Chapter 9

I didn't realize how much work Eric had already done in the cottage until I stepped into his kitchen on Saturday evening.

The old oak table looked freshly sanded and oiled. It stood surrounded by six restored chairs that must have come from a loppis. The paneling was coated with a layer of light-gray paint, and colorful wallpaper covered the upper segments of the walls. It looked a little like the botanical posters we'd had in my old high school classroom. The cabinets were newly painted as well, a slightly different shade of blueish gray, complementing the flower print on the wallpaper. An antique oil lamp hung above the table. It was cozy, and while I would never choose the colors myself, together in the small room, they looked perfect.

I gazed around, wondering about Eric's hidden talents. I was about to compliment him on his work when Lars barged into the room through another door to the left.

He waved in greeting and plonked onto a chair. An open can of beer already stood in front of him. "You have a freeloader in your bathroom, man," he told Eric.

Eric turned away from where he was doing something complicated with a cucumber and grinned. "You mean Augustine? He owns the house. Let him be, and he won't hurt you."

I blinked. "Who's Augustine?" For an insane moment, I imagined a sophisticated French man, probably taller than me, walking in and introducing himself as Eric's boyfriend.

"A huge-ass spider," Lars said.

I spluttered. "Don't you want to get rid of it?"

Eric glared at me. "Most definitely not! Augustine will eat all the flies and mosquitoes that dare enter our humble abode. As far as roommates go, he's great—quiet and useful."

"More like quiet and deadly," Lars muttered. "It looks like it'll soon start eating you."

"Are you afraid of spiders?" Eric asked him.

"No." Lars drank his beer, avoiding my gaze, making me think that he was indeed terrified of the critters.

"Eric, are you sure you want to keep a pet in your bathroom that can lay a thousand eggs?" I asked.

Eric stared at me, a knife in his hand. "A thousand?"

"Yep. Depending on which sort of spider he is, Augustine can rear one big-ass family."

His face turned serious. "But I don't want to kill him. And if I throw him out, he'll freeze to death by morning."

The spider would surely know where to hide, but Eric looked so affronted by the idea of removing Augustine that I didn't dare offer to do it for him. "Try peppermint and lemon."

"Huh?"

"Spiders don't like the scents. Maybe Augustine could voluntarily move out? You don't have to resort to violence."

Eric turned back to the counter and took down a couple of glasses from a cabinet above. "I'll try that. Thanks."

Lars nodded vehemently. "Until Augustine moves out, I hope you're okay with me peeing in the garden."

I laughed. "Far more insects out there. Just saying."

"At least I don't have to share an enclosed space with them."

"You can pee outside," Eric said, chuckling. "Just not anywhere near my strawberries, please."

He turned to me and handed me a glass of clear liquid that looked a little thicker than water. "Try this." Smiling up at me like that, he could get me to try anything.

I sniffed and sipped. It was strong, vaguely smelling of walnuts and a little vanilla. "Is this the sake we bought in Trollh?ttan?"

Eric beamed. "Yes. What do you think?"

"I don't know. I've never had sake before. But I like it. Very…nutty."

"It's great. I'm loving it. But careful, it's rather on the strong side."

"Noted. Can I help with anything?"

"No. I have it under control."

I watched with fascination as he spread out a small mat made of bamboo, covered it with a thin, wet cloth, and distributed rice over it. The next layer was a sheet of seaweed. He laid thin strips of cucumber and salmon in the middle and added a few spoons of cream cheese. Then he deftly rolled the bamboo mat, creating a neat cylinder. He set it aside and sprinkled it with sesame seeds. Without pause, he rolled out the mat and repeated the process, this time with seaweed first and rice on top.

"You've done this before," I remarked.

"Long winter evenings with my friends in Stockholm."

Who did he leave behind? Had they been close? Had he dated someone there? "Are you still in touch?"

"With some of them. My friend Lizzy wants to visit with her boyfriend. She's a force of nature."

A straight couple. Huh.

"Most of the people I met in Stockholm were expats and international students. Some had already moved away. But Lizzy lives there long-term."

"Why did you even move to Sweden, Eric? I mean, good for you, but I don't get it." I'd been aching to ask, but Lars had spared me the trouble.

Eric's smile remained in place as he rolled the sushi and moved it to a cutting board next to the first roll.

"It was supposed to be an adventure. I'd planned on staying for a few months, rediscovering my roots, finding some temporary work to cover the cost, then going back to the US and figuring out my life. But I met a man."

Lars groaned. "You stayed for dick?"

Instead of getting affronted, Eric giggled. "It was a very nice dick. But I did worse than that, I fancied myself in love."

"What happened?" I asked, trying to sound casual and failing.

Eric glanced at me with a sad smile. "I sorted out the paperwork, found work, enrolled in an evening Swedish course, and began immersing myself in the local cuisine. A couple of months later, he took a job opportunity in Atlanta."

"In Georgia?"

"Yes. I might have gone with him. But he showed so little concern for how his decision would impact me that I realized I'd been kidding myself about the real depth of our relationship."

"Great dick is often attached to a big sack of shit," Lars said philosophically. "That's why you fuck them, not date them."

Eric snorted but didn't comment.

Olaf and Fredrik arrived just then. I didn't know what it was about Olaf that made me want to hide. His grin seemed too knowing. Could he see through me? Was my growing attraction to Eric a neon sign on my forehead? I dreaded the comments he might make.

Luckily for me, Olaf was invested in sushi more than in my nonexistent love life. He traced Eric's every move and asked detailed questions about the ingredients.

I followed the sushi-making process too, but more than anything, I watched Eric. I got distracted by the soft, short hair on his nape, then the muscles on his shoulder, gliding under his cream long-sleeved shirt, the tendons on his forearms…

We sat down to eat, Eric right in front of me, and I didn't know where to look. The longer I looked at him, the more beautiful he seemed. Watching him handle chopsticks with his elegant, nimble fingers made me half hard under the table.

I bent over my plate and ate while the conversation flowed around me. Could I lie low and stay longer? After everybody left, I could help him clean up… With any luck, I'd end up on my knees with my face in his groin.

"Is the food okay, Bj?rn?" When I lifted my gaze, Eric's eyebrows were scrunched together in concern. I'd been silent for too long, hadn't I?

"Yes. It's delicious. Sorry. I…got lost in my head."

His plush lips curved up in the corners, his eyes glinting in the light of the candles.

"Can I have a couple more of those with cream cheese?" I asked.

"Sure. That's a Philadelphia roll. By the way, in Japan, they don't make those at all. They're an American invention, but I like 'em." He winked and reached for the square plate in the middle, loaded with an assortment of sushi. Using a clean pair of chopsticks, he transferred two pieces onto my plate. "More sake?"

I still had some left in my glass, and I needed to stay sober. "Thank you, I'm good."

"How's your mom, Lars?" Fredrik asked, and Eric released me from the power of his gaze.

Lars shrugged noncommittally. "She's had better days. Spring and summer are usually worse for her for some reason."

"Do you think she'd like it if Olaf and I came by tomorrow with fika?"

"Sure. Why not."

Eric gazed at Lars with a confused frown. He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but Lars spoke quicker.

"My mom has progressive multiple sclerosis and doesn't leave the house anymore. She's the only reason I'm still living in Gryta." Lars delivered the facts with his usual brusqueness, but even I could see the helpless anger in his eyes.

If it weren't for Linda, Lars would be miles away from here. He'd always dreamed of a city life, but he also loved his mom and would never abandon or uproot her.

"My aunt has MS," Eric said mildly. "That must be really difficult for you. I'm sorry. Are you taking care of her on your own?"

"She has an assistant nurse coming over five times a week for a couple of hours. The municipality doesn't cover more than that, but at least I can work. You know what? I changed my mind. Can I try the sake?"

"Sure."

"And what about you, Bj?rn?" Fredrik asked, redirecting the attention away from Lars. "You must be busy now that it's spring."

"Well, yes and no. We have a group of guys taking down twenty square kilometers of spruce north of the lakes, but we have to be careful about it and do it in phases."

"Twenty kilometers? That's one huge clearing." Eric looked at me disapprovingly. "Why?"

"We do it in sections over the span of a few years, and we leave the younger trees and all of the pine and birch. It's not like we bulldoze the entire area."

He was still frowning at me. "But you do plant new trees, I hope."

I couldn't help but smile at his worry. He was looking at me like I'd just told him I drowned kittens for a living.

"Of course we do. There's a good point to the process too. See, spruce is easy to grow, so old-timers like my dad and granddad planted it everywhere to get same-age and same-size trees that were quick to harvest. It was a good source of income for the next generation. But spruce isn't naturally at home in Dalsland—not the monocultures that have been planted all over. It attracts parasites like the bark beetle, and it's sensitive to drought and storms. When those things coincide, the whole forest can be gone. With climate change, the ecosystem becomes even more vulnerable. I've seen an entire side of a mountain covered with fallen spruce like someone spilled giant matches over the place. So the area-wide plan is to slowly replace the monoculture spruce forests with native leaf and pine, especially on hillsides and higher up where the soil dries out in the summer."

Shit. That was the most words I'd strung together in a row since my finals. They were all staring at me like I'd grown a second head.

"And you have to follow the directives even though it's your land?" Eric asked. He'd been following what I'd said? He was way too nice.

Keep it short, chatterbox. "As a landowner, you're obligated to take care of the forest in a sustainable way. It's now altogether forbidden to plant spruce in some places. But I'd like to go over to what's called continuous cover forestry."

"I've heard about that," Fredrik said. "It's supposed to be the most sustainable approach, right?"

"Yeah. It means you never have even-aged monocultures. Instead, you plant mixed species in sections, and slowly you develop a more natural forest with varied ages and sizes of the trees. You intervene and harvest here and there in three to seven years intervals. After a period of time, you should never have to plant new trees. Instead, regeneration happens naturally. I want to avoid clear-felling altogether."

Olaf gave me a lopsided smile. "So I should stop grumbling about your loggers plundering my favorite mushroom-picking spots."

"Sorry about that. Necessary evil."

Eric squinted at me. "You're not going to take down that forest, are you?" Using a chopstick, he pointed behind him at the darkness outside, in the direction of Henke's house.

"Not for another twenty years. You're safe."

"Because you promised me mushrooms."

"I intend to deliver." I lifted my almost empty sake glass, and Eric clinked it with his, smiling.

The nutty drink grew on me, tasting sweeter the longer I drank. But I shouldn't have another. On the other hand, it would help with my nerves. I was about to tell Eric I'd changed my mind about the sake, but Lars spoke up.

"It's a weird job, isn't it?" His speech was slow and slightly slurred. "Like, you plant trees, work your ass off to protect the plants, then prune, and whatever it is that you guys do. But you can't harvest them until after what, like, a hundred years?"

"Between sixty and one hundred twenty years, depending on the type of tree, climate, and other factors."

He snorted. "One hundred years. Talk about delayed gratification."

"With the size of the area we're taking care of, there's so much going on all the time, I don't really think about it like that."

Lars looked at me with his glassy eyes, leaning back. "The entire village thought you'd sell the lot once your old man was gone."

"I did think about it," I admitted. "But I studied this, and the freedom to finally do something good with the land was too tempting."

"Look, I'd get it if you were straight, okay?" Lars got louder, gesticulating wildly. Uh-oh. Olaf flashed me a concerned look. "Find a girl from the neighborhood like a proper breeder. Fuck, you could have gone on Farmer Seeks Wife." He laughed to himself. "Bring a woman to the farm, knock her up, spread those genes, plant those trees. But you're queer! You could have sold the entire thing, taken those millions, and gone anywhere."

"Lars…" Olaf said, but Lars was on a roll.

"Anywhere, dude! Are you listening? You could have taken your sweet, firm ass on all the gay cruises and fucked himbos in fucking San Francisco. There are gay nudist beaches in Spain, man. Gran Canaria! Rio! Hell, stupid Stockholm even. But no, you're putt-putting around Gryta on your tractor. It's a crime, man. Is all I'm saying. Fucking waste of life."

Silence fell as all of us looked at Lars downing the last of his beer.

"I'm happy here," I said, glancing at Eric. He gave me a tense smile, then stood.

"I've been to clubs in San Francisco," he told Lars softly. "It's not what it's painted out to be."

"Whatever." Lars sank against the wall behind him and dragged a hand down his face.

"You want some water, Lars?" Eric asked, already reaching for a glass.

"I'm fine. Hand me one of my beers, would you?"

"I'll have some water," Olaf said, standing to collect used plates from the table. He brought them to Eric.

"Dishwasher?" he asked.

Eric grimaced apologetically. "Sorry. No. Old house. But I'm planning on it. Just leave it on the counter, please, and I'll take care of it later."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I have a system. Just leave it."

"Okay."

The tension Lars's outburst created never really dissolved. He didn't say anything anymore and accepted a glass of water from Eric with one of his beers. I'd noticed Eric looked at the labels before he handed him one, choosing a small can of the weakest lager.

Olaf and Fredrik soon made their excuses and left, but not before profusely thanking Eric and issuing multiple invitations for themed dinners at their place.

Then Lars scrambled up to leave as well, stumbling down the stairs into the garden. He left the door open.

Eric peeked after him. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

I certainly hoped so. "It's not his first time getting home drunk. At least it's downhill," I tried to joke.

Eric hovered at the door, looking unsure.

"Can I help with the cleanup?" There it was—my last resort.

Eric's eyes held mine, and I could have sworn he wanted me to stay. It was there in his face.

He drew me in like a magnet, and before I knew it, I was leaning forward, zeroing in on his mouth.

A thump and a groan from somewhere in the garden made us jerk apart.

"I'm fine!" A loud burp followed Lars's proclamation.

"He's not fine, is he?" Eric asked, squinting into the dark garden.

I sighed. I was out of luck tonight. "Doesn't sound like it."

Eric gazed at me with regret, biting his lower lip. God, I wanted to kiss him so badly!

"I'd…better take him home," I said instead, screaming on the inside.

"Yeah."

"Thank you so much for tonight. The sushi was great and…"

A barrage of muffled curses came from Eric's oak hedge.

I groaned. "I'll drag him home before he pukes into your hedge."

"I'll come with you in case he passes out. Just let me put on my shoes."

Lars would be okay, but I wouldn't say no to Eric's company.

"I'm not gonna pee myself," Lars told the night. "I'm fine."

Eric lit a flashlight and locked the door before stepping down the stairs.

We found Lars wandering through the garden, close to the strawberry beds. We led him onto the gravel road, and I held him by his elbow as he peed on the roadside, swaying precariously. Then we walked, flanking him, to his house by the old church.

Staggering between us, Lars hummed one of the songs I remembered from the Eurovision contest but otherwise behaved himself. By the time we reached his house, he looked ready to pass out.

"I'll wait here," Eric said when we approached the door.

Lars wavered as he struggled to pull out his keys, then dropped them onto the ground. Eric pointed the flashlight at our feet, and I found them among the weeds taking over the tiled pathway. I threw an arm around Lars and dragged him to the door.

"Bedtime, come on."

"I'm cock-blocking you," he announced, making me wince.

I deemed it best not to reply. Instead, I unlocked the door and ushered him inside. He fanned my face with beer fumes and whispered, "He has the hots for you too. You're in, dude."

"Thanks. Are you going to puke?"

"Nah. I'm telling you, I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

Linda was probably asleep, the house quiet. After tugging his shoes off, I left Lars on the sofa with a bottle of water and a blanket. He fell asleep in seconds.

Eric waited outside.

"Is he okay?"

"Already asleep."

He shook his head, smiling. "I can't even be mad at him."

"Yeah, he hasn't had it easy."

What now? I glanced around the village, all windows dark this late at night. Inger's house stood a hundred meters down the road, the streetlamp illuminating the large two-story villa.

I looked back at Eric, but he was gazing around, shifting from foot to foot.

"I'd better head home," he said.

"Um."

Come with me. Kiss me. Let me suck you…

He glanced my way, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to say something.

I took a step closer, more on instinct than anything. Could I kiss him right here? In the middle of the village?

Then Eric did something that almost made my heart explode.

He closed the distance between us, stretched onto his tiptoes, and pressed a small kiss to my cheek.

I blinked. Before I could reach for him, he was walking up the road toward his cottage.

A slow grin spread on my face.

The pretty teacher liked me back.