I nod, relieved. I was expecting a long list of tyrannical rules.
“You said cooking. How will that work? Can I shop for my things and keep them on a shelf in the fridge? Or are we doing some sort of common shopping?”
“No common shopping. No sharing of expenses. You have your things, I have mine.” He then relaxes his posture, as if regretting his sudden brusqueness. “Just so it doesn’t get confusing,” he adds in a humbler tone.
“I understand. No problem.”
We nod to each other, an uncomfortable silence filling the bathroom, which suddenly feels too small for the two of us. So tiny it’s suffocating. Way too hot. I hold my breath when he squeezes through the door I’m half blocking, his chest lightly brushing my shoulder.
“We still haven’t discussed the cooking,” I say once he’s out and I can breathe again. Sort of. “Do you make your dinner and I make mine, or would it make sense that I cook one day and you cook the next?” I’m not even done with the suggestion, and I already know it was a bad idea.
“I cook at seven every day. You are free to make your food before that or after eight.”
I mumble an “okay” and decide it’s time to unpack my things.
“And Sol,” he calls when I’ve already started walking to my room. I turn around and look at him expectantly. It takes a moment for him to continue, a moment in which we stare at each other, both now occupying the small corridor. “Welcome home,” he says at last.
I give him a genuine smile, drawing all the excitement and gratefulness from the bottom of my heart. “It’s all perfect, Erik. Thank you so much.”
The smile that stretches across his bearded face makes my stomach react in an undesirable way. I realize it’s going to be hard to live with Erik Storm. But I can handle hard.
Oh goodness.
“You’re welcome,” he says. I want to hug him. And normally if I’m grateful, that’s what I’d do. But for some reason, I just stand still, looking at the Norse god I’m living with.
What have you done, Sol?
My conflicting emotions wrestle inside me, and for a second, I think he will be the one to hug me. But then he steps back, and his smile fades as he says, “Have a good day.”
And he locks himself in his glorious cave.
It’s late afternoon when Erik appears at my door. He comes to tell me something about the dishwasher, but when he notices I’m lying on a yoga mat with a pillow under my head as I scroll on my phone, he frowns and says, “You don’t have a bed.”
I mean, he carried my things up the stairs. Did he think I could conjure a bed out of thin air?
“I’m trying to buy one, but the delivery times are awful.”
“I thought you already bought one.”
“And that it would arrive tonight?” I lift my gaze to him in a skeptical stare.
“Yes. I just thought you had this better planned out.”
“Well, I thought I was going back to Brazil.”
He sighs. “Sorry. I don’t have a mattress you can borrow. There is only the bed in my room and my couch.” He sounds weary. I can easily hear what he left unsaid: And I’m not letting you sleep in my room.
That’s fine. Because I don’t need his help. I return my gaze to my phone.
“You have really looked everywhere?” His tone changes, becoming more sympathetic. But I don’t buy his concern. Whatever act of kindness he might do will be strictly for his benefit. In this case, so I don’t have to—God forbid, he’d think—sleep on his couch.
Don’t be so harsh on him. He gave you the room, after all, Larissa’s voice echoes in my head. I often have imaginary conversations with my best friend, and the Sol version of Larissa is relentless.
He gave me the room, yes, but I have the impression Erik Storm never does anything he won’t benefit from in some way. Charity is not his business, as he made clear to me at the pub.
“Yes, I’ve looked in every online store, but it will take at least three to five business days to arrive. Suggestions?”
“The biggest furniture store in Scandinavia, maybe?” Erik leans on the door in that casual way that makes his biceps look infused with super soldier serum. “You could go there.”
When he sees my incredulous stare, he corrects himself, surrendering, “We could go there. In my cousin’s car. He won’t pick it up before tomorrow.” I’m about to say it sounds good when he adds, “Or you can take the car if you want.”
“I don’t drive,” I tell him dryly. “Much less in Denmark.”
Erik shrugs, looking more relaxed than he is feeling, I’m sure. “Fine. We leave in ten.”
Five
It’s a long drive, but the silence in the car is not tense—it’s comfortable, expected. We have nothing to say to each other; no need to impress or build a friendship. We are just two people sharing a ride to get something done. No big deal.
I don’t feel that Erik is angry at me for forcing him out of the apartment on a Sunday evening for a boring shopping trip. I guess this is so far from what a date usually looks like that it doesn’t even bother him. Maybe he is already getting used to my presence. Maybe we will grow so indifferent to each other that we won’t have any weird feelings being in the same room.
Once we are inside the store, I quickly discover why he was okay with coming along. He needed something from here. I almost laugh at having a confirmation of my earlier thoughts.
He puts a few hangers and kitchen utensils in the shopping cart as we walk around. It’s a huge place with lots of departments, and I marvel at the immense selection and the reasonable prices. Like Erik, I start to grab a bunch of things that will be useful at home. We share the same shopping cart, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
When we reach the floor with the showrooms, I point at an elegant living room and ask, “Did you design your room based on something you saw here?”
“My mom helped me decorate the apartment. She’s an architect.”
