Chapter 6

On Friday evening, I walked through the village to Olaf and Fredrik's home. The individual houses in Gryta stood scattered randomly, tens or even hundreds of meters away from each other, telling a story about how the settlement grew organically over the past four centuries. Visiting a close neighbor could be a ten-minute walk. I overestimated the distance this time, though, because instead of being fashionably late, I arrived exactly on time.

Olaf opened the door, and I handed him the bag with my contribution for the evening.

"This is lovely, thank you!" Olaf said, grinning. "What is it?"

I laughed. It was like him to call a gift lovely before even knowing what it was. "It's homemade salsa and tortilla chips."

Olaf's eyes got big. "You make your own tortilla chips?"

I shrugged. I didn't used to, but aside from work and Lizzy's video calls, the queer club Eurovision party was the only social engagement on my calendar. I had all the time in the world to make tortilla chips.

He sniffed the paper bag. "These smell amazing. Come in, come in, you must meet Fredrik."

Fredrik was a tall, skinny guy with large black-framed glasses atop his bumpy nose, salt-and-pepper hair, wiry arms, and a firm handshake. He gave me a quick, kind smile that made me immediately feel at ease.

"Hello, Eric. Finally, we meet in person."

"Hi. I've heard a lot about you."

"All good things," Olaf said and brushed a peck on Fredrik's cheek as he passed us. He had to stretch on his tiptoes to reach, then continued into the house.

The two-story wooden home was impeccably styled and furnished with eclectic pieces that made me gaze around like Alice in Wonderland.

"This is breathtaking." I paused at a large antique writing cabinet by the entrance to the living room. "I would kill for a cabinet like this. Where'd you get it?"

Fredrik looked sheepish. "I didn't have to kill for it, but someone had to die."

"Do I want to know?"

He caressed the polished carvings along the upper shelf as he explained. "I bought it in a parking lot in front of a home for the elderly in Mellerud. It's from 1877, built by a small manufacturer in Dalarna. The last owner was a carpenter, so he made some repairs over the years. When he died, his son didn't want to go through the hassle of moving it to Malm?, where he lived. So he put up an online ad for one thousand Swedish krona. I took our trailer, threw an old mattress in it for padding, and drove down there like a bat out of hell."

"You're kidding. Only one thousand?" I ran my hand over the beautiful dark wood.

"It has a secret door in the back."

"Oh my God." I peeked around, but the cabinet stood too close to the wall to see anything.

Fredrik grinned at me. "Do you want to check out the barn one day? You seem like someone who'd appreciate it."

"I'd love to. But we need to do it quickly because if we wait until after my salary lands in my account, I can't be trusted."

He slapped my back. "Come on Sunday afternoon. We're officially closed, so you can browse in peace."

I beamed at him. Sunday afternoon alone in an antique shop? "It's like I'm seven again and you invited me to a fair. Thank you!"

"We'll even give you the queer club discount," Olaf called from what I guessed was the kitchen.

"There's a discount?" came Lars's voice from somewhere around a corner.

"Only for people who appreciate anachronisms, heathen," Olaf said.

Lars snickered. "Anal what-onisms?"

Olaf groaned.

I followed Fredrik to the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by four old-looking posts. They seemed to be the original construction that had been stripped, turning the snug rooms into an open plan. A large fireplace stood to the left, the bricks painted white. The space was cleverly decorated with a mix of antiques and modern art and was immaculately tidy yet cozy. A real oil lamp hung above the sturdy kitchen island, the yellow flame flickering.

"This is beautiful," I breathed.

Lars grinned at me from the sofa. He gestured around with an open beer can. "Nice, huh?"

"This here is my life goal, guys. This is how I want my cottage to look. I mean, not exactly like this, but Lord… Is that a barometer?" The small device, set in a painted wooden frame, hung on the kitchen wall.

"It's one of the few things that is actually from this house," Fredrik said. "We think it might be from the late 1800s."

"Wow." I leaned close and inspected the inscriptions. They were written in German. Sch?n. Trocken. Sturm. Regen. The thin needle showed slightly wet weather. "It still works."

"Of course it does."

"They'll be having you over for dinner three times a week just to listen to you fawn over their shit," Lars said and gulped his beer.

I blushed. "Sorry. I get carried away."

"Don't stop on my account," Fredrik said.

"Drinks?" Olaf asked. "I'm making strawberry daiquiri. We still have our own strawberries frozen since last year."

"Yes please. That sounds amazing."

"Hi! Am I late?" Theo came into the room, carrying a Tupperware container. He handed it to Olaf and slapped Fredrik's shoulder in greeting. Then he plonked down next to Lars on the sofa while a can of beer miraculously materialized in his hand.

"You're just on time," Fredrik said. "Bj?rn messaged he's on his way."

I stiffened, then schooled my face into indifference. I could feel Olaf's eyes on me.

"Bj?rn's coming?" I asked as casually as I could muster.

"Since you all gave me shit last time for not inviting him, I went out of my way and asked him to come." Lars looked at me when he added, "I expected him to politely decline, but he seemed to jump at the invitation. I had no idea he was such a great Eurovision fan."

"When you leave fellatio out of the invite…" Theo mumbled and took a swig from his beer.

Bj?rn was coming tonight. I suppressed the silly urge to go to the bathroom and check my hair.

After how he left last time, I shouldn't have any hope left. But I couldn't read him, dammit! Was he shy, or was he not interested? Why come to my place with cinnamon rolls if he wasn't interested? Did Madde make him?

Olaf handed me a deep-red drink with a peppermint leaf on the edge, and I readily accepted. I needed a distraction. Possibly even premedication. The daiquiri was strong and would serve the purpose just fine. But before I could drink it and ask for a refill in the form of pure rum, a loud knock on the door made my heart rate speed up.

I would act flustered around the man like a teenager with a crush. Please, no. I quickly took two big swallows of the daiquiri, then scrunched my face up when my mouth froze.

This meant that when Bj?rn appeared in front of me, I was holding back a sneeze.

"Sorry!" I squeaked before spinning around and sneezing into my sleeve. It must have sounded like an explosion. The drink sloshed but miraculously remained contained in the glass.

"Are you okay?" Bj?rn asked, eyes shining with humor when I turned back to face him.

"Yes. Maybe. Not sure."

He tilted his head to the side. "Not sure?"

"You tell me. Every time you turn up, something happens to me."

"That's not true."

"The first time, I got my favorite shoes soaked. Then I got stuck in the snow with my car. The third time, I slipped and fell, and then you threw a log on my foot."

He pointed a finger at me. "But you didn't choke on a cinnamon roll."

I squinted at him. "I still might! I have a few left in my freezer."

"Chew properly, and don't laugh with your mouth full," he said in all seriousness, then sputtered out a laugh. "I'm sorry. Do I bring you bad luck?"

"I did wonder about that. But you brought me firewood and cinnamon rolls, so it evens itself out."

"Good."

I took a careful sip of my drink, then realized the room was eerily quiet around us.

Shit.

Taking a step back from me, Bj?rn seemed to shake himself and looked around. He cleared his throat. "I…got some Belgian ales if anyone's into that." He handed a paper bag to Olaf. "And a dip and veggies."

"Thank you. You didn't have to." Olaf smiled sweetly, looking at Bj?rn with glee.

"Oh, hi, Lars. Hi, Theo. I didn't see you there."

Theo's lips twitched. "Hi."

Lars morphed his scowl into a neutral expression. "Hello."

Fredrik lined up the beers Bj?rn had brought on the counter, scanning the labels. "This is nice," he said appreciatively, pointing at the biggest, wine-sized bottle. "You order these extra, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"I noticed the Systembolaget in town doesn't have sake," I said, grateful for a neutral topic. "You mean you can order things?"

"Yes. You do it online, then pick your booze up at the store." Bj?rn accepted an opener and helped himself to one of the smaller bottles he'd brought. "It can take a few days or even weeks, but it's the only way to get the nicer stuff. You guys want to try one of these?" he asked, looking at Lars and Theo.

Theo lifted his can. "I'll finish this first, but yeah, sure."

"Mariestad is fancy enough for me, thanks," Lars said. "And sake? Really? It tastes like water."

I walked over and sat opposite Lars. I needed to put some space between me and Bj?rn. "It most certainly does not. Depending on the sort, it can be sweet or slightly sour, often nutty. Some people mention almond milk or rice milk when they taste it for the first time. But since sake literally means any alcoholic drink in Japanese, you wouldn't believe how many different types there are. What is called sake in Europe usually refers to nihonshu, a character wine from fermented rice."

Lars was staring at me with his eyebrows arched. "I pushed the nerd button, didn't I?"

I felt myself blush. "When I like things, I learn about them."

"I miss sushi." Olaf sighed.

"There's a sushi place in Dals Ed," Theo said hopefully, but Olaf grimaced.

"Oh, sweet summer child. There's one guy who makes sushi, pizza, and burgers in the same kitchen." He shuddered theatrically.

"I can make sushi for you," I said and immediately wondered if I'd just stepped into a trap.

The sofa cushion moved under my butt. I didn't have to look—I could smell it was Bj?rn. I took a gulp of my drink, which was melting, so hopefully, I wouldn't suffer a brain freeze.

"You know how to make sushi?" Fredrik asked.

"I've done it a few times. It's not that difficult. I just need to do some shopping." Thinking about it, I was getting a little excited. "Are you guys free next weekend?"

Olaf clapped. "Saturday?"

"Sure." I grinned. "Sushi night. My place, at six. I've finally unpacked everything, so I can even have guests. Oh…but if I order the sake, it won't come in time, will it?"

Bj?rn spoke next, making me turn to face him. Why was he so distractingly handsome? "I'm going to Trollh?ttan tomorrow. I could have a look." He swallowed some beer. "Or you can come with me?"

My stomach did not swoop at the suggestion of sitting in the car with this man. "Grocery and alcohol shopping?"

"You'll have to endure a short visit to a hardware store, but mostly groceries."

"That would be great, thanks. I need to stock up on things. And yes to the hardware store, please. My list of home repairs is never-ending."

"I can pick you up at ten?"

"Sure. Thanks."

I had a date! To go grocery shopping. Ugh. I glanced at Lars and Theo, who were staring at us. Theo looked smug and Lars annoyed.

"You guys want to come for the sushi night?"

Lars shrugged. "Why not."

"Sorry, can't. It's my girlfriend's birthday."

That gave me pause. "Girlfriend? Um…"

The room went still, and Theo measured me with his clever eyes as if expecting me to say something stupid. Which I easily could have done. I bit my tongue. Was he bi? Probably.

Lars snickered. "He's freaking out, doing the math in his head."

Elbowing his friend, Theo didn't take his eyes off me. "I'm trans. And pan. So." He shrugged.

The penny dropped. I took a second to evaluate Theo's expression. He looked a little afraid despite his determination, and I realized that his coming out to people must have been on another level of difficulty. He could never feel one hundred percent safe, not even in queer places.

"Thanks for telling me," I said. "Your girlfriend would be welcome too, of course. But I figure you already have plans."

His face softened a fraction. "We do. Besides, she's afraid of Lars."

"She's not." Lars leaned back and threw the rest of his beer down his throat. Then he chuckled. "Hey, you thought he was straight, huh?"

"No. I assumed he was probably bi."

Theo gave me a warm smile. "Well, I know the passing bullshit shouldn't bother me, but it does. So I take your stunned face as a compliment." Then he stood and headed for the kitchen. "Bj?rn, can I try one of the ales?"

"Please. Take whichever you want."

Fredrik turned on the TV, and with the background noise, the tension in the room dissipated. I thought of how it might have been for Theo, growing up in Gryta and going to school here. When did Madeleine become the headmaster? Had she been the ally he must have needed? We weren't close enough for me to ask him, but maybe one day. This reminded me to check with Madeleine about the LGBTQ+ and equality routines in school. Aside from the national laws and directives, there was an official document with rules the personnel were supposed to adhere to, but it would be great to follow up on that. I had my worries about Inger, especially after witnessing her boys-don't-cry approach on the playground.

I watched the show, trying to understand the far-from-transparent voting rules. Most of the music wasn't my cup of tea. Theo and Lars trash-talked the artists and hosts alike, which was more entertaining than the show itself. Fredrik didn't say much, but when he did, I wondered if he was simply doing it to get a reaction in his mild yet sneaky way.

"Norway isn't bad this year," he commented.

Synchronized, Theo, Lars, and Olaf looked at him with outraged faces.

"Can you divorce him?" Theo asked Olaf.

"He's the one with the stable income."

Lars patted Olaf's shoulder. "I pity you, my friend. It must be a heavy burden."

"Seriously," Fredrik insisted. "The choreography was interesting."

"You are not kissing me with that mouth!" Olaf exclaimed.

Bj?rn snickered next to me. I was acutely aware of him only inches from me on the sofa. He was quiet most of the time, just complimenting the food or thanking Olaf for a drink he'd made.

In the end, Norway came last, which brought on another round of ribbing, Fredrik endured it with amusement. While I did my best to pay attention to anything and everything except Bj?rn, of course I spent the entire evening obsessing about his every breath.

The results were in, and it was official—even at the ripe old age of thirty-two, I was capable of developing a crush.

I thought of Lizzy and her number one lesson in wooing a Scandinavian man: Patience.