13
Henrik poured himself a large cup of coffee, closed his eyes, and inhaled the rich aroma. Roasted coffee beans—was there anything better? Freshly baked bread, maybe—he couldn’t decide between the two. He headed over to the hotel breakfast buffet, helped himself to a bowl of yogurt, and topped it with fresh berries and muesli with plenty of nuts. Then he joined Ted at a corner table by the window. It normally had a view of the sea, but at this predawn hour, the water was nothing more than a dark, shapeless mass. A week of filming had passed, and things had gone relatively smoothly. Nora’s opposition to almost everything he suggested made for more conflict, which Ted seemed to like. Henrik might have gone in a little harder than in previous seasons, but he didn’t think he’d ever crossed the line.
He went back to the counter to fetch some bread and felt a hand on his elbow. He turned to see Elnaz smiling at him, holding a cup of coffee. “It’s going well so far.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you’re pleased.” He reached for a white porcelain plate, then picked up a fresh roll and a croissant that was still warm. Elnaz hadn’t moved. “Was there something else?”
“Like I said, filming is going well. But ... I wish you could be a bit more flirtatious.” She gave a wry smile. “Something needs to happen between you two.”
Henrik sighed. “Why does this make me feel dirty?”
“What’s the problem? You’ve fallen in love on TV before.”
“With Bente it was real. There’s a difference when you’re pretending to flirt with someone.”
“We’ve talked about this. When the baker is a single woman around your age, the viewers are going to expect something. Christmastime and all that. Magic—you know.”
“Magic,” Henrik repeated.
“Think of the ratings.” Elnaz took a sip of her coffee.
“But won’t it look weird if I criticize her and then start flirting?”
“I think that’s exactly what the viewers want. Like I said before, everyone loves a good enemies-to-lovers story.”
Half an hour later, Henrik arrived at the patisserie. Filming began as soon as Sara had finished his makeup.
He started by going through the cookie selection. Took a bite of a vanilla and chocolate checkerboard cookie that melted in the mouth, but was still crunchy. “Not bad, I have to say. And this is a classic. Everyone likes these.” Then he tried a raspberry jelly cookie. The jelly was hard, almost impossible to chew. He spat it into a napkin and looked at Nora. “What’s your insurance situation?”
“Insurance?” She folded her arms defensively. She was wearing a black T-shirt with the same straight, slightly trendy cut as before, and black jeans. He couldn’t help but notice that her outfit highlighted her blonde hair and red lips, which were currently pursed to indicate her displeasure.
“Yes—does your policy cover dental costs for broken teeth? How long has this cookie been sitting here?”
Elnaz was glaring at him, but how was he supposed to flirt with the baker when the whole premise of the show was to cut the participants down to size?
“What do you mean ... I ...” She broke off and shook her head. “I don’t usually have stale cookies for sale—there must have been a mistake.” She snatched it out of his hand, took a bite, and made a face as she chewed and swallowed. “Like I said, a mistake.” Henrik had won that battle.
Nora folded her arms again. “Any more unnecessarily nasty comments?”
“I’m not nasty, I’m just honest.”
“I’m just honest,” Nora repeated with a snort. “You do know it’s only unpleasant people who have to make that excuse to justify what they say.”
“Thanks, good job,” Ted said, looking ridiculously pleased. “We’ll do an interview clip, then you two can take a break while we talk to some of the customers.”
Henrik used his interview time to rant about how crazy it was to have eighteen different cookies for sale—or maybe it was thirteen—and how appalling it was that Nora didn’t focus on a few bestselling items. Not much flirting there. He just didn’t know how to do it, it felt totally unnatural.
When they’d finished, he looked at Ted. “Have you and Elnaz agreed on the angle?”
“You mean the fact that she wants more flirting and romance?”
“Exactly.”
Ted shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I know she thinks it’s a good idea, but I’d rather go down a different route.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “As Don says, Nora is pretty feisty, and that can make for very good TV.”
Henrik also took a sip of his coffee. Clearly Ted and Elnaz weren’t entirely in agreement—should he be worried? Then again, it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t up to him to make decisions, he simply followed their directives. But he was the face of the show ...
“Hi there!” a familiar voice called out, and Henrik turned to see Don walking in. He was wearing a woolen hat on his shaven head, and a thick winter coat. Henrik was surprised to see him. And judging by the reaction of the team, the others were too.
Henrik went over and shook his hand. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Just a quick visit, I didn’t have a chance to give anyone a heads-up. Do you have time for dinner tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Henrik swallowed hard. Was that when Don was going to drop the bombshell about the ratings? What if he said that TV24 intended to cancel the show?
“Great, I’ve already booked a table. Guldkant, seven o’clock.” Don looked at Elnaz and Ted. “Could we have a few minutes in private? You too, Henrik.”
They went into the bakery, and Don leaned against one of the tables with his arms folded.
“So I’ve seen the first clips from this week’s filming.” He sighed heavily, then took off his hat. “It’s the most boring crap I’ve ever seen. We’ve talked about feelings. You’ve got a gold mine out there with her—she’s an emotional person, you can see it from a mile off. Create situations that give her an outlet for those emotions.”
Elnaz’s expression was skeptical, but she didn’t raise any objections. Henrik kept quiet, too, even though this didn’t feel right. Of course he wanted to make good TV, but he still thought it was wrong to go beyond factually criticizing the patisserie. The idea of provoking feelings and reactions as Don was suggesting was another matter altogether.
“I’ve checked the schedule; we can let you have a few more days of filming. This will give you a chance to fix things.”
They returned to the café. It was time for the team to interview some of the customers. Ted and the camera operator went over to a table where the man and woman from the first day were sitting. He was the one who’d said he had a tab, and that Nora allowed him to pay when he could afford it. Don sat down at a table nearby, picking the spot with the best view. Henrik noticed that Elnaz was looking kind of anxious while Ted gave nothing away—but then he was always like that. Always kind of switched off. Maybe that was how he survived in an industry where genuine feelings were hard currency.
Nora marched toward Ted and her customers.
“I think they want to film in peace,” Henrik said as she passed him.
“I just want to hear what they’re saying.”
Henrik followed her, and they both stopped behind the camera. Ingemar was dressed entirely in beige, while Maggan was his polar opposite: a leopard-print coat, lips painted a bright pink that clashed with her vibrant red hair.
“Tell us what you think about Nymans,” Ted instructed them. Nora was listening attentively.
“I think everything is delicious,” Ingemar said.
“The bread’s too hard,” Maggan announced. “Nora does certain things very well, the croissants are very good, for example. But some of the bread is kind of tasteless.” She glanced apologetically at Nora. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. And some of the cookies I’ve bought have been stale.”
Henrik had to stop himself from giving Nora a triumphant look. He could feel the tension radiating from her body. She smelled amazing; he’d thought the same when he was whispering in her ear that evening in the hotel restaurant. As if she had just stepped out of the shower, mixed with a subtle scent of lavender. She smelled even better than freshly baked bread.
“The rolls are good, the price is good,” Ingemar piped up again. “But the coffee can be ... a little bitter sometimes,” he added hesitantly. Unlike Maggan he didn’t look at Nora, but kept his eyes fixed on the table.
“The coffee?” Nora exclaimed. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I’m sorry, but should she really be here when you’re talking to the customers?” Henrik said.
“Because I ...,” Ingemar stammered. “Because you’re so kind to me, and I didn’t want to complain.” He still managed to avoid looking at Nora.
“No, she shouldn’t be here,” Ted agreed wearily, rubbing his eyes. “Nora, can you please go and take a break somewhere else?”
Nora sighed loudly and stomped off into the bakery.
When they had finished filming, the camera team followed her. Nora ignored them as she peered into the oven, then lifted out a tray.
“We thought Henrik could go through the bread now. What you bake and how,” Ted said, glancing over at the table where the production assistant had laid out a selection of loaves on red-and-white-checked kitchen towels.
“Bread is a specialty of mine, so you might find it interesting,” Henrik said.
Filming began, and Henrik noticed a rich smell coming from a tray Nora that had just taken out of the oven. Ignoring Ted’s instructions and the script, he went over to check out the thin square of crispbread, baked to a perfect golden brown.
“What’s this?”
“Sourdough crispbread.”
He broke off a piece, tasted it. “This is delicious.” For a moment he forgot all about the show and Don’s demands—this was special. Discovering something unique in a patisserie was always delightful, and he was going to savor this moment.
It was the best crispbread he had ever eaten. But he couldn’t come straight out and tell her that—she would be unbearable.
“I don’t sell it in the store—I only make it for myself.”
“Why don’t you sell it?”
“Because people around here aren’t interested in buying expensive crispbread when they can buy Wasa instead.”
“I think you’re misjudging the residents of V?stervik. From the little I’ve seen of this town, people seem to enjoy the good things in life—and are prepared to spend money on them. I think you could sell this.”
“Sell crispbread,” she said calmly.
“Yes, and it’s made from your sourdough, so it feels rustic, authentic. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”
She didn’t say anything, but she nodded hesitantly.
“I want you to try something. Wait there.” He went over to the bench where he’d left his backpack and took out a jar of marmalade that he’d bought at a specialty shop back in Stockholm. He broke off another piece of crispbread, added a slice of ordinary cheese, then some of the marmalade. Without thinking, he brought the crispbread to her mouth. She was so surprised she took a bite. His fingers brushed her lips, and a strange tingling sensation shot all the way up his arm. He hadn’t considered the intimate sensuality of what he was doing. Nora, however, seemed unmoved. She munched away, then looked at him.
“Delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” He nodded, took a bite for himself. The crispbread’s mild but well-rounded flavor was the perfect pairing for the bittersweet marmalade and the savory creaminess of the cheese.
He could feel Ted’s skeptical gaze, and he heard Don clear his throat. No doubt Ted was ready to shout cut at any second. He had to change course—and fast.
“I really think the locals would love this,” he said with conviction. “They could buy it to add a touch of luxury to their weekend breakfast, or a Friday night cheese platter, or to give as a gift with a good jar of marmalade. Better than this tough, uninspiring object.” He held up a roll.
“But our rolls . . .”
“Are uninspiring. At least ... these rolls are uninspiring. If you made them from your sourdough, I’m pretty sure they would be something else.” He leaned back against the table, folded his arms. “What do you want your customers to think of your patisserie?”
“Authentic and classic.”
“Authentic. And would you say that rolls made from mass-produced flour are authentic?” He almost thought he heard Ted heave a sigh of relief now that he was back on track.
Nora didn’t answer.
“How about trying something more specialized? Flour made from different grains, for example? You could try baking with flour produced by local farmers—I think that could work.”
“Cut—let’s move on,” Ted said.
Henrik thought the scene had gone well, but judging by Don’s grim expression, he knew it was a long way from what TV24 wanted.