It felt like a long wait until she turned her head and looked at their hands first, then moved her eyes back up to smash into his. Her cheeks were flushed and her dimple caved in, betraying her, before she nodded with pursed lips. “Okay. Sunday supper. Text me and we’ll figure it out.”
His whole body tightened and he fought the urge to bring her hand to his lips and kiss it as she had kissed his cheek in the car. His heart beat faster, leaping in his chest. Not happy, exactly, but relieved.
“Söndag,” he said. Sunday.
“Söndag.” Katrin nodded again, then wiggled her hand away from his, giving him a pert grin that just dared him to contradict her when she added: “It’s a date, Minste.”
He stood motionless on the stairs and watched her go. It took him a full minute to realize that she had not only used his hated childhood nickname, but she had also called Sunday a “date.”
It shocked the hell out of him to realize that in no way did he object to either.
***
After a short twenty-five-minute drive north, Erik turned into a parking space at the Montana Highway Patrol District VI office, which would be the home base for his training from now until September. He picked up his phone, checking for messages, and her words flitted through his head: Text me and we’ll figure it out. He stared at the phone for a second, then opened a new text box, feeling an adolescent eagerness at what he was about to do. His fingers typed quickly, and he grinned at the words before hitting send.
It wasn’t a slip, Älskling. –Minste
A moment later his phone buzzed and he turned it over with anticipation.
Watch out, Minste. Picket fences can start with pet names. –Älskling.
He grinned at the phone. Damn, but she’s fun.
I highly doubt it. –M
PS, no playing doctor.
A moment later, it buzzed again.
See you Sunday. –Ӓ
PS, don’t tell me what to do.
PPS, what kind of a girl do you think I am anyway?
He chuckled softly, staring at her words for a moment before writing back:
The kind every man wants to play doctor with. –M
Erik put the phone down beside him, first smiling like an idiot, then regretting he had started the conversation in the first place. What was he doing? Asking her out on dates? Flirting with her? No, no, no. This was no good.
He had driven to Kalispell on autopilot, practically in a daze, thinking about her standing on the front porch next to José, waving goodbye. He could read the subtext in her cheerful smirk, as she’d edged her body just an inch closer to José’s: We’re just friends, right?
Today sure hadn’t gone according to plan. He was supposed to pick her up, have a quiet drive to Skidoo Bay, drop her off, wave goodbye and never think about her again. Instead, he was battling the attraction of his life and couldn’t help the bewildering feeling that he was losing. Damn, damn, damn it anyway. What was it about this girl?
She was pretty, but not a knockout, which was totally irrelevant because whatever she was, he was more attracted to her than he had ever been to another woman, anytime, anywhere. He’d known her for all of five hours, yet he felt like he knew her, telling her intimate things about his life. He felt protective of her whenever Wade’s name came up. He felt possessive of her when he thought about José…but at all moments he felt confused around her, his body doing things and his mouth saying things that his brain did not sanction. Being around her was like having a constant out-of-body experience; he never knew what sudden, insane thing he was going to say or do next. Share his feelings. (His feelings, for God’s sake!) Almost kiss her. Ask her out on a date. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. Not to mention Ing would be livid if she knew the thoughts running through his mind. But none of it mattered. He couldn’t seem to control himself.
He looked at the clock on the dashboard. 4:45. He had about fifteen minutes before his meeting. He sat back, catching his reflection in the rearview mirror.
You’re the tool. That guy was Doctor Smooth, and you were like a hyper fourteen-year-old with a body full of crazy hormones, and a mouth to match. What’s the matter with you, Erik Lindstrom?
Speaking of bodies and doctors, no part of Erik’s body was anxious to leave her there with that medical lothario, big, happy smile on his stupid, tan, handsome face as Erik drove away. Well, if her tastes run more to that look, I never would have had a chance anyway, he thought, tilting his head and watching his blond hair pick up the light.
Which is just fine, unless…
Did you want a chance with her, Erik?
The question lodged firmly in his head before he could sidestep it.
The resounding answer should have been “Hell no!” but a firm negative wasn’t forthcoming. Frankly, he didn’t have an answer. The best he could come up with was an indecisive, infuriating, “I don’t know,” which made him feel uneasy and annoyed, because he wasn’t looking for a romantic entanglement. Not to mention, with so many family connections between him and Katrin, the situation was extra sticky.
He didn’t want to feel attached to anyone; he didn’t want to feel drawn to anyone. But the simple fact was that Kat Svenson had gotten into his
