The Apartment on Larkspur Lane (Autumn Lake #2)

1. Addison

1

Addison

Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon

~ ~ ~

A ddison stood as far away from the group gathered on the beach as she possibly could while still staying within hearing range. The sky overhead was just beginning to shift and sway, hints of iridescence coloring the edges of her vision. She narrowed her eyes in a futile attempt to bring into focus the muted kaleidoscope sky. It wouldn’t help, she knew, nor would it hurry things up, either. The aurora borealis refused to dance across the sky on command, and if the film crew huddled around their tripods and insanely expensive equipment wanted to catch the light show on camera, they would have to wait until the capricious Northern lights were good and ready to make an appearance.

She hunched her shoulders a little higher around her ears, burrowing the lower half of her face deeper into the fur-lined hood of her parka. She breathed slowly, trying not to steam things up too much, which would only turn the fur into tiny slivers of ice that poked her in the face. Her teeth chattered and her voice shook as she let out a nasally, “Brrrrr.” She rolled her eyes at the noise. “You sound like a cold sheep. If there even is such a thing.” She often conversed with herself on these excursions.

Across the way, no one seemed to have noticed her withdrawal from the group, but that was exactly the way she wanted it. She only wished she could withdraw all the way off this bitterly cold island altogether. Preferably, without anyone noticing, and even more preferably—did that even make sense?—somewhere warm and cozy and… well, homey.

But of course, eventually, someone would need something that wasn’t readily available to them, and all eyes would turn to search for her. Addison, would you be a sport and grab me another memory card, please? Addie, darling, my macro lens is in my other bag. Can you hunt it down for me? Hey Addison. Since you’re not doing anything right now…

That was the real issue, wasn’t it? Somehow, she was always the one with nothing better to do than to be at the beck and call of those who actually did have something to do.

“I believe there are many cold sheep during shearing season.”

Startled, she spun around, both hands up in front of her in a straight-out-of-the-movies martial arts pose that had to look as ridiculous as it felt. She blurted out, “I’m karate!”

Addison squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment. I’m karate? Really? Then she thought better of it and snapped them open again. She’d learned early on that closing her eyes didn’t make the bad things disappear.

The beam of her headlamp illuminated a bulky man-shape standing a few feet from her. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light, then turned his head slightly to avoid it. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He slowly brought both arms up at his sides in an I-come-in-peace posture.

The guy kinda looked familiar, but then, it could be just the beard. It seemed most of the men she’d met on this trip sported them. It probably had something to do with the wind chill factor and the potential for frostbitten chins. If I had a beard, I wouldn’t have to breathe shallowly into my fake fur. The ridiculous thought had her shaking her head to clear it.

“I mean, I know karate. I can do karate,” she amended, narrowing her eyes in what she hoped was a fierce expression. Although, of course, she’d already lost any credibility she might have otherwise had. I’m karate. Was it possible that she hadn’t said that out loud?

Besides, even the karate she could remember from her childhood lessons was rendered completely ineffective by the copious layers she wore. There was absolutely no way she could do a roundhouse kick in her puffy, knee-length coat. Maybe if she just kept shining her light in his face, he’d be too blind to attack her.

But his expression confirmed her suspicions; she looked about as threatening as she actually was. Like a shivering fluffy pillow with a scowl.

Addison squared her shoulders. Lifting her chin a little, she said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to….” She made a few chopping motions with her hands, then grimaced, mortification creating a warm flush up her neck. “I’m—I’m going to go back. Over there.” She pointed over her shoulder at the photographers on the beach. “I’m sure they’re wondering where I’ve gone.”

She was sure they weren’t wondering any such thing, in fact, but this guy didn’t need to know that.

Diamond Beach in winter.

Iceland in December.

At midnight.

What on earth was she doing there? Again.

Addison shoved her hands into her pockets and sent the guy a dismissive nod, barely able to meet his gaze. But before she could turn and flee, he lowered his hands to his sides and shrugged. “I know a place nearby that serves hot coffee.”

That brought her up short. Hot coffee. She pressed her lips together and her gaze swung back and forth between the man and the group she’d come with. Oh, there was plenty to be had down the beach in the middle of that melee, but she was still trying to work up the courage to wade in again, now that she had finally broken free.

“It’s good coffee, too. Not just hot.” His slight Icelandic accent made the short sentences sound lyrical.

“Where?” Addison narrowed her eyes at him, her light once again forcing him to turn his head. “Sorry,” she said, tipping the beam up a little. She could still see his face, but at least she was no longer blinding him. But she couldn’t recall seeing any restaurants or cafes—any structures at all, in fact—within miles of where they were.

He shrugged again and pointed at the small contingence of vehicles parked close together some distance away. “In my van.”

Addison rolled her eyes so hard that her head bobbed in a circle, too. “Nice try, buddy.” How desperate did he think she was? She took one decisive step away from him.

“I also have kleinur . Both plain and dipped in chocolate,” he added, wiggling his brows at her.

Like offering candy to a child , she thought, surprised to find that she was actually considering his offer. The classic Icelandic fried dough treat was one of the many delights to be experienced on the island. Not too sweet, crispy and flaky, perfect for dunking in hot coffee…. She eyed the van parked just behind the one she’d come in. Presumably, he was part of their group. “Dipped in chocolate?”

He smiled, his mustache curving up at the corners of his mouth. “Dipped in chocolate,” he confirmed.

Addison turned back to study him again. The glint in his eyes told her he knew he was getting to her. What was she thinking? “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Who are you? I mean, did you come with us?” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the photographers.

“I am one of the drivers, yes. My name is Gunnar. I am Gunnar ólafsson.” He started to offer her his hand, then seemed to think better of it. He was attractive, she decided, in a winter wildernessy way. He had kind eyes, and as far as she could tell, under the facial hair and the bright red beanie pulled down over his ears, he was probably close to her age.

She was nothing, if not polite. “Hi, Gunnar. I’m Addison. Wedgewood,” she added quickly, not missing the curious tilt of his head. Was it her name he didn’t get? Maybe because in Iceland, a surname typically ended in son or dottir ? She drew his attention to the group on the beach with a thrust of her chin. “Those are my parents. Carl and Vivian Wedgewood.”

“I already know who you are,” Gunnar said, his eyes crinkling in a smile that was starting to grow on her. “You obviously have not noticed me before now, but I noticed you already.” He tipped his head toward the parked vehicles. “Hot coffee. Kleina . A warm car. How can you resist this?”

Addison was waffling, and she could tell that he could tell.

“I have music…” He drew the word out in a singsong lilt and shimmied his bulky shoulders a little. “How about Of Monsters and Men?”

It was so utterly and completely cliché, his suggestion of the popular Icelandic band. Addison couldn’t bite back a smile. “Are you suggesting them because you listen to them or because you think I listen to them?” she asked.

Once again, Gunnar shrugged. “If you want to hear them; that is all that matters.”

Addison hedged just a moment longer, the pull of the coffee and kleina making her mouth water. Finally, she capitulated. “I need to tell my mom where I’ll be. In case she needs me for anything.”

“She already knows,” Gunnar said a little sheepishly. “She is the one who told me to find you.”

Great. Just great. So the guy wasn’t hitting on her at all. He’d been recruited by her mother to babysit. To feed and entertain her. Addison couldn’t decide whether to be grateful—she was, indeed, cold and hungry, after all—or offended.

“Wasn’t that nice of her," she said dryly.

“Yes,” Gunnar agreed, seemingly oblivious to Addison’s sarcasm. “A good mother always looks out for her children.” He gestured again toward the van. “After you.”

The biting wind had picked up a little in the time it took them to reach the van, and by the time Addison was settled into the passenger seat with a thick wool blanket draped over her lap, she was more than grateful to both her mother and Gunnar. The blanket had been his suggestion when he noticed that her teeth were chattering.

“From here, we can watch the lights just fine,” Gunnar told her, nodding his head toward the view out the windshield. “I think it is more pleasant this way, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Addison agreed, watching with anticipation as he opened the large console between them and withdrew a thermos, two insulated mugs, and a brown paper bag.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have cream or sugar. Just strong, black coffee.”

“That’s not a problem for me,” Addison assured him. The smoky, robust aroma that wafted into the air when he unscrewed the lid of the thermos had her salivating. She peeled off her heavy wool gloves so she could hold the mugs for him to fill.

Several minutes later, fortified by the midnight snack, Addison settled a little deeper into the bucket seat and sighed contentedly, both hands wrapped around a second cup of coffee. She was starting to feel her toes again. “Thank you,” she said, turning to look at the man in the driver’s seat. “You might have just saved my life, you know.”

“Really? So I am a hero now?” Gunnar winked at her from over his own cup.

For whatever reason, this guy made it easy for Addison just to be herself. Maybe it was the bizarre setting—although that was nothing new for her. Growing up as the only child of her famous photojournalist parents, Addison had borne witness to parts of both the world and humanity that most people never even knew existed. Winter in Iceland was no commonplace thing, but it wasn’t even close to the wildest place she’d ever been.

Gunnar’s smile was warm and friendly, and Addison nodded. “My hero.” If she didn’t know any better, she would have mistaken her behavior for flirting with the man.

“So tell me,” Gunnar said when the silence between them started to get too loud. “Are you a photographer, too?”

Addison snorted softly and shook her head. “I’m the kind of camera operator who takes pictures from a moving car. They’re always blurry and so nondescript that even I can’t remember what the picture was supposed to be of.”

He laughed out loud at that. “No. Surely not. The daughter of the world-famous Wedgewoods?”

“You’ve heard of them, then? Before this trip?” Addison asked. Not that she was exactly surprised. Her parents had been in the business for over three decades, and their names were credited with innumerable images and articles in countless forms of media around the world.

“Of course,” Gunnar said matter-of-factly. “It would be difficult to find a home in Reykjavik that doesn’t have at least one copy of Edge of the World on a shelf.” The book was an awe-inspiring collection of photos captured during multiple visits to Iceland over the course of several years. Images of food, culture, the convergence of ancient and modern lifestyles, and the ever-changing landscape that made up the southwestern part of the island.

“Of course,” Addison echoed, but not without a measure of pride in her tone. “I’ve always secretly wondered if I was adopted. I mean, I don’t have a single artistic streak in my body.” She tugged on a strand of her straight, dark brown hair that she kept trimmed just past her shoulders. “I look nothing like either of them. They’re both blonde and beautiful and otherworldly, you know?”

“Otherworldly?” Gunnar said it like he didn’t know what the word meant.

“Like creatures from another realm.” Addison gestured out the window at the star-spattered sky that was beginning to vibrate with swirling shafts of blues and greens. “They belong in places like this. They thrive on the hunt, the pursuit of the next fantastic beauty on ‘this round of green, this orb of flame,’ as Lord Alfred Tennyson would say.” She took a sip of coffee and looked away, feeling suddenly dull and lacking in substance in the long shadows cast by her glorious parents.

“And you are not otherworldly?”

“Oh, Gunnar.” Addison sighed and shook her head. “No. I’m not otherworldly at all. I am this worldly. I’m a homebody. A put-down-roots girl. I am not a pursuer, a chaser of anything. I don’t want to sleep in a new bed every night. I don’t want to wake up wondering what side of the planet I’m on. I don’t want to eat things I can’t pronounce or go places where important things are lost in translation.” She broke off, realizing she was beginning to rant. She pointed at the mug she held and shot him a suspicious look. “I’m talking way too much. Is there truth serum in this coffee?”

Gunnar chuckled. “Just Arabica beans; I promise you.” He studied her for a few moments, then said, “So tell me something else, then.” His expression had lost some of its joviality; was that concern she read there instead?

“What do you want to know?”

“If not this,” he began, making a broad sweeping gesture with one arm. “Then what is it that you do want?”

Addison didn’t even hesitate. “I want to wake up in my own bed and eat the same boring breakfast every morning. I want to feed my cat, water my plants, and do the crossword puzzle in the newspaper that gets delivered to my door every day. I want to check for mail in my own mailbox, and I want to drive to and from my nine-to-five job five days a week in my own car.” She pressed her lips together to keep from listing even more things she wanted, lest she sound too pathetic, even though she knew it was unlikely she’d ever see this man again. I want to be seen; she didn’t say aloud . To be known. To belong. I don’t want to be the new kid, the stranger, the alien, ever again. I don’t want to fade into the background until I completely disappear.

“What is your cat’s name?” Gunnar asked after a few moments.

“My cat? I—I don’t have one.”

“But you said you wanted to feed your cat…” His words trailed off, and his brow furrowed in question.

“I know, I know.” Addison waved a hand dismissively. “I meant that I wanted to do normal things that people do every day. Things that take place at the same time in the same place again and again and again. Dependable. Constant. Predictable.” She sighed resignedly. “Boring.”

“Do you—um…” He hesitated, then proceeded to ask the question anyway. “Do you have any plants?”

Addison shook her head. “I don’t have any plants. Not a single one.” She chuckled softly. “I’m pretty pathetic, aren’t I?”

“No, no,” Gunnar insisted. “It just seems to me that the things you want aren’t so difficult to come by. Why don’t you have a cat? Or a plant?”

Addison grimaced. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” he was quick to assure her.

“Well, I’ve never had either one. I don’t know the first thing about taking care of some other living thing. I’m—I’m afraid I’d do it wrong. I mean, I suppose it’s okay if a plant dies under my care, but a cat?” She shook her head. “It’s probably better if I just keep it all in my imagination.”

“Hm.”

“What does that mean?” she challenged, feeling slightly chastised by the simple sound.

“If this is not what you want, then why did you come? I mean, it doesn’t sound like a very pleasant way to spend your holidays. Your mother said you were staying in Reykjavik through Christmas.”

Addison nodded slowly. “It’s the only way I can see my parents. If I come to them.”

“Ah. I see.” His gaze shifted away from hers and she recognized immediately the look in his eyes. He was feeling sorry for her.

“What about you? Is this—” She gestured broadly the way he had earlier. “Is all of this what you want?”

Gunnar didn’t hesitate, either. “I love it here. It’s wild and vicious and intense and beautiful, and of course, the people here are all so attractive, yes? Like gods and goddesses.”

“Well, of course,” Addison agreed with a grin.

“But seriously, this is home to me,” Gunnar continued. “Johann—the other driver. Have you met him?”

“Yes. I rode here in his van.”

“Of course. He and I have been operating private excursions like this one for many years, and I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else with my life right now.”

“Wow.” Addison sighed dreamily as she let his words sink in. The colorful northern lights continued to swirl and sweep across the sky, casting a surreal greenish tint over everything. “I wish I could be that certain about my own life.”

Gunnar slid his stocking cap off and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, drawing Addison’s attention back to him. He really was an attractive man, she acknowledged. He had a broad forehead above a strong brow and clear blue eyes that made her think of the crystal blue chunks of iceberg that crowded the shores of Diamond Beach. His nose was long and straight, his mouth was quick to flash a smile, and the beard, although long, looked neatly trimmed, soft, and well cared for. She wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

“Does your beard keep your face warm?” she asked to derail the direction her thoughts were headed.

Gunnar grinned. “Why yes, it does.” He reached up to scratch just under his jaw, then ran his fingers down the length of it in what seemed like a semi self-conscious manner. He caught her watching his movements and paused. “You want to touch it?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Goodness, no,” she insisted, far too adamantly than necessary. “That’s all right.”

Gunnar’s soft chuckle had her burying her face in her cup again.