Chapter 57
IT’S GIVING WUTHERING HEIGHTS ON PAINKILLERS
Holly
“I just needed air. And possibly a therapist.”
She needed air. Not because she was being dramatic, but because her brain needed a second to line its thoughts back up after that dinner.
So she bailed, slipping out the back door on her crutches like a scandalized Bronte heroine who’d just been asked what her five-year plan was and whether it involved teaching children instead of wanting things that were bad for her reputation.
The Danish winter smacked her full in the face.
Cold, clean, unforgiving. The kind of cold that didn’t flirt or warn you first, it just took what it wanted.
It cut straight through the hoodie Nate had insisted she wear, biting at the strip of bare skin above her ankle wrap.
Her eyes stung instantly. Not crying. Absolutely not crying.
Just… aggressively fresh Scandinavian air, heavy with a side of judgment and impeccable taste.
She breathed it in anyway, chest tight, heart louder than the quiet street.
Copenhagen was beautiful in that restrained, icy way that made you feel emotionally underdressed.
Everything was neat and composed, centuries old and still standing.
And suddenly she felt how small she was here.
How temporary. As if she was borrowing space in a city that’d already decided who belonged, and it wasn’t dancers with healing ankles or emotionally volatile Americans with boundary issues and a carry-on full of delusion.
Helene’s voice echoed in her head, all smiles and sharp edges.
Dancing. Such a… vivid career path…
Hard to maintain as one gets older…
What happens after the curtain falls?
Concern dressed up as superiority. Holly had smiled through it all, graceful and polite, like she always did when she was dealing with someone who just didn’t understand her world.
But out here, in the cold, it hit her. What had actually happened in that formal dining room?
She’d auditioned, and she hadn’t made the cut.
Apparently she’d failed Advanced Placement: Becoming Palatable to Scandinavian Matriarchs.
The worst part? She loved him. And not in the abstract, rom-com way she’d joked about with friends in the past or waved off with sarcasm. This was the first time she’d actually let the thought settle, heavy and undeniable deeply in her chest. Loved him. Past tense, present tense, all of it.
Now that she’d admitted it, even just to herself, it crowded out everything else.
The way he’d fallen asleep on the plane with his head tipped against her shoulder, snoring softly like he trusted the world not to drop him while he rested.
How he always refilled her water glass without asking, like her thirst mattered before his own.
The way he noticed her tension or her silence and adjusted without making a show of it.
None of it was grand. No fireworks, no speeches.
Just a thousand small acts that had slipped under her defenses and made a home there.
And now that she knew what it was, she couldn’t unknow it.
Couldn’t stop measuring everything against the quiet truth that Nate Eriksson had become the person her heart defaulted to when it wasn’t busy pretending to be fine.
The garden looked like something out of Architectural Digest: Frozen Royalty Edition.
Symmetrical hedges, tasteful lighting, probably a hibernating swan somewhere that cost more than her first car.
She made her way to the bench near the edge of the terrace, each crutch-assisted step thudding against the chilled gravel like an accusation.
When she finally sat, her entire body sagged with relief.
Her ankle throbbed, but her pride ached more.
The door creaked open behind her. Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.
Holly didn’t look. Just stared at the hedges as though they might move like the ones in The Shining if she didn’t keep an eye on them at all times. The bench creaked under Nate’s weight as he sat beside her, his presence already helping her feel more grounded. And then he held out the mug.
Cocoa, with whipped cream and a dash of what looked to be cinnamon sprinkled over the top.
Steam curled up from it into the frigid air like a magic spell, promising softness.
Comfort. Holly blinked and took it with a small smile that she couldn’t quite keep at bay.
She wrapped her hands around it gratefully.
“Sigrid?”
“Sigrid,” Nate said gently, stretching one arm behind her back along the top of the bench. She sipped, and it tasted like childhood and reprieve. Like something you didn’t realize you needed until it was there.
“LA doesn’t get cold like this,” she said at last, her voice a little rough.
“Even when it tries.” She tipped her face up toward the stars, breath fogging faintly.
“This kind of cold doesn’t care if you’re ready for it.
It just shows up and cuts straight through you.
Makes you remember exactly where you are. ”
Nate didn’t answer right away. He leaned back, stretching one long leg out in front of him, exhaling slowly. The quiet felt permissive.
“Kind of like your mom,” she added lightly.
That earned a soft huff of laughter from him, equal parts apology and reluctant agreement.
She glanced over, and for the first time since dinner, met his gaze.
He looked tired, and not from the flight, or the time zone, or even the emotional gymnastics of playing human buffer between her and his mother’s razor-blade hospitality.
This was the tiredness that came from carrying something heavy for too long without setting it down.
“I tried to keep it together,” she murmured. “Smiled through the whole thing. Pretended it didn’t land.” Her mouth twitched, humor thinning at the edges. “But I’m pretty sure your mother killed me somewhere between ‘vivid career path’ and her fourth glass of wine.”
Nate huffed softly, not defensive, not surprised. Just… rueful.
He reached for her then. Not like he was trying to fix anything, just his arm sliding around her shoulders and drawing her into his side. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It was a here’s-the-exit-if-you-need-it move. A you don’t have to stand alone one.
And god, she needed that more than she wanted to admit. Just to know he had her back.
“I thought…” He paused, choosing his words with care.
“I thought bringing you here would feel grounding. Quiet. Like somewhere solid to land while everything else is on fire.” His thumb brushed once against her arm, absent, thoughtful.
“I didn’t think about how much pressure lives in this house.
Or how sharp it can be if you didn’t grow up learning how to dodge it. ”
She leaned into him, cheek pressing against the front of his coat, letting herself rest there.
“I didn’t bring you here to test you,” he promised, immediately wrapping his arm around her as though it was as natural as breathing. “Or to see if you’d fit.”
He paused, jaw tightening just enough to give him away. “I brought you here because… this is part of my life. My family. And I wanted you in it.”
He took a deep breath, then sighed. “But I should’ve thought harder about what that’d be like for you. About what I was asking you to walk into. I’m so sorry if I made this all heavier than it needed to be, Holly.”
His thumb brushed her shoulder, a grounding touch.
“I guess I’ve always believed that if someone matters, you don’t hide the hard parts.
You let them see where you come from. Who you come from.
” A faint huff of self-awareness. “Turns out that’s not the same thing as making it easy,” he admits sheepishly.
“I don’t regret you meeting them,” he added quietly.
“I just… wish I’d been better at protecting you when you did. ”
The thought had been sitting there all evening, small and sharp and refusing to be ignored.
Holly had danced through judgment before.
Judges, producers, tabloids… she knew how to survive being evaluated.
But this wasn’t about technique or talent or how well she filled a frame.
This was about lineage. Legacy. The unspoken rules of a life she hadn’t grown up in and didn’t know how to perform without feeling like she was borrowing someone else’s skin.
Sitting in his family’s garden, wrapped in borrowed warmth, she felt the old fear surface.
That loving someone like Nate might mean stepping into a future already outlined in crystal glass and heavy expectations, where she was welcome only temporarily.
Not the woman who stayed, just the one who came before.
The rehearsal. The girl you loved until you chose the one who made sense.
And that was when the truth pressed into her hard enough to make her speak.
“I can’t tell if I’m in your story,” she whispered, the truth slipping out before she could stop it, “or just the prequel your mother plans to forget.”
Nate’s hand tightened on her arm, enough to say stay. He didn’t answer right away, like he was making sure whatever he said wouldn’t crack under the pressure of what was hanging between them.
“You’re in mine,” he said finally. “And you’re the only part that matters, Holly.” He hesitated, jaw flexing. “I don’t always know how to make space for that yet. But I’m trying.”
The admission settled between them, unfinished and imperfect, but real.
Holly leaned into his side, the cocoa warm in her hands, his shoulder solid beneath her cheek.
The cold stayed sharp around them, and the house loomed behind them like a final boss they weren’t ready to battle yet.
But here, on this bench, she let herself rest in the dangerous hope that love didn’t have to be loud to be serious, and that not every future revealed itself all at once.
Above them, the stars blinked on and off, distant and indifferent, witnesses to promises people didn’t always know they were making. Holly closed her eyes and breathed Nate in, choosing to stay here in the moment with him instead of racing ahead to everything it might cost later.
It wasn’t fixed. It sure as hell wasn’t certain. But for tonight, it was honest.
And that felt like enough to carry with her into whatever came next.