Chapter Twenty

Twenty

I t's a cold and cloudy Saturday morning, and I'm quietly eating toast at the table when Erik sits next to me, full of energy. He crosses his arms over his chest with the smile of a clever programmer who has just had a brilliant idea.

"I know how we can win the wild challenge."

I look at him, taken aback. It's like he is not thinking about last night. We might not have done it, but we did something . The intentions, the attraction , were clear. Maybe he is willing to discard the whole thing as a moment of vulnerability, like when you are drunk and decorum calls for both parties forgetting what happened.

That takes a weight off my shoulders. If Erik is going to act as if nothing has changed, and we will keep working on the project and acting as a couple in front of Lars, everything can stay as it was. And as much as that means not having Erik entirely, it means having him near me and living here and striving for the life I want.

"How can we win the wild challenge?" I ask him.

"Winter bathing." He raises an eyebrow.

"Ah, no, no, no." I wave my hands in front of me. "We only have until seven in the evening, and look at the weather outside."

"Precisely," he says calmly. "It's called winter bathing . And it's not that cold now, so we'll be fine."

"Then you want to do what? Go to the beach now and jump in the ocean?"

"Yeah," he says as if I've just asked if he wants eggs for breakfast.

I shake my head, laughing. "You're out of your mind."

"Isn't that the point? A wild challenge?"

"I thought winter bathing was common in Denmark. The others must have done it before. It won't be that special."

"Lars hasn't, as far as I know. And he admires people who do it." Erik leans forward, his eyes flickering with the excitement of a mischievous boy ready for action. I keep staring at him, unyielding.

"No, I don't—"

"Come on, Sol. It'll be fun. And you'll get to scratch it off your list."

I must admit it has been bothering me that we didn't complete the ten items he scribbled for me in my notebook.

"All right, let's do it." I throw my arms up, surrendering. I never thought I would say yes to such a thing, but it seems Erik could convince me to go to the end of the world with him. "We need to take an amazing picture though. It is a photo contest, after all."

"Deal." Erik jumps to his feet, energy flowing from his body. He would probably head to the gym now to spend it if we weren't going to swim in freezing waters.

I put on a bikini under my winter clothes—a bizarre combination—then pack my camera and tripod, two towels, a blanket, and a thermos of hot tea.

We bike to the beach, and I make sure to tell Erik how much I regret my decision already. The weather is awful, so windy, and it looks like it's going to rain. The good part is that we're basically the only ones at Amager Strandpark, so I won't have to embarrass myself in front of strangers.

I've been here once during the summer, and it was lovely. A long, winding path shared by cyclists, runners, skaters, and families going for a stroll. A large stripe of sand dotted with people sunbathing. Kite surfers coloring a clear sky, large gatherings of them in the open sea and in the lagoon the bridges cross over, the water brimming with kayakers, swimmers, and rosy toddlers playing with animal floats.

Now it's like braving a postapocalyptic scenario. We are the only survivors.

But I won't remain one after entering these icy waters.

"Usually, people do it there." Erik stops when we have just crossed the main bridge and are about to take the winding path along the shore. He points at a harbor bathhouse with small turquoise structures out on a deck over the water. A Danish flag waves in the wind, and a couple of bathers climb down the wooden steps leading directly into the ocean.

"They have a winter bathing club, and there are saunas, changing rooms... But you need to be a member to use all that, I think."

"So, we're not going there?"

"No. We're on our own."

I swallow hard. "Is it even safe?" I'm more concerned about the temperature than the risk of drowning. The sea here couldn't be calmer.

"Don't worry," Erik replies. "It's healthy. It can boost your immune system, even."

I laugh through my nose. I grew up with my parents telling me I shouldn't eat ice cream when I was sick. Closing every window in the house whenever a gust of cool wind came through. Telling me I'd catch a cold if I jumped in a pool when it was raining.

They would have a heart attack if they saw me do this.

"Tell me it's fine, but don't claim it's healthy," I say as we ride slowly down the cemented path and pass by a couple of runners and skaters.

"But it is healthy. At least that's what Scandinavians believe. Why do you think people do it?"

"I don't know. Because they are crazy?"

Erik laughs. "It's supposed to awaken your body in a powerful way and even reduce your stress levels. You should feel great afterward."

"Is that how it feels for you?"

Erik is quiet. I repeat the question in case he didn't hear me, but his lack of response is due to nothing but guilt.

"I've never tried it before."

I press the brake and my bike shrieks. "What?"

Erik stops by my side, amused. "I've never done it."

"And you didn't tell me that before?"

"Why does it matter? It'll be the first time for both of us."

My stomach trembles. Hearing "first time" doesn't help with my nerves.

"Where do you want to do it then?" This sounds so wrong...

"Let's go all the way to the last pier. It'll be more private there."

My heart pounds against my ribs, and I climb back onto my bike to follow Erik, who is speeding ahead.

We stop when we reach the end of the large straight path bordering the shore, near post five, where there are toilets and an ice cream kiosk closed for the season.

White wind turbines spin lazily out in the water. The bridge to Sweden is visible at a distance—an impressive piece of engineering with a two-and-a-half-mile underwater tunnel. It's also possible to see a faint Malm? skyline on the horizon. We leave our bikes against the waist-high wall separating the paved path from the sand and walk toward the empty pier.

"If we freeze to death, Erik, I'll kill you," I warn him, and he laughs.

We walk on the wooden planks, farther and farther out. There are a few ladders on the sides at different depths for those who wish to lower themselves into a quick dip.

"Is that how we're doing it?" I point at the nearest ladder.

"It's what people usually do." He shrugs.

I shake my head. "How would that give us a good photo? No, no...we jump."

"What?" Erik laughs. " That would be insane. It's too sudden. You could get a cold water shock."

I turn around. "Let's go to the sand, and then we run into the water."

With a husky laugh, Erik follows me. I walk back, then jump on the sand, heading for a spot where I can get a good shot of us running toward the sea. I take my camera and the tripod out of my bag and start setting up the scene.

I find a great frame with the graphite clouds looking dramatic. When I'm adjusting the shutter speed, Erik stops behind me, his large body towering over my crouched figure.

"Come on, take off your clothes. I'm freezing."

I glance back and then look ahead again, covering my eyes and laughing hysterically. "You're naked ?" I'm so shocked, my voice sounds shrill. "What are you doing?"

Oh my. I picture the police dropping by and arresting him for indecent exposure.

"We do this naked."

Gosh, he needs to stop talking like that.

"You winter-bathe naked?" I'm scandalized like a conservative eighty-year-old lady.

And I'm feeling tricked. Like, when did I sign up for that?

"It's not a big deal here, okay? People are comfortable in their bodies. Nudity is natural. No one cares."

My eyes are huge, and I'm keeping them on my camera. Jeez. That's what I call a culture shock.

"You can do it in clothes or however you want. But if you want to do it like a Viking, then take it all off now before I become an ice statue permanently exhibited on this beach."

I take a deep breath. Okay. I'll do it right. As they say in Brazil: Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar. "If you are in the rain, it's to get wet."

I stand up and unzip my coat. "Would you mind turning around, please?"

Erik is dancing in place, trying to handle the cold, and he does as I say. I quickly take off my boots, my socks, my pants, my sweater, my T-shirt, and lastly, my bikini. The photo needs to reflect my transformation from a prude tropical girl into a brave and confident Viking—with censor bars I'll add later, of course.

I play by the rules. And I go all in.

It's very, very, very, very cold, and I'm not even in the water yet.

Erik is already in front of the camera, and I crouch down again to set the timer.

"Ready?" Once I press the shutter button, I'll have ten seconds to join him.

"I'm ready!" He bounces up and down, and I try not to look at his uncensored figure.

I glance over my shoulder. We are still alone and far from any other human. I might have felt a few drops of rain, but it's hard to know now that my entire body has started to freeze.

"Hurry, Sol!" he shouts with a shaky voice.

Adrenaline kicks in. I press the button and run to join Erik. He grabs my hand and looks at me. The red light of the camera blinks.

"Ready? Three, two, one... Go!"

We run, and the camera clicks a couple of shots until our ankles are in and icy water is splashing all around us. I scream, frozen in place, but Erik drags me by the hand, and I have no choice but to enter farther and farther.

"Done," I say, stopping when the water covers my belly, freezing my guts with a punch. "We have the photo, now we just—"

"In with your head, Sol, or it's cheating!" Erik smiles, not letting go of my hand.

"Like we haven't cheated plenty already," I mutter, but he ignores me.

"Together. Three, two, one... Now!"

I do it. I dive in. Once I'm submerged, I feel as though a thousand knives are perforating my body. I lose all air in my lungs for a long, tortured second. Oh for cod ' s sake , it hurts.

Erik pulls me up to the surface with him and signals for us to move toward the pier. Gasping for air, burning with coldness, we reach the nearest ladder, grip its metal bars, and Erik finds his voice again.

"Fuck! This is fucking cold!"

"Oh gosh, I need to get out! Holy cow!"

"Come on, Sol, find the Samuel L. Jackson in you. Release all the shit," he says, his teeth chattering. "I'm not letting you up until you've cursed properly!"

I laugh, a mix of desperation and extreme shivering.

"Shit!" I say and laugh. "Shit, shit, SHIT!"

"Yes! SHIT! Feels good, doesn't it?"

"No!" It's weird to say it. It's wrong.

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck no!"

He laughs, enjoying my liberation. He's right. It is freeing.

I'm dying. But it feels good somehow.

"FUCK MARTIN!" I let it out.

Erik looks proud, and we repeat it in unison.

"Fuck Martin fucking Olesen!" I shout to the gray skies.

Erik quotes Ezekiel 25:17 the way Samuel L. Jackson says it in Pulp Fiction , emphasizing the line about great vengeance.

"Fuck Scorpio Games!" I shout next. We're laughing our asses off now.

"Fuck Lars!"

"Fuck working! Let's all do what we love!"

Erik comes closer, his lips purple. I'm afraid there will soon be small ice crystals blocking his nostrils.

"I'm fucking tired of faking," he says, his voice almost not coming out now.

I can't stand it any longer. I can't feel my body. "It's too fucking cold," I say, climbing the ladder. "And you're a bad influence, by the way."

Erik laughs, following me. I try not to think that he's staring at my bare butt, but I feel that he is. I mean, it would be hard not to when I'm climbing the ladder right in front of him.

Out of the water, it's even colder. It's so cold, I can't think. We run toward the sand to reach our backpacks and get the towels. I wrap mine around me and throw the other one to Erik. We dry quickly, jumping around, groaning and cursing nonstop.

When I'm dry enough, I get dressed at the speed of light. Still trembling convulsively, I sit on the sand, wrapping the blanket I brought around me and curling into a ball. Erik sits by my side, and I put the blanket around him too. We stay like this, packed together, chattering teeth and shivering next to each other. I remember I have tea in my backpack and reach for it. Erik and I then take turns warming our interiors with the hot drink.

"I'm tired of bullshit too," I say at some point, following up on what he told me in the water—that he was tired of faking.

Erik smiles. "You're tired of me?"

"You're an idiot," I say in a tone that makes it clear I don't mean it. He stares at me with breathtaking intensity, and I add, "But no, I'm not tired of you. I'm just tired of us not being honest with each other."

"That is also what I meant," he says, even more intense, his nose so close to mine, they will touch if I lean just a little more his way. The thought makes my heart leap.

"I don't actually think you're an idiot," I confess, uncontrolled. "You're a sweet person under the tough facade you try so hard to keep up."

I'm trembling so much it's hard to tell if Erik's shivering comes from himself or from sitting shoulder to shoulder with me.

"I don't hate that you live with me," Erik says, and I stare back at him, my pulse quickening. "I love it, actually."

I hold my breath. He keeps staring at me like he...like he...

"You do?"

"I do."

Meu Deus. My insides are vibrating violently. I can't breathe. He leans even closer, and the tip of his nose brushes mine. I adjust the blanket around his neck, my shoulder and arm pressed against his. All the endorphins, oxytocin, dopamine, or whatever hormones awakened in me after winter bathing are working at full speed, making me hyperaware.

"You're not unattractive, even as a backpacking surfer," I correct my statement from the day I trash-talked him out of fear of looking too vulnerable if I said what I really thought.

"And you're the hottest woman in the whole fucking world."

I stop breathing, shivering more than ever. Frozen. In absolute shock. He's looking at me with yearning in those transparent blue eyes, so intense he barely blinks.

Holy shit.

"That is the hottest thing I've ever heard," I say, surfing on our wave of aggressive honesty. "Do you want to kiss me, Erik Storm?"

Holy fucking shit.

"Fuck yeah."

His purple lips press against my frozen ones, and together they warm each other back to life. I hold his neck, bringing him closer, my fingers tangling around his soaked hair. There is no air left inside my lungs, and I can't feel my face, my feet, or the tips of my fingers. I can barely move my joints.

"Let's go home." I interrupt the kiss, speaking with my forehead on his. "I'm too cold."

Right now all the energy in me is being used to stop my body from freezing, and I want to feel this. I need it to be the only thing my mind and my cells can process.

Erik nods in agreement and we run back to our bikes, more eager to arrive at our shared apartment than ever before, and not just because of the cold.

Definitely not just because of the cold.