Chapter 30
In Leif’s foyer, Ella unlaced her mud-flecked boots and took a few comforting breaths.
The house smelled like cold mountain air the moment before it rained, with the hint of a burning match.
The tension in her body loosened a little, just enough to take the edge off her anger and hurt.
She was glad not to be alone at Ringpynten.
She hardly knew anyone in Lyng?r, yet she had somehow made an enemy there.
Mia had insisted Inger was innocent, but then who was responsible?
At Inger’s bonfire, Charlotte had confessed her love for Leif, but she seemed too career focused to be driven by jealousy. It seemed unlikely she’d jeopardize her job and reputation with a huge temper tantrum.
Ella thought about Erik. He had given her the cold shoulder and obviously didn’t approve of her and Leif’s relationship.
But he seemed drained and beaten down, as if living with his demons took all his energy.
She supposed any of the other locals might have sent her the message to make it clear that she wasn’t welcome in their close-knit community.
Well, they’d made their point. She was done.
“This shouldn’t have happened to you,” Leif said, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He kicked off his blue shoes, reached for her coat, and hung it on a wall hook.
“My insides are still shaking . . . my emotions are all over the place,” Ella said.
“But I’m glad I listened to you and Mia and came here to calm down.
Maybe it’s better not to think about what happened right now.
” Her scalp was sweaty, her feet ice-cold.
She was worn out. Leif studied her with concern in his eyes, but when he opened his mouth to speak, she held up her hand.
“You know what would be wonderful? Something to eat and drink, and a fire in the hearth.”
· · ·
“This is just what I needed,” Ella said from a chair near the blazing fireplace.
Leif turned on the stereo, old-school music: Van Morrison’s instrumental “Scandinavia.” She watched as he moved around the kitchen.
For the first time today, he appeared calm, much like the energy of his home, and her tension eased.
Leif folded a dish towel over his forearm and mockingly inquired, “For your late lunch, Madam, you will be served leek, potato, and thyme soup with rosemary bread. Both are homemade. Does this meet with your approval? If not, I make a mean cheese toastie.”
Ella laughed and felt relieved that fish wasn’t on the menu. “I’d love some soup and bread. Also, I love the potted herbs in your window boxes. I can smell them from here, and it makes the kitchen feel even cozier.”
“Thanks, I started growing them years ago. It might have been my birthday, but I can’t remember.
My great-auntie Borghild, who lives in Portugal, mailed me some seed packets—oregano, thyme, and a bunch of others.
She’s an herbalist and believes that herbs can cure common maladies, like .
. . fennel is good for the heart. Basil prevents bad breath.
” He walked to the window box, snapped off a sprig of basil, and chewed on it.
“Just in case!” He smiled, and his dimples deepened.
They laughed and the knot in her chest untangled further. Their meal passed in a comfortable silence. Afterward, as she set their plates in the sink, she thanked him for the food and his company, saying how much better she felt.
“I’m glad. Want to see the rest of the house?” he asked and nudged the wrought-iron fireplace screen closer to the flames.
She followed him up the stairs. At the top of the landing was a wooden ship’s figurehead of a woman with thick brunette braids and large breasts spilling out of a low-cut bodice. “That belonged to my great-great-grandfather,” he said. “She’s a bit chipped but I love her.”
He pointed out three guest rooms, each decorated with sheer curtains, century-old armoires, and queen-size beds with crocheted throws. The décor was blue and white, with no decorative accents, no quirky artwork, no bold patterns anywhere.
“Throw pillows,” she blurted. He blinked at her. “I could sew you some pillows. Embroidered with birds, like the vermilion flycatcher.”
“Um, vermilion?” He’d worn a similar expression on their first date when she suggested he paint his antique kitchen chairs. She had to press her mouth shut to keep from laughing.
“Yes, I’m picturing a rich red, with a bit of orange,” she teased.
“Uh, well, maybe that could work,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
At the rear of the hall, she followed him into his bedroom.
The walls were painted midnight blue. A gold chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the headboard on the king-size bed had intricate carvings—crosses, more Viking runes, and an eagle.
He didn’t offer to share his bed, and she didn’t suggest it.
This holding back of words stretched between them.
Her gaze settled on the bedside table with a single candle and a copy of the book Kon-Tiki.
“Are you familiar with Thor Heyerdahl?” Leif said.
“Yeah, I watched a documentary on him. It’s wild that he sailed on a raft from South America to Polynesia. Would you ever do something like that?”
“Me? Nah, I prefer my home, a routine . . . or at least I thought I did.” He brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder. “But then you, a free-spirited, inspiring artist from Colorado, came along, and now I’m thinking maybe I could benefit from some sort of change.”
“Honestly?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re a good influence on me. You make me want to shake things up. Plus, you see me as an artist, and I love that you do.” He hugged her before holding out the book. “It’s one of my favorites. It’s brilliant. Like to borrow it?”
“I have a better idea. How about you read it to me?” She sat down on the bed and patted a spot next to her.
They reclined against the feather pillows and he pulled the afghan over their legs. She snuggled up to him and said, “If I doze off, could you wake me in an hour?” She laid her head on his chest, the comfort of being next to his solid body and the steady beat of his heart relaxing her further.
“Good plan.” He smoothed her hair, then flipped to a dog-eared page and began to read. “‘May 17. Norwegian Independence Day. Heavy Sea. Fair Wind . . .’”
That was the last line Ella heard before the room with a view of Lyng?r faded away.
· · ·
Ella was awakened by a kiss on her forehead. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and saw Leif place two bath towels on his rolltop desk. Next to the bed he’d set a tray with two mugs and two crystal cordial glasses containing a mocha-colored drink.
“I slept like a rock. Naps are the best.” As she stood from the bed, evening light streamed through the window. “It’s still sunny out and almost nine. I love it.”
“Long summer days are glorious.” He gestured at the glasses on the tray. “In case you’re thirsty. Irish cream liqueur, and coffee in the mug.” He touched the towels. “For when you’d like to take a shower. The facilities are down the hall.”
“Thank you. I’d love to take a shower.” She brushed her fingers over the towels and then his arm and gave a flirty tilt of the head.
He kissed her and led her to the shower.
In the bathroom, they were naked within minutes, with Leif’s mouth on hers, his hands tracing her skin as she arched her back and leaned into his touch.
Her fingers twined in his hair and his teeth nibbled at her throat as he pulled her against him, closing every gap they could find between them.
Beneath the steamy shower they lathered each other’s bodies and shared deep, passionate kisses.
When her feet slid on the soapy porcelain, he gripped her hips and didn’t let her fall.
In that instant, she felt free yet safe in his arms and wished she could stop time.
Afterward, she cinched the belt on a blue terry-cloth robe and, leaning over the sink, sketched a giant heart in the steam on the mirror. He kissed her again.
“Make yourself at home—feel free to borrow anything. Take your time and join me downstairs when you feel like it.” He put on a denim shirt and tucked his pendant inside.
“You’re the best, Boy Blue.” She grinned at him.
“No problem. Anything for you.” He hugged her and then walked out of the bathroom.
She collected her clothes from the heated floor. Mud speckled the hem of her skirt, and she brought her blouse to her nose and sniffed rosewater, green tea deodorant, and a hint of sweat. She was relieved there was no trace of the stink of the fish dumped at Ringpynten.
She wondered again who was responsible and what had driven them to do it.
Anger and hurt threatened to return, but she didn’t want to invite them in again right now.
She focused on the wind, which was beating at the house, but the chilly air didn’t push in through the windows like it had in her drafty childhood home in Boulder.
Ella swung open the wardrobe doors, selected a plaid flannel shirt, and pushed her arms through the sleeves.
In the top drawer she found a pair of handknit socks in a troll pattern.
They were soft, and she tugged them up over her calves.
A nautical rope belt caught her eye too, and she wrapped it around her waist, tying it off with her signature bow knot.
In another drawer, her hand hovered over Leif’s underwear.
He did say she could borrow anything. The thought lightened her mood, and she chose a pair of sapphire boxers and slipped them on.
She found Leif in the living room, asleep in a leather wingback chair, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table. On his lap lay his whittling knife and the same small finch he’d been carving for her in Jomfruland. The gift tugged at her heartstrings.