Chapter 8

I met Lizzy when I attended a Swedish class in Stockholm. She was a big and loud, happy-go-lucky Californian girl who moved to Sweden to be with her boyfriend. She was the one who organized my tiny farewell party before I left for Gryta, and while I was worried the friendships I'd left behind in Stockholm would fade, Lizzy and I still called each other a couple of times a week. I was grateful. She was the one person I could confide in.

"I'm good. I'm great." I had my earbuds in and my phone in my pocket as I dug in the stiff soil around my precious strawberry plants. "I have a crush on a lumberjack."

Lizzy groaned. "You're so predictable!"

"He's not technically a lumberjack. He owns half of Dalsland and has a master's in forestry. He drives a snowplow, wears heavy boots and checkered shirts, is like six foot four, but likes food and old cheesy love songs. I have it so bad."

"Tell me his name is Thor, and I'll lose it."

"No. It's actually Bj?rn."

Lizzy laughed so hard the phone crackled. "You're kidding."

"I'm not. He's a stunning bear of a man, his belly just starting to grow. He took me shopping in Trollh?ttan, and on the way back, I popped a boner in the car. I feel like I'm seventeen again, crushing on the football captain."

"Rewind. Did he take you shopping? Where?"

"Trollh?ttan. A town here in the west. And we didn't go clothes shopping. We went to the hardware store and Systembolaget. Then we bought stuff for sushi."

"A lumberjack named Bear took you on a date to a hardware store. You're making the best out of the countryside experience, and I support you. Did he take care of your boner in the car?"

"No. More's the pity. I hid it under my backpack."

There was an ominous pause before Lizzy asked: "Eric, he's not straight, is he?"

"I'm not that stupid." Would I be ridiculously infatuated with Bj?rn if he were straight? Yes, I so would. And wasn't that pathetic?

"Why aren't you rolling around in the hay with that lumberjack already?"

"First, no hay. It's the muddy season up here, and it's still freezing in the mornings. Second, it's like he's read our rulebook and decided to be a prime example of a Scandinavian man."

Lizzy's mighty sigh reminded me of the times we talked about my miserable Tinder dates in Stockholm. "Oh no."

"Oh yes. He looks at me longingly but never flirts. He always runs away before anything can happen. After we'd gone shopping, he dropped me off like a hot potato. He's terrified of me."

"He can't be. You're weak and little. Your face is in the dictionary beside the word harmless."

"I know!"

"Remember rule number one? Patience. He's just shy."

"He has no right to be shy. The man is homoerotic perfection." I enunciated the last two words aggressively as I pulled out a particularly stubborn dandelion root.

"Aww. Then hit on him. The Swedish boys always need a nudge. Or seven beers." She cackled at her own joke. "He won't make a move unless he knows for sure it's welcome."

"I can't. He's my boss's stepson. I bet she talks about me at breakfast."

"He lives with his mom?" Lizzy sounded outraged.

"No! He has a…um…converted barn on the property, or something. He only comes over to the main house for meals."

"He lives with his mom," she insisted.

I laughed, the sound too high-pitched. "He does not! Not in the unhealthy, immature, codependent sense anyway. He cooks those meals too. They're equal partners in the household. And she's not his real mom. They're only fifteen years apart. They seem to have a healthy relationship."

"Everything you just said? You only made it sound worse."

"Oh, hush. You're mean. His father died, and his stepmom wouldn't have been able to maintain the estate by herself. He took over the management and let her stay in the house."

"So no quaint countryside incest saga, I hear ya."

"Heaven's sake, Lizzy, eww!"

"What? It happens."

"How would you know what happens in the Swedish countryside? You haven't left Stockholm city since you landed three years ago."

"That's true. Can I visit you? I want to see the cottage." Then she added, "And the lumberjack."

"You'll be most welcome. But I'm not showing you local men like it's the zoo. When can you come?"

"I don't know. I'll talk to Kevin and let you know."

"You do that. I'd love to see you."

"And if you really like this Bj?rn guy, tell him."

"I could. We're having a sushi night at my place with the queer club guys on Saturday. And tomorrow, he's supposed to come and help me clean my gutters and downpipes."

"Sounds like an exciting date. Aren't you supposed to clean the downpipes before the date, though?"

"I have no idea why I still tolerate you, woman."

She snickered, unrepentant. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

I finished weeding the strawberries just as the day started getting cold. After brushing off my gardening tools, I paused by the eastern wall of the cottage. A few large dry splinters of wood and a smattering of sawdust lay on the grass. I glanced around, looking for the source of the debris. The wall was intact, and the roof above too. I must have brought some trash with me by accident when I carried the armful of gardening tools out of the shed earlier. I picked up the bigger pieces and threw them on the compost pile.

For dinner, I started the fire in the kitchen and reheated the lentil soup I'd made yesterday. I doom-scrolled on my phone for a bit and checked the weather. It was supposed to be cloudy tomorrow afternoon but without rain.

Bj?rn didn't want me to pay him, but I should definitely do something to thank him. At least something symbolic. How many times had he saved my butt already?

I almost messaged Madeleine asking what he liked to eat but luckily stopped myself at the last minute. What if she thought I was asking for help to hit on her son? I shuddered at the thought.

On the other hand, she sent him here with a bag of cinnamon rolls, fully aware we were both gay and single…

Nope. I would keep my boss out of this.

I'd make tuna melt sandwiches. They were easy and quick, and I could prepare them beforehand.

Bj?rn arrivedat five in the same big-ass four-wheel-drive truck he drove me to Trollh?ttan in. I paused by the window, watching how he climbed out and walked around to the truck bed.

Even if he weren't ridiculously handsome, the way he moved would have gotten to me. His easy confidence and smooth stride were almost at odds with how tall and bulky he was.

Before he could spot me ogling him, I hurried to the hall and slipped into my boots. I threw on my work jacket and added a fleece hat. Without the sun warming my porch, it would be chilly outside.

He was just setting a metal ladder on the ground by my porch when I stepped down the stairs.

"Hi. These are short. It'll be a quick job," he said briskly.

"Hi, there. You think? Last time it rained, the water just poured over the edges like a curtain."

He put his hands on his hips and scanned the edge of my roof. "There'll be moss and dirt blocking them, but the angle seems off as well. We might have to bend the hooks a little. But they don't look rusty."

"What can I do?"

He grinned at me. "You want to go up first and have a look?"

I should, right? It was my house. "Okay."

Bj?rn seemed surprised, but he hid it quickly. He gripped the metal ladder and gestured for me to go up.

My knees felt weak as I climbed up step by step, but I refused to let my fear show. The ladder reached a few feet higher than the edge of my roof, the ideal length. I peeked into the gutters and sniffed. It didn't smell like anything but looked disgusting.

"You were right. It's full of moss, leaves, and pine cones."

"Any rust?"

"Not that I can see. But it's dirty, so who knows what's underneath."

"The downside of living by the forest. Come down, and I'll plug the pressure washer in. We should cover your porch, just in case. Otherwise, you'll get dirty droplets everywhere."

"You're holding the ladder, right?" I did my best not to look down.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked.

"Just hold the ladder," I said and began slowly stepping down. Keeping my gaze on the facade, I felt my way to the lowest step.

"Why didn't you say something?" Bj?rn asked when I hopped onto the grass and blew out a shaky breath.

"Heights and deep water," I admitted. "Loads of nightmares in my childhood."

"You didn't have to go up there," he said gently.

"Oh, but I did. It's my house, isn't it?"

He was smiling at me, unmoving, still leaning on the ladder with one arm.

"So, pressure washer?" I asked before I could get lost in his gaze.

"Right. I'll scrape out the worst of it, then flush it out. We'll see if we need something extra for the downpipes."

The downpipes hadthese clever round filters that stopped leaves and moss from getting inside, so Bj?rn only flushed them with the pressure washer. Then he tightened a few screws under the overhanging roof and bent the hooks in which the gutters lay. He tested the angle and distance with the hose, simply pouring water on the roof and watching it run down into the gutters. When he was happy with the angle, he climbed down and moved the ladder to the other side of my house, repeating the entire process. In barely an hour, he was done.

"Next time it rains heavily, check how it works. If it still overflows, I'll come and fix it."

He acted so capable yet so easygoing; I was melting into a puddle at his feet. Was there anything sexier than maintenance? Had I developed a kink?

I invited him inside, but he refused, claiming he was dirty, which, admittedly, we both were. The pressure washer was super fast, leaving the drains sparkly clean in just a few minutes, but it'd sprinkled us with brown water all over. I left my stained jacket on the porch and went in to heat up the tuna melt sandwiches.

When I came outside, Bj?rn sat on one of the folding chairs on my porch, gazing at Gryta below.

"Here you go." I handed him a plate and grinned when his eyes went big.

"Oh my God. You call this a sandwich?" He took the plate and inhaled. "This looks amazing."

"It's dead simple. Tuna, mayo, cheese, green chilis, red onion, mustard, tomato, butter, sourdough bread."

"You say it's simple and then list like twenty ingredients."

He bit into the bread and moaned.

The sound was so blatantly sexual that I had to visualize the dirt in the gutters so I wouldn't embarrass myself.

A dollop of the sauce dripped onto his plate, and he slurped it up, then glanced at me sheepishly. "Sorry. I eat like a pig when I'm hungry."

I laughed. "Since I haven't provided you with any utensils, and there's not even a table, you can lick the plate. I don't care. I'm glad you like it."

"It's delicious," he mumbled around a mouthful before swallowing. "It's like you're a magician. I can't wait for the sushi on Saturday."

"It's just a sandwich," I murmured, transfixed by his happy face.

"This is not just a sandwich, Eric. This is the stuff of legends."

He ate fast and a little messily, but his expression was so content that it warmed me inside. I ate my own sandwich to distract myself.

I let him eat in silence for a while. The sauce was quite good, and the cheese complemented it perfectly. I'd worked my way through the Swedish cheeses, finding my favorites during my first year in Stockholm. Now I stuck to four different kinds that I almost always had in my fridge.

"How often do you think I have to do this?" I pointed at the roof above us.

"Cleaning the gutters? You're fine until the autumn. It might be good to check after storms to see if there are any big objects, like fallen branches."

"Are there a lot of storms during the summer?"

"The wildest winds come in the fall. But since we're far away from the coast, it rarely gets bad enough to cause any damage."

He finished his sandwich and put the plate on the porch by his chair.

"I should load the truck before it gets dark."

"Let me just finish this, and I'll help you."

"No, sit tight and eat in peace. It's just two things."

Before I could chew the last few bits, he had the pressure washer and ladder loaded. He walked up to the house but remained standing by the stairs.

I couldn't quite decipher his look. Did he want me to invite him in after all? We were both a mess, but if I offered him a shower, there was no way he would take it as anything else but an offer to have sex. And despite how much I wanted to touch him, I just couldn't say it. It didn't feel right.

Patience.

"Okay. Um. Thanks for dinner."

"It was…"

"Just a sandwich," he finished for me, grinning.

"Thank you for the help. I owe you big time."

He waved me off and turned around. "You don't. I'm happy to help. See you on Saturday!"

"See you," I called. I hoped I didn't sound as wistful as I felt.

I picked up the plates and walked inside, closing the door. The sound of his truck driving away died out.

The cottage was quiet once more.

I could feel lonely and despondent, but the giddy sparkles in my gut persisted throughout the evening.

I was excited about Saturday. Could I play it so Bj?rn stayed behind after the others left? I couldn't help but find his shyness cute even if it was inconvenient. Would he still act shy if he knew for sure I wanted him?