Chapter 3

Since my account was dwindling after my move from Stockholm, I was careful with my remaining firewood and lowered the thermostats in every room to save on electricity bills. I truly didn't want to bug my boss about my private struggles. At some point, spring was bound to come. This wasn't the Arctic.

And yet, the snow persisted.

On Wednesday morning, the window in my bedroom was painted with frost on the inside. The temperature in my kitchen was eleven point three degrees Celsius, yet the app showing my consumption said I'd burned through twenty kilowatt-hours even though I'd showered for about twenty seconds.

Feeling appropriately humbled, I finally explained my predicament to Madeleine. Did someone in the village sell firewood in bulk and at a price I could afford?

"We'll sort that out, don't worry." She hugged my shoulders as we drank the morning coffee. She offered me a bun, this time with saffron and raisins. The smell and flavor of real butter must have worked like a drug on me because I let myself be mothered and decided to trust her.

The following morning, Madeleine didn't say anything about any firewood. The day went by, and nothing. I wondered if I should remind her, but I couldn't hunt my boss down because of something I should have taken care of myself. Maybe she just forgot?

At least the trick with the piece of cardboard worked. The kitchen stove was burning happily, creating an impressive amount of heat from just a few thin logs. I even made chicken soup on it while listening to fifties music and drinking port.

By Friday, Madeleine still hadn't mentioned the firewood, and I was getting worried. When I came home from school, my last basket of old, overdried logs waited in the hallway.

Getting desperate, I checked the website of the nearest gardening store. They had more than fifty sacks of wood in stock and opened at eleven on Saturday. I'd buy seven because that was what I could afford without endangering my budget for the month, and it would fit into the trunk of my car if I lowered the back seats. Hopefully, I could stretch that a couple of weeks if I didn't light the fire for coziness only.

The rumble of a tractor outside had me rushing to the window. My car was now parked further away from the road, so the driver had no reason to stop.

Except he did.

I got into my new boots and zipped up my jacket before stomping out. The tractor had snow chains on the tires and dragged a large open trailer, but I couldn't see what was in it. The driver was just climbing down from the cabin.

I recognized Bj?rn…and slipped.

My feet went up cartoon style; I yelped and landed on my butt.

"Ow. Fuck's sake!"

In a heap by the infuriatingly handsome Viking lumberjack's feet, I wondered briefly what the expiration date was on these mortifying memories. A decade? Thirty years? A lifetime?

Lips pursed, Bj?rn offered me a gloved hand.

"Don't laugh," I growled and let myself be pulled up. "It's April!" I whined as I brushed off my jeans.

"Seems like your pathway melted in the sun this morning and froze again. You should throw some gravel on it. Or salt."

I took a deep breath. "I don't figure I can use kitchen salt for that."

"They sell road salt at the petrol station in Ed or at the hardware store."

Another item on the hardware store list.

"How can I help you today?" I asked, trying to sound polite. Nothing that had happened to me was this man's fault, and he'd even given me some good advice about the kitchen stove, but damn, was he a bringer of bad luck.

He pointed a thumb at the trailer behind his tractor.

"I brought firewood."

"Huh?"

That didn't compute.

"It's all birch and has a good moisture level. It'll last until the real spring." His light-brown beard looked scruffy and shimmered with gold strands, and his green eyes were actually hazel. The hair sticking out from underneath his hat had sandy streaks.

"You brought me firewood?"

"Yeah. Madde said you needed it."

"Oh. Yes. That's…wow."

His lower lip was chapped. It was right at my eye level. How much taller was he than me? My boots added an inch, but so did his. He must have been at least six four to my five nine. Those Scandinavian genes.

"So, where do you want it?"

What?

The gorgeous Viking was smiling at me. "Where do you want me to dump the logs?"

Firewood. He'd brought me firewood."I guess as close as possible to the overhanging roof?"

He scratched his beard, scanning my garden. "Gustaf used to store it there, yeah, but it's not the ideal place. We often have winds and rain from the west. You'd have to have a tarp over it."

He walked up my pathway, looking around. How come he didn't slip?

"If I were you, I'd put it right onto the porch. If we stack it along the wall and around the window, it'll even look nice. And you won't have to change your shoes every time you go fetch it."

"Okay." That sounded ideal. I should have thought of that.

He strolled back to the trailer, again not slipping. How was he doing that? Trying not to faceplant, I shuffled after him and peered into the trailer from where it was open in the back.

True enough, a pile of logs with clean black-and-white bark took up half of the large space. They were split into the ideal sizes—the thinner ones would fit into the kitchen stove, and the thick ones would be great for the fireplace in my living room.

"See where the bark comes off easily? You can peel a few strips and use it to light the fire."

"This is amazing. Thank you. How much do I owe you?"

Bj?rn waved his hand dismissively. "You'll sort that out with Madde."

Charmed by the gorgeous man and the gifts he'd brought, I didn't seem to be able to think properly. "I'm sorry, this might get awkward, but who is Madde?" I asked.

He looked at me with surprise. "Your headmaster."

"You mean Madeleine!" I groaned. "I'm sorry."

He chuckled, and I might have noticed the dimples hiding in his beard. "You keep apologizing."

"Well, I'm trying not to alienate people since I only just moved here."

His half smile looked a little sad. "You'll be fine. Madde already loves you. She keeps singing your praises wherever she goes."

"Oh. Huh. No pressure, then." Involuntarily, I shivered, and Bj?rn took a step away from me.

"Do you even have time for this now?" he asked warily.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Change into something warmer?"

"I should. I'll be right back."

I turned and immediately skidded again. I didn't fall, but I floundered. "Dammit!"

Bj?rn snorted out a laugh. "I should have brought you some gravel."

Staying in the deeper snow, I spun around to face him. "How come you don't slip, huh?"

He grinned, looking adorably mischievous. Good gosh, the man was hot. Then he bent his leg at the knee, holding on to the edge of the trailer, and showed me the sole of his boot in a move far from masculine.

The sole was studded.

"Wow," I breathed, fascinated. "Ain't you a Boy Scout?"

"I work outdoors all year round. Studded boots pay off in this weather." Was he blushing?

"I bet they do. Your bones seem intact." I looked him up and down only slightly suggestively. I shouldn't have, but he didn't cringe. Instead, he blushed deeper. Maybe he enjoyed a little attention from a guy. Some straight men did.

"Anyway," he said briskly. "You go change, and I'll back the trailer up here. The ground's still frozen and the snow's deep, so the tires won't damage your lawn. We'll spread out a tarp, and I'll dump the pile on it."

I hurried inside, staying off my icy pathway, and changed. I found my old ski gloves, which would protect my hands from both cold and splinters. When I came outside, Bj?rn had the trailer halfway up my lawn and was unfolding a large tarp on the ground in front of my porch. How he maneuvered the tractor to get the trailer up there was a mystery.

Carefully avoiding the icy patches on the pathway, I joined him, and we spread out the tarp. Then he climbed into the cabin and, with loud groans, the trailer began tilting. The logs rolled down, tumbling prettily, and I felt my lips stretch into a smile. I'd never thought I'd be so happy to see a heap of wood tumble, but I could already imagine myself with my feet up by the fireplace, reading and drinking port. Once the trailer was empty, Bj?rn turned off the machinery and hopped down.

"Let's do this," he said and rubbed his gloved hands.

I gaped. "You mean you want to help me stack it?"

He glanced at me briefly, then scanned the pile. "Sure."

"But why?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he grabbed two big logs and cast them over the railing onto the porch.

Okay, then.

He threw, and I stacked. I put the thinner ones closer to the door.

"Why did you move here anyway?" Bj?rn asked after a few minutes of silent work.

I was getting the question a lot. "I found an ad, looked up the area, came to visit for a short trip, applied, and got the job."

"That's how. But why?"

I carefully placed a round black-and-white log under the window and patted it. "I stayed in Stockholm for almost two years but never liked living in a city. I thought I would learn to like it, but I didn't."

"You're from the countryside?"

"Pretty much. I grew up on a farm close to Orangeburg, South Carolina."

"That's a long way away from Sweden."

I wouldn't unload my odyssean story on him the first time I talked to him. "And you're from here?" I asked instead.

"Born and bred, yeah."

"What's that accent?"

"I studied in Canada for a couple of years."

"Really?"

"Then I came back to Sweden, to Uppsala, for my master's."

I paused with two thick logs in my hands. He had a master's? "What did you study?"

"Forestry."

"So you are a lumberjack."

He spluttered. "What?"

"I'm sorry. That was… Sorry." My stupid mouth. "I apologize."

Tilting his face up, Bj?rn stared at me. "I'm very much interested in the thought process behind your exclamation." His lips twitched.

"Oh God. Okay." My face was burning. "You have the whole Viking slash lumberjack thing going on." I gestured at him with a birch log. "So when you said you studied forestry, you confirmed my first impression of you."

"Forest Ecology and Sustainable Management was my master's. But please, elaborate on the Viking slash lumberjack."

"No."

"No?"

"It's very nice of you to help me. I really appreciate it. But you've had enough free entertainment at my expense."

"Have I?"

"You laughed at me on the very first day, remember?"

"I did not."

"You so did. I saw you. I had my Chelsea boots on and slipped on the road to school. You laughed."

"I was smiling, not laughing. And your boots looked nice."

Did he just compliment my favorite booties? Damn the Swedish men for being such relaxed allies. How was a gay boy supposed to know when they were flirting or being friendly? Well, in this case, I was sure the tall, bearded Viking with a tractor license, studded shoes, and oversized work gloves was not flirting with me. More was the pity.

My friend Lizzy and I had developed a guide for dating Nordic men when I lived in Stockholm. Lesson number three: Scandinavians are useless at flirting. Whenever flirting occurred, it was safest to assume it was unintentional. If you flirted back, they got terrified or confused or both. Unless they were drunk.

"Thank you for the compliment," I said. "I bought the shoes in Copenhagen. But they're pretty much useless now."

Bj?rn sighed and bent down to scoop up more logs before dumping them on the porch. "Not many opportunities to dress up around here."

Did I just detect a hint of longing in his voice? I didn't immediately know what to say in response. We kept working in silence, the pile of wood on the tarp slowly getting smaller.

"What about the sink?" he asked after a while.

"I managed to fix that," I announced proudly. "I braved the hardware store in Ed, and this kind lady found me the right parts based on the pictures I took."

"Good job."

"Thank you. I rely heavily on YouTube and Instagram, but I get by."

"I'll give you my number, and if you get stuck with something…you can just give me a call. I'm no expert but…yeah. You know."

He sounded embarrassed. I paused with a couple of logs in my hands and glanced at him.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you."

Bj?rn didn't look up. Bending down, he grabbed a few chunky wood pieces and threw them over the railing without looking at me.

One of the pieces landed on my left foot.

"Ow!" I yelped and crumpled to the side, dropping the logs.

"J?vlar! I'm so sorry!" He ran up the stairs and hovered over me, patting my leg awkwardly.

"I'm okay. I'm okay."

"I didn't break your toes, did I? I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine. Just give me a moment."

I breathed through the pain, then wiggled my toes.

"We should take off your boot and have a look."

"The boot took most of it. I'm good, really. It might not even bruise." The pain was already going away. I put weight on my foot and hopped a little. "See? All good."

Bj?rn took a deep breath. "I can't believe I almost broke your leg. I apologize." He looked horrified, poor man.

"How about we switch places?"

"Okay. You don't want me to maim you. I understand."

I laughed. "Maybe I just want revenge."

His eyes widened a fraction as he stared at me with his lips parted. Then his face split into a gorgeous smile, dimples popping, eyes crinkling…gorgeous. Had I been holding a log, I would have dropped it on my foot intentionally just to escape the crashing wave of attraction I felt.

Lesson number five: For physical contact, approach like you would a wild deer. Quiet, assessing, very slow.

I must have held his gaze for a second too long because he broke eye contact and began picking up the scattered pieces on the porch. Yeah, he was straight. Or shy. Or both.

Masking my disappointment, I hopped down the stairs and into the snow with a mere twinge in my foot.

The job took only half an hour. My porch was now lined with neatly stacked birch logs, and it looked so pretty that I couldn't stop smiling. I thanked Bj?rn profusely, but when I offered to pay him, he waved me off.

"Just take my number. In case you need help with something, you know. Do you have your phone on you?"

He folded the tarp and patted it, shaking out the snow.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and he dictated his number. I saved it, then hesitated for a second. Should I offer him mine? What for? I didn't want to make him even more uncomfortable in case he thought I'd hit on him. He was clearly just trying to be nice, probably on Madeleine's orders.

"Thank you so much again. You saved me from pneumonia. Can I offer you tea? Soup? You must be hungry."

Again, that smile! "That's fine, thanks. I have dinner waiting for me at home. I'd better go."

Oh Lord. For all I knew, he could be married. Abort! Abort!

"I won't keep you then." I dropped my phone into my jacket pocket and patted it.

Bj?rn gave me a brisk nod and climbed into his tractor. "Have a nice evening," he called and started the motor before I could reply.