“My nemesis.” I shiver as if Martin disgusts me. “The guy I’m competing with for the promotion.”
Erik’s mouth opens in an O. “So, you have competition, and Martin...”
“Olesen, big jerk, will try to take me down, but I won’t let him. No, sir.”
A crease deepens on Erik’s forehead. He nods slowly, thoughtful. “Do you smoke?” he asks suddenly. “Own a pet? Any habits I should know about?”
I blink at him, surprised.
“No to all three.” My heart is thumping. Is he considering me? “I’m a sweet, respectful, considerate person free of addictions. I’m the best roommate you could ask for.”
He drums his fingers on the table, lips pursed, forehead furrowed in thought. I keep looking at him with a straight posture, waiting patiently.
“I respect your hustle, your dream,” he says, getting my already fast-beating heart to the speed of a hummingbird’s. “I have dreams of my own, of course. And I like you,” he adds reluctantly, and my stomach does a cartwheel in response. “The other deal did fall through, so...”
“So...?” I encourage him. Just stop killing me and say it already.
“I’ll choose you.”
I can’t help my smile. Erik isn’t done though.
“But listen well.” He leans closer again, his eyes locked on mine. “You in your room, me in mine. Shared kitchen, shared bathroom, but boundaries are always in place. Do you understand?”
I nod, so overwhelmed I keep the silly smile on my face.
“I have rules,” he continues, “and I’ll share them with you. But there’s one absolutely nonnegotiable condition.” Erik takes his jacket off the counter, and at this point, I’m not smiling anymore. Or feeling any part of my body. He points his index finger at my nose after putting on the jacket. “We will never, ever be romantically involved.”
I stare into his glassy blue eyes. I can easily stay away from him. He is an attractive Viking, but I’m a Prince Charming girl.
“Do we have a deal?” Erik Storm holds his hand out to me.
I shake it. “Deal.”
Four
I move into Erik’s apartment on September 29, a rainy Sunday, and because I have no one else to help me with my boxes and suitcases, Erik kindly offers a hand. He borrows his cousin’s car, and since his cousin can’t join us, Erik does all the muscle work, carrying my things up the stairs and into my new bedroom. He’s being polite and formal, speaks no more than is necessary and keeps a respectful distance, making it clear this is a professional relationship.
The apartment is on the second floor in a cute historical building without an elevator, facing the northern end of the Copenhagen Lakes in the Østerbro area. It’s all so wonderful, I can hardly believe it. Given that most of the furniture and appliances I had been using belong in the studio apartment I just vacated, we are done after a few rounds of climb and descend.
My room has a built-in wardrobe, large windowsills that can be used to put things on, and the former tenant left a chair, a standing lamp, and a cheap night table. I don’t have a bed yet, but I’ll fix that.
“Do you need help with anything else, or should I leave you alone to unpack?” Erik stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, wet with a mix of sweat and rain. My eyes keep returning to his muscles, but every time I realize I’m staring, I breathe and make myself busy with something.
I should talk about the bed situation, but I don’t want to bother him more. Online shopping is here for people like me. “What about a little tour of the home and a quick presentation of your rules?”
“Sure. Maybe some water first?”
Erik leads me to the fridge, where he takes out two bottles of mineral water, and we drink while he shows me where everything is.
The kitchen is a narrow room with a long counter containing all the appliances you expect to find in a typical Danish kitchen, which are marvelous for someone who grew up in a humble Brazilian home. There’s an induction cooktop, an electric kettle, and a dishwasher well disguised behind a cabinet door. The fridge is packed with healthy food, and Erik has a bunch of spices and cooking oils near the stove.
The kitchen opens to a shared area lit up by a big window with a view of the lakes and a geometric lamp hanging over a round dining table matched with four sleek chairs. There is also a bookcase filled with hardcover titles old and new, and a basket with folded wool blankets. Erik stands near the kitchen with his water bottle, letting me explore.
“Can I use everything here?”
“Yes, as long as you are careful.” I look at him, and he smiles. For some reason, seeing him drop the serious face he’s had all day makes something inside of me heat up and dance. I’m a happy-atmosphere chaser, no matter who I’m with.
“Is your bedroom there?” I point at the closed French doors facing the dining table. The glass panes are covered by a curtain inside the other room.
“Yep. It was supposed to be a living room, but I chose it as my room because it’s the largest space.” He moves his eyebrows up and down to illustrate his smartness.
I smile. “Can I see it?”
“This is the only time you’ll get a glimpse of my cave. Enjoy the few seconds of this privilege.”
He opens the doors to the most organized and beautifully designed male room I’ve ever seen.
It’s bigger than the studio I was living in. Erik has a double bed in one corner with four fat pillows and a thick duvet neatly stretched over the mattress. The other side of the room is a mini living room with a couch facing a big TV and many shelves with books and other personal objects tastefully arranged. There are a few plants and lamps strategically placed, a desk with a closed laptop, and a small wardrobe that seems to contain all his clothes, as there are no pieces dropped on the floor.
It’s like an IKEA showroom.
“I’ll give you twenty points for this,” I say. He looks at me and laughs, closing the doors again.
We go to the bathroom, and Erik shows me how to operate the shower, the washing machine, and the dryer.
“I’m still waiting for the rules,” I say when he’s done.
Erik leans casually in the doorway with his arms folded, and I can’t help but notice how big his biceps look when they are flexed. “It’s basic stuff relying on common sense. Respect my privacy. Clean up after yourself. Wait your turn. Not much more.” He shrugs. “We just have to figure out a schedule for cleaning and cooking. And if you want to use the bathroom for long periods, I’d like to know in advance. But in general, don’t bother me. The home is yours too.”
