14. Henrik
FOURTEEN
HENRIK
“Carina,” I mumble to myself on the way to my truck.
Eirik is still grumbling about being put on permanent cookie probation, and I couldn’t care less.
I mouth my siren’s name again. The taste of her name on my lips is divine.
I recognized her immediately from the shape of her body.
In only those mere moments at the dock months ago, I memorized her decadent curves.
Since then, they’ve been center stage in my mind, my dreams, and I would know them anywhere.
My heart rate speeds up, my knees are wobbly, and I feel short of breath. What has she done to me? Even with that crazy goop in her hair and her weird, green smooshed face mask, I know she’s breathtaking.
I fight the urge to turn around and barge back into my sister’s house. I want to demand a formal introduction. After all, she’s right there. Just on the other side of the door. Within reach. I stop moving, and Eirik runs into my back. “Oof. Why’d you stop? I thought we were leaving.”
Even though I’m desperate to meet her, I can’t ignore the discomfort in her kind eyes.
With all that stuff in her hair and on her face, I know she wasn’t happy to have an audience.
I’ll have to be patient and wait for another opportunity.
“We’re leaving,” I growl at him while forcing my legs forward.
Thirty minutes later, we’re at my house.
I’ve done most of the updating of it during my breaks from fishing.
When I bought it several years ago, the inspector told me the bones were solid, but I wanted it less dated.
The 1970s-era olive greens and burnt oranges were the first to go.
I’ve learned to tile, hang cabinets, and install flooring.
Today it looks like a whole new house, especially after I painted, making it feel more masculine and modern. Now it fits me.
Grabbing glasses from my dark-stained wooden floating shelves, I fill them with water before joining Eirik at my breakfast bar.
“Thanks for lunch,” he says before unwrapping his club sandwich and devouring it. I grunt in reply, doing the same.
Ten minutes later, we’re both settled on my black leather couch, and Eirik wrestles the bag of cookies from the front of his jeans. “I can’t believe you,” I mumble.
“What?” He smirks. “Amelia would never make monster cookies for me. This was my only chance to get some.”
Scoffing, I ask, “What’s your plan when you eat them all?”
He scratches his head. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe I’ll freeze them, ration them out, and make them last longer.”
Laughing, I say, “You have no restraint. I bet you a hundred dollars you’ll have them finished within a week.”
Pouting, he opens the bag and takes out a cookie. In two bites, it’s gone. “You’re on,” he mumbles around his second cookie.
“This will be like taking candy from a baby.” I grin as I get up to grab more water.
Shortly after I return to the couch, he looks over at me. “So that was Carina. I don’t remember her from high school.”
At the mention of her name, my eyes close, and the mental images I have stockpiled of her fly through my mind at lightning speed. “I think she’s changed a lot since then.” At least, I hope. Otherwise, how did I miss her?
“She isn’t the one you had on your boat this summer?
” I ask, and he shakes his head no. “If she isn’t the marine biologist, I wonder what she does.
I’d be interested in talking to her,” I say, my voice contemplative.
I glance at Eirik, who’s eyeing me with an amused smirk on his stupid face.
Quickly, I clear my throat, trying to cover up my blunder with a cough.
I don’t want to sound as affected as I am.
How that’s even possible baffles the fuck out of me.
Eirik smirks. “Just talking? I think you’re more interested than talking to her.”
Forcing my face to show no emotion, I ask, “What?”
Just like Mia, he rolls his eyes at me. “How long have we known each other?”
“Too long,” I mutter.
“You’re a funny asshole, you know that? We’ve been best friends since we were toddlers. That’s almost thirty years of figuring you out. I know when you’re interested in a woman or not. Carina has you all sorts of interested.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I deny him with all the breath in my body. Unfortunately, I don’t think he buys it.
At about three, Eirik stands up, grabs his half-empty cookie bag, and heads for the door. “Big date tonight?” I joke.
“Something like that,” he mutters, sounding anything but enthusiastic. Then his mouth moves, but no sound comes out. It looks almost like he’s having a private conversation with himself.
Sitting forward, I press, “If you aren’t excited about going, why are you?”
He shrugs. “It’s winter. What else is there to do? I don’t want to sit at home alone. I might as well take Veronica out tonight. Wait, is it Lynea tonight and Veronica tomorrow? Shit, I don’t remember.” He leans against the door, swiping through text messages.
I frown at him. “Why do you do that to yourself?”
Eirik’s always been a playboy. And I’ve always been jealous of him.
He’s so confident with the opposite sex.
His cool, charismatic demeanor is a hit with women.
He’s all about fun and no commitment. Me?
I’ve always been the grumpy, gruff loner.
Other than Eirik, I don’t have friends. Not everyone appreciates my rough temperament, especially the ladies.
When I was younger, I tried to temper how harshly I came across.
Hell, I didn’t want to scare off a sure thing.
But for me, sex was just sex. I didn’t care if whomever I was hooking up with thought I was Mr. Personality.
It was never about a connection, just filling a need.
Over the years, I’ve found some women who appreciate my abrupt approach.
Just because I’m growly doesn’t make me an asshole during sex.
I know how to treat a woman, whether she likes my personality or not.
“What?” he asks with a scowl.
You’d think on an island as small as Kodiak, he’d run out of women, but he hasn’t.
Maybe that’s because he only looks for companionship during the dark, cold winter months.
And usually, we’re out to sea fishing during those times.
During the summer, Eirik embraces his second love—nature.
Fishing is hands down his first, but everything else in nature comes in a close second.
From spring until the snow flies, Eirik can be found hiking, biking, or kayaking.
Sometimes during the summer to earn extra cash, we tender for salmon or herring.
“Why don’t you cancel them both? We can order pizza and watch the Jurassic Park movies. What we don’t finish today, we’ll watch tomorrow.”
Still leaning against the door, he considers his options.
“We can even sneak over to Mia’s tomorrow morning and see if we can score some more cookies.”
Looking at his dwindling supply of cookies, he frowns. “Amelia won’t give us any more cookies.”
I laugh. “No, she won’t. But I know she has a massage tomorrow morning at ten.”
“So?” Eirik says. Then his eyes go wide as the pieces click into place. “And she won’t be home.”
I snap my fingers. “Exactly.”
A smile spreads across his face, and he holds up his bag. “I’m in, because I don’t think these babies are making it through the night.”
“Cancel your date and give me a few monster ball cookies.”
“What about the hundred bucks?”
I laugh. “We’ll call it even if I get most of what we find at Mia’s.”
“Deal.”
Afew weeks later, as I’m walking out of the harbormaster’s office, my phone rings. It’s my sister.
“Hello,” I answer.
My sister’s cheerful voice fills the line. “Henrik.”
“Mia, what’s up?”
She laughs. “Nothing. I had a break and was just calling to say hi and see how you are.”
“I’m good. Just had to drop off some paperwork at the harbormaster’s. Did Mom call you about dinner this week?”
While I wait for her answer, I look over at the Fishermen Memorial.
During Crabfest each May, I always visit the memorial and pay my respects to all the men and women from Kodiak who’ve lost their lives commercial fishing.
During most months, especially in winter, the memorial remains vacant.
But today, the person standing there is familiar.
Carina. I stop walking and stare at her.
Her blonde hair is gathered under a maroon hat, and she’s bundled in a fleece coat that makes me question if it’s warm enough.
From her profile, I notice her cheeks are pink.
She reaches out and reverently touches the memorial, then wipes away a tear. Seeing how sad she is, is torture. My heart twists, knowing I probably can’t fix it, no matter how much I want to try.
Before Mia answers my question, I interject with another. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Carina. You said she grew up here in Kodiak. I don’t remember her. What does she do now?”
“You wouldn’t remember her because she was a year after me. You were a senior when she was a freshman, and you two didn’t run in the same circles. Right after high school, she left Kodiak to get her degree in marine biology. She returned recently to study what happened to the crabs. Why?”
“Oh, because I think I see her right now, and thought it would be nice to say hi.”
“Really?” she questions, her voice packed with disbelief.
“Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?”
She laughs. “Because, Henrik, you are the definition of a grump.”
I am not. Frowning, I release a disapproving noise in my throat and then blow out a frustrated breath.
I need to get Mia on another topic before she puts two and two together about me wanting to talk to Carina.
Plus, I don’t want to miss this opportunity to introduce myself.
I need to get off the phone. “Grump? I am not a grump.”
Mia objects with a growl, and I laugh. “You know that isn’t intimidating, right?”
She huffs. “It is to my second graders.”