Chapter 22
Once we disembark in Copenhagen, our group splits off into various factions.
Princess and Barry are off to Nyhavn harbour for a foodie tour and CJ and Karen to the Hans Christian Andersen Christmas market, named in ode to the Danish storyteller.
That leaves me and Jasper, and the mood between us is all kinds of awkward after the dance battle fiasco.
There’s a lot of hands in pockets, pavement-kicking, heads-averted action going on.
I cannot look at the man without blushing. My own fault.
Who asks for one-to-one dance lessons with the next Magic Mike?
That stupido would be me. Lesson learned.
Heat rushes me when my mind does return to last night’s shenanigans.
Let’s just say, I remember the feel of his body and all its accoutrements a little too well.
In my drunken haze, I’d been certain we fit together perfectly, like a jigsaw.
Although, from what I remember of the intensity of his gaze, I swear he felt the same.
Probably all part of the performance. I see that now.
Almost every red-blooded woman from the train has stopped to compliment him, the jezebels.
OK, that’s maybe going too far, but it’s hard not to be leery of these women when they fuss and fawn over him in an overly flirtatious manner.
Like how many men do they need? Leave some for the rest of us! It’s not much to ask.
The silence between us unnerves me. ‘So, should we go to the rendezvous spot for the beer tour?’
‘Sure, but before we go,’ he says, gazing directly into my eyes making heat rush to my face, ‘I should apologise. Last night was wild and I really enjoyed it, but perhaps I went too far with the whole dancing thing.’
‘Why do you say that?’ I’m curious if he means his own dance moves or more specifically dancing with me.
He scrubs his face while he dithers. What’s going on here?
Jasper is not the dithering sort. ‘I enjoyed it. A little too much. And you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re in no means ready, and I totally understand that – I mean, who wouldn’t?
You’ve just lost your husband, and here’s me sliding up and down your body. I’m sorry, it was disrespectful.’
Oh God, why did he have to paint that picture? Desire floods me, and I cough and clear my throat to appear anything but ruffled when I’m really rather ruffled by him. ‘Disrespectful because of the dead husband thing?’ I just want it to be abundantly clear what I’m dealing with here.
His mouth falls open. ‘Ah – yeah.’
‘Right.’ What does one say to that? Do I want Jasper to slide up and down me? Yes. Should I want that? Not sure. ‘I’m sure my dearly departed is fine with it.’ There. He can stop worrying. ‘He’d want me to be happy.’
He cocks his head. ‘So, you’re saying…?’
I’m not really sure what I’m saying, but part of me wants to encourage Jasper and the other part is screaming in protest because it’s not a good idea.
‘I’m saying I’m not going to worry any more.
’ Why can’t I be more like Rox, who would shrug off the past and already have moved on with the next hottie that walked her way?
But that’s Rox’s MO – act first, think later.
I’ve got to worry and obsess and potentially scare Jasper away, all because I have loyalty to Miles, even though he doesn’t deserve it.
Confusion sparkles in his eyes. ‘Last night you mentioned that it was too soon, is all.’
‘What is?’
‘Moving on.’
‘Ah.’ Drunk me is all over the place! ‘It does feel a little soon. I have a bit of a process with this kind of thing, but if you’re talking about us, specifically, then we were only dancing, right?’
‘Right. We did share a kiss. Twice.’
How could I forget? It’s not even possible. ‘What are you asking, Jasper?’ I’m sending mixed messages and he’s conflicted too, and I’m just too poorly to deal with this today.
He waits a beat. ‘Nothing, nothing.’ His expression clears, as if he’s made up his mind about something. ‘You’re in a fragile place and I respect that.’
‘Yeah, this hangover is a doozy.’
He laughs. ‘OK, let’s forget the official group tour, eh, and go drink some festive beer by ourselves?’
I want to throw myself into his arms, but refrain. ‘Yes! A more casual day sounds just like what the doctor ordered.’
We go on the hunt for jule?l. ‘Can you believe there’s an actual word dedicated to Christmas beer?’ I ask.
‘Beer is big business here. I read up about it this morning. Apparently in the early 2000s there was a craft beer revolution in Copenhagen. Craft beer breweries popped up all over the city with a focus on producing high-quality beer.’
I groan. ‘More alcohol though…’
‘Why don’t we try a couple for posterity’s sake and then head for the Christmas markets?’
‘That sounds like a much better idea.’
We visit some Danish dive bars, which are called bodegas, and sample some delicious fruity jule?l.
These relaxed cosy bars are full of hygge-like atmosphere with the moody lighting and low ceilings and warm wood panelling.
There are plenty of hipper places that sell it too, but we’re quite taken by the charm of the more down-at-heel bars that feel more welcoming somehow.
The bodega is full of a diverse crowd and it’s not long before Jasper is challenged to a Danish Viking game of Meier, played with dice.
It’s a game about lying and I’m thrilled to bits when he loses. Not a good liar is good in my book.
We share a plate of sm?rrbr?d: crusty slices of rye bread layered with various toppings like roasted beef, pickles, cucumber and remoulade, and a heaped plate of Frikadeller: meatballs, because you can’t come to Copenhagen and not have meatballs, a beloved national dish.
As we eat, we fall into an easy conversation about our favourite places around the world that we’d like to revisit someday.
‘Next favourite place?’ I tap my chin contemplating. ‘Tasmania would be in my top five, for sure.’
‘Would you move to Tasmania if you could?’ Jasper asks as he points to a slice of sm?rrbr?d layered with pickled herring, beetroot, egg slices, capers, and fresh sprigs of dill.
I move the slice to my plate. ‘No, but I would love to visit there again. It’s got the most beautiful coastlines.
You can take a hike up any mountain and be rewarded with the most stunning view of the ocean and not see a soul.
That solitude, up high like that, made me feel like I was the only person left in the world. ’
‘Not lonely at all.’
I laugh. ‘Depends if you’re in a solitary mood or not, I suppose. What about you? Where’s your next favourite?’ So far, we’ve worked down a long list of places we’ve loved.
He takes a sip of beer as he considers it. ‘Next favourite would have to be Venice. The floating city. So much charm and history.’
I smile. ‘Venice is gorgeous. Shame about the sinking factor.’
‘That’s why I went. I did a story about it.’
‘I’d love to read it. Do you ever see yourself writing a novel one day? Or a travel memoir?’
He grins. ‘Maybe one day when I’ve got something fun to write about. Like upping sticks and living in a rainforest or sailing around the world on a yacht.’
‘Rainforest spiders though.’ I shudder. ‘They’re terrifyingly big and hairy.’
He laughs. ‘I’m doing the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage walk in March, have you heard of it?’
I gasp. ‘I’ve always wanted to do the Camino!
Are you going from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port?
’ There are many different routes you can walk to get to Santiago de Compostella.
Originally it was a religious pilgrimage, but these days people do the month-long walk for many different reasons – religious and spiritual, recreational, or sometimes more for the physical and mental challenge it presents.
‘Yes, I’m doing the Camino Frances.’ It’s also known as the French Way because it starts in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port before pilgrims cross into Spain over the Pyrenees and it’s the most well-known and popular route. ‘I’m doing a story on the auberges as I go.’
The auberges are the hostels along the route, humble dorm rooms for pilgrims walking the Camino.
The owners are well known for their hospitality and support.
‘Are you kidding? Seriously! Doing the Camino Frances has been a dream of mine for the longest time. I’ve read far too many memoirs about it.
I’d love to do it someday.’ What an experience it would be.
It’s not just about pushing your body to the limits walking all eight hundred miles over thirty-five or so days, it’s the pilgrims you meet along the way, the stories shared by people from all corners of the globe, all walking for different reasons.
‘Why don’t you join me?’
I go to protest and catch myself. What’s stopping me?
There is Wi-Fi in the towns, or I could cut right back on work for that month.
A chance like this doesn’t come along very often.
Doing the Camino with a friend, rather than alone, appeals and would put my mum more at ease, knowing I had someone with me.
‘Just say yes.’
‘Yes.’ I let out a shriek, excited by the prospect of ticking a very big item off the bucket list. You can do the Camino on all budgets, including mine – tiny.
The humble auberges charge a nominal amount and food is cheap but plentiful.
There’s enough time between now and then to fill up the coffers and ready myself to pare back work for March to be able to give the pilgrimage the attention it deserves.
This is why I love the flexibility of my job.
This is why I do what I do. A rush of goosebumps breaks out over my arms, and I have this strange sense that I’m coming back to myself – back to my true happiness, the freedom to follow a travel whim that makes my soul happy.
It’s like a cloud has lifted and I can see clearly again, and it’s blue skies for days.
‘I’d better start my training.’ I’ll have to train to be able to walk ten to fifteen miles per day, and let’s be honest, I’m not the sporty sort but this trip feels so much bigger than exercise. It’s about connection. And conversely about being alone with your thoughts for much of the day.
Jasper smirks. ‘Maybe after the Winter Wonderland Express.’
‘Yes, it’s not as if there’s a gym on board.
’ Wait, have I just agreed to go on a month-long walk with Jasper?
Maybe I need to do the unthinkable and ask my sister her view on this, simply because she’ll remind me of all the good that might come of it…
‘Actually, I’ll, ah – think about it. I’ll have to check my work schedule and a few other things.
’ Guilt blossoms about my sudden backtrack, but it’s a big decision when I don’t even know where I’m going to go after this holiday.
Not back to the village for long, that’s for sure, except to cuddle Freya’s baby when he arrives and to get my things and say my goodbyes.
But it’s not like I haven’t made spontaneous plans with other people I’ve met on my travels, is it? Am I overthinking this just because it’s Jasper?
Is that disappointment in his eyes? He quickly rearranges his expression to one of understanding. ‘Totally get it. It’s a big trip. We barely know one another and here I am asking you to spend an entire month with me. But something tells me we’d have the time of our lives, Aubrey.’
Damn it. Something tells me that too.
I can’t control my big goofy smile.
* * *
Later that evening, we meet the Unlucky in Love Travel Club at Tivoli Gardens.
It’s a popular theme park and lush gardens with something for everyone.
It’s rumoured to be the magical place that gave Walt Disney his inspiration for Walt Disney World.
During the festive season, the park sparkles under thousands of twinkling fairy lights, making the place feel like something truly out of a fairytale.
‘There they are.’ I point to our friends huddling together, steaming mugs of hot drinks in their hands. The scent of pine trees fills the air as we make our way to them.
‘Did you know,’ Princess says, ‘Tivoli has over one thousand Christmas trees? You’re not the only guidebook nerds, you know.’
I laugh. ‘You want to be a guidebook nerd too?’
‘Yes, I hate missing out.’
Jasper grins. ‘Of course. It’s all part of our club.’
‘Shall we check out the stalls?’ Karen asks. ‘I’ve been told I can’t leave Copenhagen without trying AEbleskiver, a deep-fried dessert with a crust which has the texture of a pancake, and the inside is like a donut, and you dip them in jam and then icing sugar.’
‘Count me in,’ I say.
‘Best served with gl?gg,’ Princess adds.
‘I love all the different names for mulled wine we’ve encountered along the way,’ CJ says.
We meander along, cosy in our little group of six, checking out the carnival rides and the happy smiles of the people riding them.
It’s like a dream being here, with people who I now consider friends.
This kind of bond doesn’t come along very often and so I enjoy the glimmer of happiness at how lucky we are to have met and bonded over our shared singledom.
Though by the way Barry has his palm hovering at Princess’s lower back, some of us aren’t going to be single for long. At least I hope so.
Soft snow seesaws lazily from the starry sky. ‘Are you cold?’ Jasper asks as I hold out a gloved hand to catch a snowflake.
I’m not cold – I’m layered to the hilt – but I say, ‘A little.’
‘Let me warm you up.’ He swings an arm over my shoulder and pulls me in tight. ‘Is that OK?’
‘Much better.’
‘Who wants to ride on the Elf Train?’ Princess asks.
We giggle at the idea of riding a far cutesier train than the one we’re staying on, but we duly comply, grabbing our seats and munching on candied almonds as we’re driven around the park with a view of snowcapped mountains in the distance.
After the train, we take a ride on the Forest carousel with the sound of tinny Christmas carols playing loudly from speakers above.
Princess jumps from her horse to take photos of us.
It’s one of those magical evenings and I wish I could stop time, so it never ends.
Later we find a spot sheltered by a fir tree that’s swathed in twinkling fairy lights to watch the fireworks explode across the sky, and it feels as if I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. Jasper and I exchange a glance. Does he feel it too?