He looked to his right where Katrin moved in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible as her head rolled toward him, her chin finally resting on her chest.
Look where getting too serious got you, he thought, turning his gaze back to the road. It got you abandoned at the altar. It got you heartache. It got you nothing but a ride with a veritable stranger to some remote village to escape and start over. Bet you didn’t think it’d turn out that way, Älskling.
Älskling.
Swedish for “sweetheart.”
Huh. Where did that come from?
He hadn’t heard that pet name since his mother was alive; it was his father’s favorite nickname for her.
It fits you, Katrin, he thought, glancing at her again, so small, sleeping beside him. I hope you’re someone’s sweetheart again someday, and then—looking at her delicate face—without his approval or permission, the word rolled off his tongue aloud. “Älskling.”
“Hmm?” she murmured, eyes still closed. Then in a hushed, dreamy voice. “Är jag din Älskling?”
Am I your sweetheart?
His body froze, and he held his breath. Shoot! She told you she knows a little Swedish, you idiot!
Erik’s cheeks felt hot and he hoped she was still asleep, still dreaming. She had a slight smile on her otherwise serene face, but her eyes were closed and her breathing hadn’t changed. He swallowed, exhaling slowly as she continued to sleep, and he finally relaxed, determined to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of her nap.
***
When Katrin’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing she saw through the windshield was a mountaintop covered with snow up ahead. The second thing she saw as she moved her neck languorously to the left was Erik Lindstrom’s handsome profile.
She yawned and sat up straighter, waking up, flexing her toes and moving her neck from side to side to get the cricks out. “How long was I out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. About an hour? Not that long.”
“I had weird dreams.” She swallowed, realizing her mouth was dry and wishing she had some water.
“Bad dreams?”
“No. Not bad. Just weird. Dreamy. That makes no sense. Umm. Warm. I don’t know. Safe, maybe. Yeah, safe.” She murmured these words slowly, her voice still drowsy from sleep. She took a deep breath through her nose and turned to him. “Do you have any water, Erik?”
“Yep.” He reached back to the seat pocket behind him and handed her his bottle.
“Thanks.” She took the bottle, realizing it had already been opened and was a quarter gone, meaning his lips had been on the same bottle, which, she found, didn’t bother her a bit. In fact, her stomach fluttered a little as she unscrewed the cap and took a long sip, closing her eyes, just a little turned on by the connection she felt to him, touching where his lips had touched. She screwed the cap back on and settled into her seat, enjoying the languid warmth of her residual sleep. What was I dreaming? She had no concrete images, no faces or names or places…just an overall feeling of warmth, of safety, of a contentment she used to know.
He shifted beside her, and the skin on her palm tingled where she’d been zapped by his handshake earlier. She felt almost uncomfortably aware of him beside her, like every nerve ending in her body was on high alert, waiting for…for what?
She sighed in a huff, annoyed with the train of her thoughts.
Waiting for nothing, Kat. You’re being ridiculous. You’re a little distracted by him, and it’s been a while since someone distracted you, and let’s face it, it feels nicer than being worried or scared. But, it doesn’t mean anything, so don’t give it meaning. Get him out of your head. He’s handsome and that’s—
“What?” Erik was looking at her curiously.
“What what?” Her eyes flew open in a panic. Oh, good Lord, did I just say all of that aloud?
He furrowed his brows and gave her a lopsided grin before looking back at the road. “You sighed.”
“Oh.” She relaxed. “Yeah. I don’t know. It’s weird. I didn’t wake up feeling bad.” She paused. “Do you know the feeling…like, um, have you ever lost someone you loved? And when you wake up, you get a moment, maybe, a split-second, when you don’t remember? Just for that second as you’re waking up, you feel light and hopeful, and if you had good dreams, you might even feel”—she shrugged and shook her head, a slight smile on her face—“content. And then, and then it comes crashing over you all over again and you remember the worry or the pain or the sadness. All that heaviness just...descends.”
Erik swallowed, remembering the days after his mother had passed away. He nodded once, staring out the windshield.
“That’s how I’ve been waking up. For months. You know, since the wedding and all. That momentary lapse into hopefulness before feeling frightened and defensive, that heavy feeling returning almost immediately, every morning: waiting to see how Wade would embarrass me or bother me.”
“But not just now?” he asked. “You didn’t feel it?”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t feel scared or worried. It feels so nice not to worry.” She looked up at him and smiled.
The respite from sorrow, from fear and paranoia, felt wonderful. She looked at Erik’s handsome profile. She could see the bristle of an incoming beard along his jawline, the tiny blond hairs sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. A beautiful jawline covered by little golden prickles. Are you prickly, Erik Lindstrom?
“Maybe I didn’t realize how much the last few weeks were getting to me,” she said, forcing herself to look away from him.
“I’m
