Chapter 16 #2
Leif’s two-story maritime home on Holmen Island was built in a traditional Lyng?r style, with white clapboard and a glazed tile roof.
It was bigger than Ella had imagined. In fact, it was one of the largest houses she’d seen here on the islands, and that surprised her.
Then again, Leif was hard to figure out—a mechanic who wore button-down shirts to repair engines, and built boats that looked like miniature Viking ships.
Plus he wore an aquamarine pendant on the water, just like she did.
In Leif’s foyer, Ella tried not to gape at the crystal chandelier and gilded mirror. She hadn’t pictured old-world antiques in his home. The rooms looked like they should have been featured in a luxury interior design magazine. Not at all what she expected from a rugged boatbuilder.
“Your house is so elegant,” she said.
“Not what you imagined?”
“Oh, it’s fine for you—I guess I just don’t know anyone my age who owns a single antique. Let me put it this way: I bought my sofa at a garage sale, and it cost ten dollars. I can toss it on the curb when I want a fresh look, and that works for me. Change is good, right?”
“Change.” He shook his head. “Mmm, not exactly my favorite word. I like to put down roots and stay attached to them.”
She blinked at him and fiddled with her dress sleeves. She had no roots. He must have seen that he touched a nerve, because he blurted, “I mean, new can be good too. America is an example of that.”
She set her boots next to his navy Converse. She’d learned that when you enter a house in Norway, you leave your shoes at the door as a sign of respect, to keep the floors clean, and to get comfortable.
She followed him into the kitchen. Candles and books on Scandinavian art and design were arranged on the fireplace mantel, and a painted chest butted up against blue-gray wall planks.
The lid and front panel of the chest portrayed a scene from a gunboat battle; a flourished font proclaimed the date as 1812.
“That war scene is so vivid. I almost feel like I’m there,” Ella said.
“The chest belonged to my great-great-grandfather, Karl Leif Arnesen. He was a gunboat commander who fought in the Battle of Lyng?r against Britain—that’s the battle that’s painted there.”
He crouched in front of the fireplace, struck a match, and lit the newsprint that he’d stuffed between fireplace logs.
He nudged the resulting flames with an iron poker as he continued.
“Karl built this house, and I inherited it, along with all of his belongings.” He pointed to the kitchen table.
“Karl made that out of a century-old ship hatch. The chairs come from a ship galley.”
“Neat.” She smiled at him. “The chairs would look great painted a seafoam green, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, but he’d scrunched up his face, as if that didn’t appeal to him at all. “Like a beer?”
“Yes please.” She followed him into a kitchen so cozy it made her want to bake a pie—and she hated baking.
He handed her a cold pale ale before moving to the counter and lifting the lid off a cooking pot. “This is the lapskaus. Beef, potatoes, carrots, rutabaga, onions, bouillon, parsley. Looks a bit mushy, but it tastes good. At least I hope you’ll enjoy it.” He turned on the stove.
“It looks like a yummy beef stew.” As she leaned over the dish to sniff it, her arm brushed against his, and the air buzzed hot between them again. She wished he’d put his arms around her. “I can’t wait to taste it.”
“It’ll be ready in about an hour.” He grinned at her. “When I asked you to dinner, you said you thought lapskaus sounded like some kind of exotic dance. I have no idea what sort of dance that is, but I’m keen to see it.”
“Yes. Lap-sky-ass sounds like a lap dance.” Ella lifted her dress to mid-thigh and shimmied her hips. Leif laughed and nodded in encouragement.
She laughed with him and released the hem of her dress.
“Or how about this one?” She pushed her neck forward and bobbed it and then tucked her arms by her side and flapped them like wings as she kicked up her feet.
She might have looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care.
He was beaming at her, and that made her feel beautiful.
She could be herself around him, and that made her like him even more.
“Glad I could introduce you to the funky chicken.” She bowed and smiled at him from beneath her lashes. He placed the lettuce, cucumber, and wedge of Parmesan on the kitchen table, and when she offered to help, he asked her to grab the oil and vinegar from the pantry.
She scanned its contents—sardines, pickled herring, and fish balls—and shuddered.
Leif must have done all his shopping at Mia’s store.
Taped to the pantry wall was a newspaper clipping of Leif and Erik.
Leif’s arm was hooked around Erik’s shoulder, and they were grinning at the camera.
She pointed to it and said, “Great shot of you both. You two seem happy.”
“Yup, we were at the annual wooden boat festival in Ris?r, about an hour west of here. Terrific festival and a great tradition.” He slid a cutting board from a cabinet and set it on the table. “You met Erik?”
“No, I only saw him briefly at Mia’s store. I wanted to meet him, but he took off quickly. He seemed upset.”
“No surprise there. He has loads on his mind.”
“Do you think you could introduce us before I leave?” She set the oil and vinegar next to the salad bowl. “He looked to be about my mom’s age. Maybe he met her or knew who she was, or who her boyfriend might have been.”
Leif took the scissors from a drawer. “Um, OK . . . he doesn’t really get to know any of the tourists, though—he only knows their boats.
” He snipped at the parsley in the window box and the herb fell into his palm.
“And he’s very private. Let me talk to him first, and maybe I can set up a time for the two of you to meet. ”
“That would be great! But soon, please—if you can?”
“I’ll try.”
“Thanks, that would mean a lot to me.”
As the stew simmered, Ella arranged the cloth napkins and dinnerware on the table and stole glances at Leif.
His sleeves hugged his biceps as he tipped the cutting board over the salad bowl and pushed the diced tomato onto the lettuce with the blade of his knife.
She imagined his hands tracing her skin, and the warmth of his mouth. She moved to his side.
“Table is set. Anything else I can do?”
He rested his hand on the small of her back. She felt drawn to him, a powerful pull, as if their bodies were meant to merge. He broke off a tiny chunk of Parmesan and asked, “Would you like to try a bite of this?” Ella nodded and he placed it on her tongue.
“Delicious,” she said, looking into his eyes.
“You have some on your mouth,” he said quietly, moving closer to her.
She lifted her chin and he brushed his thumb on her bottom lip.
A lock of her hair had escaped from her updo, and he swept the strand away from her collarbone.
He leaned in slowly, and his lips grazed her cheek, then traced her jawline and the hollow of her neck.
She slid her arms around him and kissed him tenderly.
Her head tingled, and so did her thighs.
He gave her the type of kiss that could light up the night.
His touch stole her breath and then handed it right back to her.
She ran her fingers up the front of his shirt, and he let out a soft, low groan.
She jumped at the sound of someone banging on the front door, followed by a loud, high-pitched whistle. Ella pulled free, her breath coming fast.
“Ignore it,” he said as his hands moved up her back and beneath her hair.
She tugged at her dress. “Who is that?” As she spoke, the person in question let out another ear-piercing whistle.
“It’s Erik.” Leif’s face was red, and his tone was curt. He adjusted his pants. “I’ll see what he wants. Stay here.”