A Solstice Kiss #4
“That’s Old Town to the west and ?stermalm and Djurg?rden to the east.” He waved with his free hand, indicating the beautifully lit islands that lay across the water, then tapped the crown. “And this is occasionally stolen by tourists looking for a royalty-themed souvenir.”
Inspiration struck. “For our picture, we should pretend that we’re trying to take it!”
So that’s what they did, pantomiming for the camera that Ellie was attempting to shove the crown into her capacious handbag while Felix served as her trusty lookout and photographer, both of them trying very hard not to laugh.
After she posted that pic, too—while studiously ignoring the string of recent texts from her sister and various social media reactions to her earlier photo—they kept moving toward Old Town, hand in hand.
“I know it’s been ten years, but I’d love to hear more about what your move here was like.” She couldn’t even imagine how it must have felt to rip himself, roots and all, from the familiar soil where he’d grown. “What was good about it? What was hard?”
As he mulled over his answer, they neared another bridge.
“So many things about Sweden and Stockholm suit me,” he finally said. “The pace of life and cultural opportunities. The way Swedes prioritize families and personal lives over work. The diversity of the city’s population and all the incredible restaurants.”
All of which was lovely, of course, but… “Are you happy here?”
It was the central question, as far as she was concerned.
“Yes. Mostly.” He hesitated. “Any life contains difficulties, Ellie, no matter where you live. I can’t say there haven’t been hard days or even hard months in the past decade, and I can’t say I never miss Colorado and my family.
I don’t know that I’ll ever feel fully and completely at home here, and whenever I visit the United States, I no longer feel fully and completely at home there either. ”
That sounded incredibly lonely. “So you’re a man without a country?”
“No.” His headshake was immediate. “Sweden is my country now, even on its darkest winter days. I have a home here. I have good friends. I have a job I love and an existence that’s as full and beautiful as I want it to be. I have the life I want, with only one real exception.”
“What’s that?” She thought—hoped—she knew, but she needed to hear him say it.
“I…” He spoke slowly. Cautiously. “I guess I always thought I’d be in love and married by now. I’ve met and dated some wonderful people. But I haven’t met the right person.”
Boy, did she know that feeling. Although, to be honest, Dean hadn’t been especially wonderful. “I understand.”
“So that’s my life, Ellie from Maryland.” They were crossing the next bridge now, and without making a fuss about it, he helped steady her in the spots where the sidewalk turned slick. “What kind of life do you want?”
The hell of it was, she couldn’t answer the question. Not for him. Not even for herself. Not with any confidence.
But somehow, she had the feeling that her uncertainty might change. Sooner rather than later.
The Christmas market—Sweden’s oldest, dating back to the Middle Ages—somehow managed to be even more charming than Ellie had imagined.
Located in an open, central square of gravel-studded, snowy cobblestones, the Gamla Stan Julmarknad was surrounded by centuries-old colorful town houses and official buildings with gorgeously curved rooflines, unique sculptural features, and holiday decorations in every window.
Each of the market’s several dozen deep red wooden stalls was adorned with lush, bristly garlands and the same creamy yellow lights that hung from nearby roof overhangs and trees.
As Felix and Ellie approached the area, clusters of people in black coats, beanies, and gloves visited the vendors, perused the uniquely Swedish offerings, and handed over credit cards in exchange for hand-painted ornaments dangling from strings, gnome figurines carrying blue-and-yellow flags, palm-sized straw goats, small wooden houses with heart-shaped windows, stuffed mice wearing sweaters and red-and-white–striped scarves, homemade woolen stockings, artisanal teas, and carved reindeer, among other treasures.
She drew to a halt by the first wide row of stalls, let go of Felix’s gloved hand, and circled in place, giving herself time to take everything in.
To memorize the beauty of what she saw, in hopes that the recollection would remind her: Even on the darkest day of the year, the world contained loveliness beyond her imagination.
Loveliness she’d only experience if she took a chance and looked for it.
Felix didn’t rush her. Instead, he simply watched her with soft blue eyes and the calm patience of a man who could fully appreciate a moment without rushing to the next one.
After a minute, her attention drifted toward several vendors in particular. Her stomach faintly growled at the sight of stalls offering freshly baked bread, jams, cheeses, and roasted almonds next to another selling mulled wine, which Swedes apparently called glogg.
She and Felix were having dinner together, though, so she resolutely looked away from the food vendors and returned to his side. “I’d like to pick up some presents for my family and friends, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it’s okay.” He lifted an arm, and she happily accepted the unspoken invitation to cuddle close. “Are you warm enough?”
“Now I am.” His arm over her shoulders and the heat radiating from his solid body served as her blanket, even though her breaths emerged as clouds in the chill. “What should we do for our next photo?”
His lips rested at the crown on her head. “You tell me.”
At the sight of the charcuterie stall nearby, another burst of inspiration struck, and they used a large heart-shaped sausage—reindeer meat; poor Rudolph!
—as a prop for their photo, with the vendor’s permission.
As Felix dramatically offered it to her with the hand not holding her phone, she had both her own hands clasped over her jacket-clad chest in exaggerated shock and delight.
Afterward, she browsed at various stalls, and both of them picked up a few holiday handicrafts.
At one point, while she finished paying for a box of tiny marzipan fruits and then visited a stall selling wreaths and other greenery, he vanished for several minutes—only to reappear with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and raisin-studded saffron buns, as well as a white knitted hat with colorful yarn trim.
“Handmade in Swedish Lappland,” he told her, and had her hold their snacks while he carefully tugged the beanie over her head. “You were shivering, and I thought the white would look nice against your hair.”
“I…” She stalled out, her eyes prickling at the thoughtfulness of his gift. Blinking rapidly, she smiled up at him. “That was very kind of you, Felix.”
“It was my pleasure.” Dimples peeking through his scruff, he adjusted the hat to cover the tips of her ears. “Also, I didn’t want to explain your Little Match Girl–esque death to Swedish authorities.”
“Thank you.” Rising on tiptoe, she kissed his cold-pinkened cheek. “I’ll wear it for the rest of my visit, if only to save you from criminal charges.”
“Much appreciated,” he said, before taking another photo of them under a sign reading God Jul. Swedish for Merry Christmas, as she’d learned.
As they browsed the stalls together for the next hour, they sipped their cocoa and talked through their lives and interests. What she enjoyed about her work, what sort of music he liked, where they’d both gone to school.
When she spoke, he listened and asked follow-up questions. When she asked her own questions, he answered them—as he’d warned—with charmingly pedantic thoroughness and a teasing wit that invited mutual amusement instead of wounding her.
Maybe, she thought, if I knew I had someone there to help steady me, I wouldn’t mind uncertain, slippery paths so much.
At the top of the hour, just as the snow-laden clouds scuttered away and faint stars began to appear around their edges, the market closed. One by one, the stalls’ awnings drew shut as the crowds dissipated into the night.
It was time for her to move on, too, and she was ready.
Felix lightly squeezed her hand. “Dinner?”