8. Rune
Chapter 8
Rune
I wake up to the rich, intoxicating smell of coffee.
For a moment, I think I’m back at my own apartment. I always set the timer on my coffee pot at night so that it turns itself on a half hour before I’m supposed to leave for work. Which means I need to get up now, or risk being late. Reluctantly, I open my eyes…and am fully disoriented when I see a massive stone fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows.
I blink, confused. Then I notice the white blanket tangled up next to me on the couch and it all comes back.
I don’t have a job. I don’t have a boyfriend. At the moment, I don’t even have my car.
This is not a great situation to be in.
I brace for the panic to strike, but it never does. I'm lulled into a sense of contentment by the gentle warmth of the fireplace, the incredible view. It’s hard to freak out when you feel warm and cozy and the daylight is shining through the windows. The snow must have stopped falling sometime in the night, and a perfect winter wonderland now meets my eyes.
No longer sleepy, I kick the blankets off and walk over to the windows to get my first real glimpse of the landscape: snow-clad pine trees, birds flocking around a feeder, and a frozen lake with a distant horizon. It’s wildly magical.
Screw Sebastian and his stupid trip to Paris, I think suddenly. This is so much nicer.
“You’re awake.”
I turn at the sound of Finn’s voice, sounding a little soft and raspy from sleep. He's sitting at the counter in the kitchen, an open book and coffee mug in front of him.
Some audacious butterflies come to life in my stomach. I thought he was stunning last night. It’s nothing to the tousled hair look he has this morning, still wearing the same white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Objectively speaking, Finn is physically very attractive.
“Want some coffee?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Do you take sugar? Oat milk? I don’t have any fancy creamers, I’m afraid.”
“Just black, thanks.”
He stands and stretches his muscled arms over his head. The movement gives me the slightest glimpse of his chiseled abs. “How was the couch?”
“Excellent,” I assure him, trying not to notice the sliver of skin at his waist. I don’t need to be reminded about his stomach muscles. “Warm and cozy. I highly recommend it.”
“Some of my best naps have been taken on that couch.”
“I believe it. Thanks.” I accept the coffee and breathe it in deeply. With a nod towards the book that he just set aside, I add, “Don’t let me disturb you.”
“The great thing about books is that they’ll still be there when you get back to them.”
I’m not normally the kind of person who enjoys conversation early in the morning, but— “Thanks again for letting me stay here last night. Your house is really beautiful.”
“My pleasure. Nice to get my annual good deed out of the way,” he jokes, moving into the living room and settling into an armchair.
My mouth twitches with a smile at that. “Happy to be of service.”
“So Rune, my mysterious visitor. How do you like this snowy paradise that you’ve ventured into?”
“Oh you know. Started out a little rough, but it’s growing on me.”
“Yeah, it does that.” The grin he flashes me makes my stomach flip.
No, Rune. Bad. You’re supposed to be in mourning over your last relationship.
On the edge of the little table, Finn’s phone starts buzzing and he glances at the screen. “Sorry, I need to take this.”
While Finn takes his phone conversation into another room, I sip on my coffee near the windows. It’s idyllic here. Very calming. I’d like to know what kind of a job allows you to live like this. I hope it’s not the medical field, because I failed biology twice.
Too bad that wasn’t the only thing I failed at in life, as my parents tend to remind me. Don’t forget to put extra effort into this opportunity , my mom likes to tell me. It comes a little harder for you than it does most other people.
Thanks, Mom.
Her complete lack of faith in me is very probably one of the reasons that I stuck with my not-dream-job for as long as I did. I am often convinced that I’ve peaked in life and it’s all going to go downhill from here.
I have to remind myself that my mother can only ruin my day if I let her. Which includes now, I suppose. Here I am, standing in a veritable mansion with the most beautiful view—and a drop-dead gorgeous host who’s been far more gracious than is warranted—and I’m resurrecting my mom’s haunting commentary. Nice, Rune.
“Sorry about that,” Finn says when he returns. “Work called.”
And what is it you said you did for work? I want to ask. But my confidence fails me. Maybe it's too nosy to ask about his work.
“So,” he says, rubbing his hands, “what do you think about rescuing your car?”
* * *
An hour later, we’re both sweating and panting, shoveling nearly two feet of snow out of the way to clear a trail to my car.
“We’re getting close. You can pop back into the truck any time you need to warm up.” Finn leans on the handle of his shovel for a quick breather.
“And miss this opportunity to show off my exceptional shoveling skills? Never.” It’s an obvious attempt at humor. My muscles are decent enough, but this snow is hard to handle. It keeps slipping off my shovel at the most inopportune moments, forcing me to work twice as hard to get my side of the car cleared. “Couldn’t do it without your jacket, though,” I add. I’m completely dressed in Finn’s clothes at this point, including a jacket of his that I borrowed to stay warm.
“Don’t start thieving my things now,” he deadpans.
Eventually, we clear enough of a path for Finn to hook up the winch and slowly, carefully, drag my car back onto the road. He spends a few minutes helping me clean the packed snow out of the wheel wells and looking underneath for—I'm not really sure what. Engine stuff. I checked Aunt Mairi’s address this morning and discovered it's only about six miles away. Six miles in the opposite direction. I guess I missed the turn in the snowstorm. That's embarrassing.
“I guess we did it!” I say brightly to Finn. Everything is really looking up.
“Well, sort of.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, cringing internally at the cautious tone. Please God , I cannot handle anything more at this point. I am hanging on by one tiny thread of lingering optimism.
“The undercarriage is a bit roughed up and you’re leaking oil something bad.”
“Bad as in…?”
“It may need some repairs.”
I don’t like the look on his face. I can barely afford to fill up the tank with gas, let alone substantial repairs. In no scenario does this sound like something my bank account can withstand. “Think it will be a cheap fix?” I try to hide my desperation.
The way Finn scrunches up his eyes and takes a long look at my beat up rig tells me that no, this will absolutely not be a cheap fix.
“Well, thanks for letting me know,” I force myself to say with as much positivity as I can muster, hoping I sound wealthy and unconcerned. It’s embarrassing to be poor when you’re around rich people. “I’ll have to take it into the shop when I get home.”
“I’m not sure your car will last five miles, let alone long enough to get you home.”
I gape at him. “So I’m just stuck here? On the side of the road?” That doesn’t sound safe. Fucking hell, I’m going to have to dish out money for a tow truck, after all.
“I bet we can get it to my house,” Finn says with a level of confidence that may or may not be fabricated. “My neighbor Charlie is a mechanic. As long as Charlie has the parts and some spare time, it might be drivable by this weekend.”
I should tell him no, I'll call a tow truck. But…my sad bank account forbids me. Thanks to skimping on my car insurance, I haven’t had roadside assistance for years.
“Would it be too much of a bother?” I hedge.
“We’re only a little over a mile from my house. I bet we can do it.”
I start to believe him…until I turn the key and hear the engine squeal like a banshee. Panicked, I shut it back off again.
Finn takes one look at my face and opens the door.
“Let me try. You can follow in my truck.”
I should argue. I don't.
By some miracle, the car makes it back to Finn's in one piece. While Finn makes a call to his mechanic friend, I change back into my own clothes.
“Good news,” he announces. “Charlie says the parts we need should come tomorrow, maybe Saturday. So I guess figure on getting your car back in working order on Monday or Tuesday?”
My eyes widen. “That long?” I realize I sound whiny, so I hasten to back track. “Totally fine. Great. I just thought—well, it doesn’t matter.”
“What did you think?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I was just picturing it to be like an hour or two for a fix.”
Finn gives a short laugh. “An hour or two is changing tires.”
“I’m not a mechanic!” I say defensively. “I don’t know, maybe it’s something you can like, put duct tape on for a temporary fix.”
“Duct tape, huh?” Finn shakes his head, but there’s a smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth. “We don’t do half-assed patch fixes here. Only quality work.”
“Right. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”
“I did call the body shop in town just to make sure, but they have to put in an order, too.” He sounds apologetic.
“No, it’s fine, really—I just—that's a really long time for my car to take up space in your driveway.”
He pours himself another coffee from the carafe. “It’s not a bother at all. Hope that’s not going to screw up your vacation plans?”
“I wasn't planning on doing much,” I deflect, since my vacation is definitely screwed up beyond repair. “Probably catch up on the family gossip and play a million rounds of solitaire on my phone…and uh, probably beg some stranger for a ride over to Aunt Mairi's house.” My face reddens a little. Obviously Finn is the one who will have to drive me there.
“Mairi…Olson?” He sounds surprised.
“Do you know her? She lives on the other side of the lake.”
“Yeah, I know her. Your aunt, huh?”
“Ever since I can remember.”
“Alright. What say we go grab some lunch and then I’ll take you over there?”
* * *
Danielle: Status update? You’re alive, right?
Me: Yep. Good news: car’s out of the ditch. Bad news: it needs repairs.
Danielle: That’s 0% good news, 100% bad news. What happens now? Does your insurance cover it?
Me: No idea. Hopefully it won’t be too big of a deal. Finn’s got a neighbor who can fix it.
Danielle: Finn Sigurdson? The guy whose home you stayed in last night?
She's really done her sleuthing.
Me: I don't know if I should be impressed or worried that you know his last name.
Danielle: Please. This is all public tax information.
I'll take her word for it.
I slide my phone back into my pocket as I gather my things, feeling only a little awkward when Finn holds the door open for me to climb in. That’s something Sebastian used to do when we went on fancy dates to restaurants where we could only really afford a drink or two. I guess we won’t be doing that anymore. Correction: I won’t be doing that anymore. Sebastian probably will. Probably with that Paris girl, too.
“You doing ok?” Finn breaks into my thoughts.
“Just thinking,” I reply quickly. Maybe too quickly, based on how his brows rise.
When Finn’s attention is fixed on navigating the freshly plowed roads, I take the opportunity to really take him in, distracting myself from thoughts of my ex.
Finn has a strong profile: a chiseled face with high cheekbones and dark brows set over piercing blue eyes. There are the tiniest wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that lend warmth to the otherwise serious expression on his face. A few dark curls escape from beneath the red knit beanie, making him look something of a lumberjack, especially when paired with the dark green wool hunting coat. A coat that somehow still manages to show off his strong shoulders and fit body. Combine all that with the bit of stubble on his jaw—just enough to look rugged, but not long enough to be abrasive if you’re making out—and Finn is one good-looking man.
It’s objectively true, and I can acknowledge it, even if I know better than to go jumping straight from a four-year relationship into batting my lashes at a relative stranger. Even if those lips of Finn’s look like they’d be an absolute delight to kiss.
“So,” I say casually, trying to distract my own wayward thoughts, “where are we headed?”
“To the great city of Birch Lake, Minnesota.” He glances over at me. “And by great city, I mean a couple bars, a coffee shop, a gas station, and a newspaper office.”
“Wow, a newspaper?”
“We take the town gossip very seriously.”
“Naturally.” I snort and turn my head to watch the landscape go by; an endless parade of thick spruce and balsam, coated in a healthy layer of white stuff. We pass a plow truck coming from the opposite direction, widening the road so that the shoulder is once again visible. “So, have you lived here all your life?”
“What makes you say that?”
I shrug. “This seems like that sort of place. Small towns kind of keep to themselves, don’t they?”
“Do they?”
“You tell me. I’m just making up stereotypes over here.”
He chuckles. “I was born in Duluth and lived there until about fifth grade when my great aunt passed away and left a bit of money for my dad. That's when they moved up here to live on the lake.”
“Nice,” I say, before catching myself. “I mean, not nice about your great aunt. Really sorry to hear that.”
His mouth turns up into a smile, revealing the faintest hint of a dimple. “I didn’t like her.”
The thick forest opens up now to a brightly painted sign that reads Welcome to Birch Lake . I remember this place vividly from my summer visits years ago. Surprisingly, not much has changed apart from a serious lack of traffic. We seem to be the only ones driving through town, although there are a few cars parked along the street. An older man shovels out the walkway leading to the post office, his breath like smoke in the cold. Finn parks in front of Pike Bar & Grill, which turns out to be a very northwoods-y establishment. Whoever runs this place must be obsessed with logs: log walls, log tables and stools, log bar. Hopefully the chef has the same passion for good food as the designer of this place does for log.
The waitress, a woman who looks like she might be in her mid-sixties, briskly approaches us the moment we settle into a tall table near the bar.
“What can I do for you?” The waitress pulls a tiny notebook out of her apron pocket, watching us expectantly from over the top of her glasses.
“I’ll have the red ale on tap.” Finn taps on the drink menu item.
“Great choice. And for you, hon?” She peers at me over her thin-rimmed glasses.
“Same, please. And a water.”
“That I can do.” She gives a brisk nod and moves to the next patrons, leaving Finn and I to stare at each other across the small table. I cast around for something to say, but my mind comes up blank. I make a show of looking around, like the odd pieces of nature art hanging on the walls are worth every piece of my attention. They’re actually cool, even if they don’t hold a candle to the looks of the man sitting across from me.
“Have you ever been to Minnesota in the winter before?” Finn asks politely.
It’s the kind of question you ask when you have nothing real to talk about, but I latch onto it anyway. “No I haven’t. I used to come up to visit my aunt and cousins in the summers, though, back in the day.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Definitely.”
“Hopefully our Minnesota winter will be on par with your summer experience.”
“I’m sure it will.” I don’t mention that the winter weather is the least of my concerns.
Once our drinks arrive, we toast to mechanics and Uncle Fisher-slash-Bob. I begin to relax a little, thanks to Finn’s easy demeanor. I’m sure I’ve screwed up his entire day, but he makes it feel less like I’m trespassing on someone’s valuable time and more like I’m hanging out with a friend who enjoys my company and doesn’t mind that my car is currently taking up space in his driveway while it awaits repairs.
“So tell me about life in the big city,” Finn says, leaning his elbows on the table. “What do you do there for fun?”
“I mostly work,” I admit, regretting that I don’t have a cool hobby to brag about. Then a mental image of Diana’s smug smile flashes to the forefront of my mind, making me wince. “At least, up until very recently.”
Finn catches my expression. “Are we celebrating this change or drinking to the downfall of your enemies?”
I bark out a laugh at his phrasing, but it’s the we that snags my attention and sparks a little warmth in my sad, cold soul. We makes me feel a little less alone. “The latter.”
“May they regret their decisions,” he says solemnly, reaching to tap his almost-empty beer glass against mine.
“I won’t bore you with the story, but it was kind of recent. One day I was fully employed, hoping for a promotion. The next, I was singled out as the one person to get the axe.” The few subsequent texts I sent to my former coworkers confirmed that I was, indeed, the only one who got fired. Apparently that’s all the company needed to free up enough funds to give Diana her raise.
“I’m really sorry,” Finn says.
“It’s fine. It just means a new opportunity is around the corner, right?” I put on my optimistic smile, the one that’s easy to hide behind, especially when we’re both momentarily distracted from the waitress’ reappearance with two large burgers and a basket full of fries.
“I’d definitely agree with the opportunity part,” Finn says, “but don’t gloss over the shittiness on my account. Life sucks sometimes.”
“It really does. The worst part is that it wasn’t even that good of a job: it barely paid the bills and my boss was a nightmare. I should have put more effort into finding a new gig somewhere, but I was hung up on the fact that I wanted to make it work. I thought that everything would brighten up if I put enough time and effort into it.”
“That sounds like something a therapist would tear apart,” Finn comments.
“Probably. I might be cured of that mentality, since I learned that it doesn’t work with boyfriends, either,” I comment, before realizing that Finn does not want my sob story flung at him while he’s trying to enjoy a good burger. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you. It’s just top of mind and spilling over, you know?” Embarrassed, I break eye contact with Finn and focus on my fries. They’re delicious.
“You can spill it if you want. I don’t mind.”
I shovel a bite into my mouth to buy time to think. I think he’s just being polite, because why the fuck would he actually want to hear more? But part of me is so tired, so desperate for comfort and sympathy that I find myself sharing more.
“It all happened on Monday and I haven’t really processed any of it,” I try to explain. “I called my boyfriend to talk to him about getting fired, but it turns out he wasn’t interested in being my boyfriend anymore.” I probably don’t have to expand on the part where I caught him in the act. That detail can be buried deep.
“So anyway, it can only get better, right?” I smile brightly at him.
Finn opens his mouth, then closes it with a frown. He must not share that sentiment. Technically, I don’t believe it either. Things can always get worse until the day you die. Even then, my more religious friends would say that death doesn’t always stop the downward spiral.
“Better days are always ahead,” he says finally, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve them now. If I’m being completely honest, I’m in awe of how you’re handling all of this—the job, the ex, the car…”
“On the outside I can smile. Inside, I’m still screaming,” I say wryly.
We both fall silent and I immerse myself in my meal. It’s perfect American fare: flavorful and far too greasy. Comfort food, really.
“That looks absolutely disgusting,” Finn comments when he notices me dipping my fries in a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise.
“Don’t knock it till you try it. The balance of flavors is—” I twirl my fingers, trying to think of the right word.
“Unbalanced?” Finn supplies with a grin. “I’ll stick with ketchup only, thanks. You want anything else?”
When I shake my head, Finn motions for the waitress, who brings the bill over. I reach for it, but he swipes it up before I catch a glimpse of the amount due.
“My treat,” he says firmly, when I open my mouth to protest.
My bank account celebrates.
“Thanks.”
“Seriously, no problem. I’m glad the snowstorm brought you in so I don't have to eat alone. Or worse, flirt with the bartenders.”
“Wouldn’t that be awful.” I can’t help laughing. The bartenders today are twice our age. But maybe Finn is into older women. I know nothing about him.
There’s another flutter in my stomach when the corner of his mouth tilts up and he casts a wink in my direction. If it wasn’t for the strange circumstances of our meeting, I’d probably be plotting a way to hang out longer. Maybe it’s for the best: my heart’s been battered enough without adding a vacation fling to the mix.
So when Finn opens the door for me and gives me a smile with the faintest hint of a dimple, I tuck away my feelings and shove my heart into a little locked box where it belongs.