Chapter 21

Lizzy called it guilt-cooking. Whenever she and Kevin argued about something and she felt like she'd been too harsh, she would make food. Kevin would eat it, and all would be good with the world again.

I didn't believe it would work quite as smoothly in our case, but I made breakfast anyway, braving the mind-fuckery that were Bj?rn's cupboards. Who put soup bowls in the lowest drawer at the level of their knees?

When Bj?rn walked into the kitchen just before nine, I had cheese omelets with spinach and crispy bacon on the table and shortcakes in the oven.

I'd been worried about how he'd act this morning, given what I'd put him through. But he smiled like the spring sun outside and went for a full-body hug.

"Hey," he murmured against my neck. "It smells like a hotel breakfast buffet. What are you making?"

"Omelets, bacon, and shortcake for dessert."

He leaned back and scrutinized my face. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright. I'm fine. Just a little sore, but nothing too bad."

He kissed my forehead, and I could have melted at his feet.

"I'm sorry," I began.

Bj?rn groaned and rolled his eyes. "What are you apologizing for this time?"

"Getting lost in the woods and making you worry."

He huffed. "We've been through this."

I braced myself. "And for kicking you out when you wanted to help me."

"So you will let me help?" he asked hopefully.

"Breakfast first?"

"Okay." And one more forehead kiss. Could he get any more perfect? "But we're going to talk about this."

"We will."

On a new day, with Bj?rn's lovely hazel eyes on me, everything seemed a little easier. Maybe it was a mere illusion, but I didn't feel the crushing weight of Friday's news on my shoulders.

We sat at the table, and Bj?rn dug into his food with his usual enthusiasm.

"I have issues relying on others," I began.

"You've been on your own for twelve years," Bj?rn said softly. "Figures you're used to doing everything yourself."

"It was easier when we weren't together. You were just a stranger randomly offering help, and I could take it or leave it, right? But now it will become this thing that will stay between us."

"Because it's easier for you to accept help from strangers than from people close to you who are supposed to help you. Am I right?"

"You sound like my therapist. But yes. Something along those lines."

Bj?rn smiled at me and shrugged. "It doesn't have to be a big deal."

The timer bleeped, and I stood to take the shortcakes out of the oven. Then I leaned with my ass on the counter and faced him again.

"It is a big deal, Bj?rn. It's a quarter of a million. For starters."

"That's what the construction dude told you. But when I renovated this place, this entire thing"—he circled his finger in the air—"the roof, the facade, the flooring, the kitchen, it cost me only a little more than that."

I frowned. "How?"

"I bought and collected the materials myself and worked on it together with one of Peter's guys. Then I hired the electrician and the plumber, and that was it. When you hire a construction company, you're paying for their trips, the deliveries, their project management, and admin overhead. Everything. But I'm telling you, we can fix your cottage for a third of what the guy told you, if not less."

He still didn't get it, did he? I had to tell him the harsh truth about my situation. "I have forty thousand Swedish krona in my savings account and a loan for one million krona at the bank."

"I can…"

I glared at him. "You're not lending me money. That's where I draw the line."

He straightened in his chair and squared his wide shoulders.

"How about this? Book a meeting at the bank and check if you can add sixty thousand to your current mortgage. Usually, when it's a renovation that increases the value of the property, they can do it. We'll strip the facade where it's rotten, and you'll call Peter, Theo's dad. He'll give you an exact estimate on the support beam. You'll be able to deduct 30 percent of the work costs from your taxes, and we'll do everything we can by ourselves."

My heart thudded in my chest. He meant every word. He would hold my hand through this.

"But what about you? Your time, your work… This will take weeks if not months."

Bj?rn set his fork aside and looked down. His shoulders lifted with a deep breath. Then he stood and walked around the table to stand in front of me. He took both my hands in his.

"I'm in love with you, Eric." With his eyes locked on mine, he gave me a small self-deprecating smile. "Does it make me a fool to want to give you everything, fix everything, so you're happy here with me? So you stay?"

I couldn't answer. My eyes stung. I gazed up at his handsome face, and my entire soul clung to him, wanting to believe that I would never wake up from this dream.

"I would have helped you out regardless," he continued. "Maybe Madde would have pressured me to do it. Maybe we'd have become friends. But that's irrelevant. The reality is that I want you to keep the cottage you've grown to love, and I want you safe and content because I love you. So there."

Blinking away the moisture in my eyes, I tried to smile. "I'm in love with you too."

He grinned and kissed me, running his hands up my arms and around my shoulders so he could hug me.

"Let me help, Eric. I want to."

Closing my eyes, I nodded against his shoulder.

Maybe it wouldn't work. But if it did, it would be glorious.