Chapter 3
This was weird. People were smiling at her.
Airport staff were actually smiling at her.
Why? Milly told herself to calm down. In England airport staff didn’t tend to smile.
Milly didn’t blame them. The jobs were non-stop, and people loved a moan as the holiday blues set in, luggage was lost, or flights were delayed. But here … here they were … happy.
It had only taken a few weeks for Milly to get her sabbatical approved and she’d flown out as soon as she was able.
She knew that Denmark was the second happiest country in the world (Finland had claimed the top spot once again) but surely that happiness didn’t extend to jobs – and most definitely not airport jobs, did it?
Milly lugged her single suitcase through the airport, glancing left and right, unnerved even more at two new particular things.
Firstly, how laid-back everything felt. Normally airports were buzzing with stress and anxiety – missed flights, mislaid passports, crying children, stressed-out adults and runs to gates – but this airport was decidedly different.
While there was a bit of rushing around and a tiny undercurrent of nervousness, it was nothing like Heathrow, Luton or Gatwick, where she’d flown from.
Secondly, she was unnerved by how excited she felt.
She’d expected to feel worried that she’d made the right choice.
Maybe even experience a touch of regret.
But there was none, just a tingling of anticipation in her tummy and excitement at seeing her friend.
She was heading straight to the café to meet Ada, and she couldn’t wait to hug her again.
She queued at passport control, even more nervous as laughter came time and time again from the people in front of her.
When it was her turn, she stepped to the counter to see a handsome man with a blond beard smiling back at her.
She handed over her passport and the man studied it in the most laid-back fashion she’d ever seen from someone in his position.
‘And how long are you here for?’ he asked in perfect English.
‘Just for the summer. I’m seeing a friend I haven’t seen in a while.
’ As she always did when faced with a scary passport official, she felt the need to keep talking and explain about her stupid cheating boyfriend, the stationery cupboard she’d found him in and Claire from Accounts, but she made herself stop.
Why did she always feel this way with people in authority?
While surprised, his expression was soft.
‘Sounds like you need a holiday.’
‘I definitely do.’ Milly brushed her hair back from her face, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
The man smiled. ‘You look younger than your passport.’
She felt her eyes widen in surprise as her brain suddenly realised he’d said something nice to her. This was definitely not normal behaviour. She shuffled self-consciously. ‘I bet you say that to all the ladies.’
‘Only the pretty ones.’
He grinned and closed her passport before handing it back to her, and she left with a spring in her step, thanking him for making her day. Oh, she liked Copenhagen! She liked it a lot already! If the men were all like him, she was absolutely going to love it here, as Ada did.
Following the signs, Milly easily navigated the metro system and soon found herself in the city.
She knew it wasn’t far to Nyhavn, which she’d read was one of the most beautiful parts, though she was looking forward to seeing it all.
As she explored using the map on her phone, the cobblestones – which were everywhere – fought her suitcase and a couple of times she nearly lost hold as it got stuck on the uneven surface, but when she passed a particularly beautiful, huge classical building, and rounded the corner to suddenly find herself faced with a canal and a street lined with the brightly coloured painted houses the city was famous for, her breath caught.
It was full of tourists taking photos, posing with selfie sticks, or ordering their partners, fathers or mothers to hold the camera higher as they twizzled and turned in the historic, picturesque spot.
It was breathtaking.
After a moment, she walked on. The tall, narrow townhouses, with three rows of five windows packed into the small, brightly coloured frontage were utterly charming.
The pretty red, blue, yellow and green colours that lined the port streets all had red-tiled roofs that were either flat or gabled with even more windows crammed in.
To think they’d stood there since the seventeenth century was mind-blowing.
She could easily see how her friend had fallen in love with this city.
Though she was yet to experience the hygge lifestyle that had drawn Ada here.
Along this street, many of the houses had become restaurants, and each was packed with tourists.
A number of times she was about to apologise for her case, feeling like a noisy inconvenience, but when she was met with smiles, she didn’t bother.
Obviously, it didn’t annoy people as much as it did in other cities she’d visited.
As Milly looked around for the café, her eyes were drawn to the high wooden masts of some of the more traditional boats that reached up into a perfect and cloudless baby-blue sky.
The summer in Copenhagen was in full swing, hotter than in England, the sun brighter and warmer.
It was a great start to her trip and one she hoped would last.
She followed the long street further down, noticing that on the other side, some of the houses were more pastel-coloured: pale pink, peach and soft blue, like the earliest dawn skies.
Bicycles were everywhere, as were cafés, tables and chairs lining the road in front of the converted old houses, one of which had brickwork declaring it had been built in 1878.
Her phone showed she had reached her destination, and she stopped, looking up at the café Ada co-owned with her housemate.
On the surface, it looked as appealing as all the other cafés.
There were flowerpots on the street bursting with tall ferns and smaller bushy shrubs; a trail of fairy lights hung along the side of the boat just above its name, which had been written in fancy swirling letters in Danish: Lykke.
Milly already knew it meant joy or happiness, which she’d liked the sound of, but why wasn’t it as busy as the other places she’d seen on her way down?
The road was long and they were at the very end of it, surrounded by ‘normal’ boats.
Could that be the problem? There were plenty of tourists around, but they all seemed to be congregating further up.
Did they simply not make it this far down, forced into the other cafés by hunger and tired legs after exploring?
It was definitely much quieter down this end of the canal.
She’d investigate that more later and made a note on her phone.
She took some snaps of the place for inspiration and to share on Instagram.
After all, Ada had asked her to come to help with the business and one way she knew to do that was to help them build a good social media following.
She was looking forward to putting the skills she had from her job, and those she’d learned in her hobby, to good use.
As well as the tables and chairs on the canal-side next to the boat, the café also had a top deck with glass walls and an awning over the top to protect customers from the weather.
The boat was far longer than she’d imagined it would be and assumed that the end that didn’t have anything except a little hut-type thing contained the kitchen.
Milly took a deep breath in as the smells coming from the café reached her.
They were delicious: the sweetness of pastry and sugar, the strong aroma of coffee, and there were other flavours cutting through, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on them.
Here it sat, quiet but gorgeous on the canal, floating gently on the water.
A handrail was next to the gangplank that led onto the deck and, grabbing the handle of her case, she stepped over the threshold, pulling it with her.
The boat was barely moving, the canal water calm and gently ebbing against the bank.
Ada had said to meet her there, so Milly walked in and looked around for her friend.
To her right were the tables and chairs and to her left an open kitchen, with – as she’d suspected – the ovens behind.
It was lovely that customers could watch the chef at work – a touch she liked – and one of the chefs was there now, his tall, lithe frame bent over, his back to her as he worked on something, she couldn’t see what but the smells that had enticed her in were even stronger now.
She could almost taste the coffee, its rich, bitterness tingling her taste buds and the sweetness of delicious pastry made her mouth water.
She’d had a quick breakfast before catching her flight and suddenly realised how hungry she was.
As well as not knowing much about the hygge lifestyle, she didn’t really know much about Danish food beyond that they loved a pastry, like she did, and were known for open sandwiches and pickled fish.
She wasn’t smelling pickled fish now, thankfully, as she watched the chef work.
She gently placed down her case, manoeuvring herself so she could get a better view.
His hands moved dexterously, his fingers long and lean as they kneaded the dough.
Through a white T-shirt, the muscles in his back tensed with the effort and she found her eyes wandering from the food that had enticed her in, to the man in front of her.
He had a strong profile, a Roman nose and a strong, chiselled chin.
Was this Theo who co-owned the café with Ada?
Or was this someone they employed? Unsure, she didn’t ask and instead kept watching.