle on. “Like I don’t have to keep fixing myself all the time.”
Grace’s smile gentles. “Sounds like that special sort of Viking love.”
“Too soon to call it that,” I say, though the warmth in my chest betrays me.
“Mm-hmm.” She sips her drink, smirking over the rim. “If you say so.”
Grace gets up for a moment to head over to the counter where her dad places two plates, our orders, and she arrives with our food wearing a cheesy grin.
The paninis warm from the press, tomato soup steaming, and a basket of garlic knots glistening.
The smells are intoxicating and I can’t want to eat all of this goodness made just for us!
When she looks back at me, there’s something trembling under her composure. “Okay, before I lose my nerve…” She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re the first person I’m telling besides Bjorn.”
“Grace?” My spoon halts midair. “What’s going on?”
She reaches across the counter, palm up. Her fingers are shaking. “I’m pregnant. Eight weeks!”
The words ripple through the air, soft but seismic. For a heartbeat, I just stare at her hand, then her face, radiant, nervous, and so full of joy that it hurts to look at her.
“Oh, Grace.” My voice breaks at her name. "That’s… incredible!!”
She exhales, laughter mixing with tears. “I know. It still doesn’t feel real. Bjorn is already busy designing baby-proof locks and drafting crib safety specs, as if he's constructing a stronghold.”
I laugh with her, but something warm and aching blooms deep in my chest. A longing I thought I’d buried years ago rises again, quiet and insistent.
I want that. The chaos of a home filled with love, with morning sounds filling the air and tiny hands reaching for a hug, fills me with longing. I force a breath and smile through it. “You are going to be an amazing mom, Grace. The baby is truly blessed.”
Her eyes glisten. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
She squeezes my hand. “You okay? You look a little… far away.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, laughing softly. “I am attempting to visualize you in your role as a mother. Imagine yourself in yoga pants, burping a tiny human.”
She snorts, relief flooding her features. “Please. I’ll do it in style.”
We both laugh. The ache subsides, giving way to the rhythm that has always held us together, as two women, in varying stages of life, continue to circle each other in love.
When the plates are half-empty and the world feels full again, she picks up the plates and cutlery, heads back behind the counter, and starts wrapping up a sandwich.
“For Erik,” she says with a wink. “Fuel for your Viking.”
“Grace.”
“What? He looks like he burns five thousand calories just by existing.”
She isn’t wrong.
Outside, the sky has turned a bruised shade of gray, storm clouds rolling low across the skyline. The neon from the deli window blurs in the reflection on the sidewalk. Grace hugs me tight before I leave, her whisper warm against my ear.
“You deserve happiness too, you know.”
Her words follow me out in the light rain.
I pull up my hood, squinting through the mist, and there it is. Across the street, the familiar black SUV parks, and its wipers sweep in a slow rhythm. My heart kicks once.
Of course he’s here. Of course, he knew I would finish early. I had scheduled to close the shop for the day when Grace invited me to come over to the deli for lunch.
The passenger door unlocks with a soft click as I approach.
“Top bolt, sweet girl?” he says as I slide in, voice low, half a command, half a reassurance.
“Already did,” I reply, fastening the seatbelt.
His mouth tilts. “Good girl.”
The words send a warmth through me that I try to ignore.
As he pulls into traffic, the sky cracks open again, rain lashing the windshield in bright streaks. The city blurs into motion, and the hum of the wipers fills the silence between us.
I observe him from the periphery of my vision, his hands steady on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable yet gentle. His phone lights up once with a security notification; he dismisses it instantly.
“Grace told you?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “She’s eight weeks along.”
His mouth curves into something between a smile and a sigh. “Good. They deserve that peace.”
I study his profile, the way light slides across his jaw. “Do you ever think about it?”
“About what?”
“Family. Kids.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. The sound of rain fills the space where his words should be. Then he glances at me, eyes dark but calm.
“Every day,” he says. “But only with the right person.”
Something in my chest tightens, slow and sure. I look back out at the road and try not to drown in the silence's sound.
Outside, the rain blurs the city into watercolor streaks. Inside, his hand finds mine where it rests on my knee, steady, unspoken, anchoring.
And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, the world shifts again.
Erik
The next day…
She spots me immediately, hair caught in the wind, eyes bright from laughter. The sight does something to my pulse, sharpens it, and refocuses it. Every plan, every protocol, all of it fades to static.
I step out of the SUV before she can reach for the handle. The door opens under my hand, and the faint scent of basil envelops me as I get near her.
“You didn’t have to pick me up,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat, cheeks still flushed.
“I did.”
She glances sideways, a smile tugging at her lips. "That's a rule now?”
“Yes.” I say, "Rules keep people alive.”
Her laugh is soft, teasing. “You make everything sound like an op plan.”
“Old habits die hard.” I start the engine up and pull further onto the street.
The silence that follows isn’t empty; it hums. She smells like roasted tomatoes and warm bread and the faintest hint of vanilla. When her hand brushes my leg, the contact feels small, but it burns with its gravity. I keep my expression neutral, hands steady on the wheel.
“You had lunch with Grace again,” I say after a moment, low, even. “How is she feeling today?”
“Yeah, she wanted to help me boost my marketing that I’ve been racking my brain over, and she had some great ideas on expanding my social media presence.
As far as how she’s doing, she’s feeling it; she says she’s starting to feel more nauseous.
” Her tone softens. “But she’s excited, and I’m happy for her. ”
I nod once, a flicker of pride beneath the calm. “Bjorn’s already planning a second wing for the nursery.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Of course he is. He can’t help himself.”
The sound hits me harder than expected, something bright, unguarded, cutting through the edges of my control. “How are you really feeling for them?”
“Honestly? I’m pleased for them.” Her voice quiets thoughtfully. “It just made me think about… what I want.”
I glance at her, the subtle tremor in her words threading into my pulse. “And what’s that?”
Her gaze meets mine, steady despite the vulnerability behind it. “A home. Kids. Sooner than later.”
The air thickens. I keep my eyes on the road, but the words land heavy in my chest. The phrase "seven sons for seven shields" resonates deeply within me. The old creed hums in my head: duty, bloodline, legacy. But when she says home, I don’t think of lineage.
I think of her laughter echoing through walls that finally feel alive.
“You’d make a wonderful mother,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
She turns toward the window, hiding the blush in her reflection. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
A small smile ghosts her lips, and something inside me clicks into place like a code finally decrypted.