Her answer was completely logical, and it surprised him. He didn’t think of her as such a pragmatic person. So far she’d seemed pretty emotional. Erik shifted his body toward her, only resting the elbow closest to her on the back of the bench. He looked at her thoughtfully.
“Practical.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am,” he said, caught off-guard by this side of her personality. “You seem like more of a dreamer to me.”
“I have plenty of dreams. But, yes, I think I’m practical in essentials.” She shrugged, looking forward, resting her folded hands on the top of her knee. She looked confident and mature beside him, an independent woman, no trace of the runaway kid she’d looked like last week.
“What are your dreams, Kat?”
“Mostly they’re the opposite of yours.”
“Go on. Tell me.”
She tilted her head to the side, giving him a look, hesitant.
“Go on,” he encouraged her again with a grin.
Say whatever you want to say, Katrin Svenson, and lay it on thick so I want to go running for the hills. Help me out here, because I don’t want to fall for you. I can’t fall for you.
“Why? What’s the point?” She bent away from him, seeming annoyed, staring out at the park before them. “Fine. Okay. My Dreams. By Katrin Svenson.
“I want to meet someone and fall in love with him. Head over heels. Like, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t think of anything but him. Like an illness and its cure at once. I heard that in a movie,” she admitted, chuckling at herself softly.
“Um…I want him to love me like he never had any idea of what love was until he met me. But, he’ll keep my heart safe. He’d never hurt me.
“I don’t want some long, drawn-out engagement and big, fancy wedding like last time. I want us to be so sure about each other that we get married right away—like, not a moment to waste. Jeans and a sweatshirt and a justice of the peace and our families. Simple. Perfect.
“Honeymoon somewhere amazing. Scotland or London, or even New York. And then back here, to Montana, because my family’s here, and family’s what makes a place a home. And, um…find a…a…sweet little house with a garden and a white picket fence. Sorry, Erik.”
She chuckled lightly again, but she didn’t look at him.
“Mmm. And at night we’ll read in front of the fire in the wintertime and on a porch swing in the summer, and he’ll tell me when he’s read something silly, and I’ll tell him when I’ve read something that makes me cry.
“And one day, he’ll come home from work and I’ll...um, I’ll ask him if he wants it to be a boy or a girl. And he’ll be just as happy as me. And we’ll just…” She swallowed, still looking straight ahead, still speaking in that dreamy, stream-of-consciousness voice, her face soft, but for the dimples that caved in as she described her perfect life. “…love each other. Be safe together. My heart. His heart…”
Her voice drifted off, and he stared at her, utterly transfixed. He tried to look away, but to his deep and mortifying concern, he couldn’t. Because as Katrin Svenson had described her perfect “someday” he hadn’t seen her with some anonymous guy, or even with Dr. Martinez.
He’d imagined her with him.
His heart started racing uncomfortably, and suddenly he couldn’t take a good, deep breath. His forehead broke out in beads of sweat, and his fingers started shaking. It was like all the blood was draining from his head, and he worried that he was going to faint. He tried to catch his breath, but the faster he tried to breathe in, the more impossible it was to fill his lungs. He put his hand to his chest, because it burned, and tears sprang into his eyes as his chest tightened painfully and he grew increasingly panicked.
He didn’t know how much time went by before he heard Katrin’s voice, as if through mist, in front of him.
“Erik. Erik. Listen to me. Erik, lyssna. Can you hear me? Nod if you can.” Her soothing voice competed against the loud thumping of his heart.
He managed to nod, feeling tears roll down his cheeks, still clutching at his chest. “I can’t—I c-can’t c-catch my b-breath.”
Katrin was squatting between his legs with her hands on his knees. She spoke calmly and very directly. “Erik. Lyssna. Listen. Listen to my voice. Lean your head down to me.”
He concentrated on her words, on the soothing comfort of the occasional Swedish mixed in, and did as she asked, leaning his head forward, until his forehead rested on her forehead. She rubbed her hands in circular motions on his knees. “That’s right. That’s good. That’s so good. Now, breeeeeeeeathe. In…and…out. In…and…out. Du är okej nu. Breathe. In…and…out.”
You’re okay now. He listened to her low, calm, gentle voice, following her instructions for what felt like eternity, until he could finally take a big breath that filled his diaphragm. He released it slowly and his head started to clear. Oh, my God. What was that? What just happened?
She kept rubbing his knees rhythmically, and he kept his forehead resting on hers, his hand finally falling from his chest. His voice still felt shaky.
“Jag är okej. I-I’m okay.”
“Mm-hm. You’re fine. Du är bra. You’re just fine. In…and…out. In…and…out.” Gently, she pulled her head back and he looked at her.
Katrin smiled gently, nodding at him encouragingly, her voice hypnotic. “In and out. In and out. It’s okay. You’re doing good now.”
He stared at her as his heart fell back into a steady rhythm and his breathing slowed down, releasing the tightness that had so frightened him. He searched her eyes for answers.
“You just had a panic attack. Probably an LPA. A limited symptom
