Chapter Four

Four

I move into Erik's apartment on September 29, a rainy Sunday, and because I have no one else to help me with my boxes and suitcases, Erik kindly offers a hand. He borrows his cousin's car, and since his cousin can't join us, Erik does all the muscle work, carrying my things up the stairs and into my new bedroom. He's being polite and formal, speaks no more than is necessary and keeps a respectful distance, making it clear this is a professional relationship.

The apartment is on the second floor in a cute historical building without an elevator, facing the northern end of the Copenhagen Lakes in the ?sterbro area. It's all so wonderful, I can hardly believe it. Given that most of the furniture and appliances I had been using belong in the studio apartment I just vacated, we are done after a few rounds of climb and descend.

My room has a built-in wardrobe, large windowsills that can be used to put things on, and the former tenant left a chair, a standing lamp, and a cheap night table. I don't have a bed yet, but I'll fix that.

"Do you need help with anything else, or should I leave you alone to unpack?" Erik stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, wet with a mix of sweat and rain. My eyes keep returning to his muscles, but every time I realize I'm staring, I breathe and make myself busy with something.

I should talk about the bed situation, but I don't want to bother him more. Online shopping is here for people like me. "What about a little tour of the home and a quick presentation of your rules?"

"Sure. Maybe some water first?"

Erik leads me to the fridge, where he takes out two bottles of mineral water, and we drink while he shows me where everything is.

The kitchen is a narrow room with a long counter containing all the appliances you expect to find in a typical Danish kitchen, which are marvelous for someone who grew up in a humble Brazilian home. There's an induction cooktop, an electric kettle, and a dishwasher well disguised behind a cabinet door. The fridge is packed with healthy food, and Erik has a bunch of spices and cooking oils near the stove.

The kitchen opens to a shared area lit up by a big window with a view of the lakes and a geometric lamp hanging over a round dining table matched with four sleek chairs. There is also a bookcase filled with hardcover titles old and new, and a basket with folded wool blankets. Erik stands near the kitchen with his water bottle, letting me explore.

"Can I use everything here?"

"Yes, as long as you are careful." I look at him, and he smiles. For some reason, seeing him drop the serious face he's had all day makes something inside of me heat up and dance. I'm a happy-atmosphere chaser, no matter who I'm with.

"Is your bedroom there?" I point at the closed French doors facing the dining table. The glass panes are covered by a curtain inside the other room.

"Yep. It was supposed to be a living room, but I chose it as my room because it's the largest space." He moves his eyebrows up and down to illustrate his smartness.

I smile. "Can I see it?"

"This is the only time you'll get a glimpse of my cave. Enjoy the few seconds of this privilege."

He opens the doors to the most organized and beautifully designed male room I've ever seen.

It's bigger than the studio I was living in. Erik has a double bed in one corner with four fat pillows and a thick duvet neatly stretched over the mattress. The other side of the room is a mini living room with a couch facing a big TV and many shelves with books and other personal objects tastefully arranged. There are a few plants and lamps strategically placed, a desk with a closed laptop, and a small wardrobe that seems to contain all his clothes, as there are no pieces dropped on the floor.

It's like an IKEA showroom.

"I'll give you twenty points for this," I say. He looks at me and laughs, closing the doors again.

We go to the bathroom, and Erik shows me how to operate the shower, the washing machine, and the dryer.

"I'm still waiting for the rules," I say when he's done.

Erik leans casually in the doorway with his arms folded, and I can't help but notice how big his biceps look when they are flexed. "It's basic stuff relying on common sense. Respect my privacy. Clean up after yourself. Wait your turn. Not much more." He shrugs. "We just have to figure out a schedule for cleaning and cooking. And if you want to use the bathroom for long periods, I'd like to know in advance. But in general, don't bother me. The home is yours too."

I nod, relieved. I was expecting a long list of tyrannical rules.

"You said cooking. How will that work? Can I shop for my things and keep them on a shelf in the fridge? Or are we doing some sort of common shopping?"

"No common shopping. No sharing of expenses. You have your things, I have mine." He then relaxes his posture, as if regretting his sudden brusqueness. "Just so it doesn't get confusing," he adds in a humbler tone.

"I understand. No problem."

We nod to each other, an uncomfortable silence filling the bathroom, which suddenly feels too small for the two of us. So tiny it's suffocating. Way too hot. I hold my breath when he squeezes through the door I'm half blocking, his chest lightly brushing my shoulder.

"We still haven't discussed the cooking," I say once he's out and I can breathe again. Sort of. "Do you make your dinner and I make mine, or would it make sense that I cook one day and you cook the next?" I'm not even done with the suggestion, and I already know it was a bad idea.

"I cook at seven every day. You are free to make your food before that or after eight."

I mumble an "okay" and decide it's time to unpack my things.

"And Sol," he calls when I've already started walking to my room. I turn around and look at him expectantly. It takes a moment for him to continue, a moment in which we stare at each other, both now occupying the small corridor. "Welcome home," he says at last.

I give him a genuine smile, drawing all the excitement and gratefulness from the bottom of my heart. "It's all perfect, Erik. Thank you so much."

The smile that stretches across his bearded face makes my stomach react in an undesirable way. I realize it's going to be hard to live with Erik Storm. But I can handle hard.

Oh goodness.

"You're welcome," he says. I want to hug him. And normally if I'm grateful, that's what I'd do. But for some reason, I just stand still, looking at the Norse god I'm living with.

What have you done, Sol?

My conflicting emotions wrestle inside me, and for a second, I think he will be the one to hug me. But then he steps back, and his smile fades as he says, "Have a good day."

And he locks himself in his glorious cave.

It's late afternoon when Erik appears at my door. He comes to tell me something about the dishwasher, but when he notices I'm lying on a yoga mat with a pillow under my head as I scroll on my phone, he frowns and says, "You don't have a bed."

I mean, he carried my things up the stairs. Did he think I could conjure a bed out of thin air?

"I'm trying to buy one, but the delivery times are awful."

"I thought you already bought one."

"And that it would arrive tonight?" I lift my gaze to him in a skeptical stare.

"Yes. I just thought you had this better planned out."

"Well, I thought I was going back to Brazil."

He sighs. "Sorry. I don't have a mattress you can borrow. There is only the bed in my room and my couch." He sounds weary. I can easily hear what he left unsaid: And I'm not letting you sleep in my room.

That's fine. Because I don't need his help. I return my gaze to my phone.

"You have really looked everywhere?" His tone changes, becoming more sympathetic. But I don't buy his concern. Whatever act of kindness he might do will be strictly for his benefit. In this case, so I don't have to— God forbid , he'd think—sleep on his couch.

Don't be so harsh on him . He gave you the room, after all , Larissa's voice echoes in my head. I often have imaginary conversations with my best friend, and the Sol version of Larissa is relentless.

He gave me the room, yes, but I have the impression Erik Storm never does anything he won't benefit from in some way. Charity is not his business, as he made clear to me at the pub.

"Yes, I've looked in every online store, but it will take at least three to five business days to arrive. Suggestions?"

"The biggest furniture store in Scandinavia, maybe?" Erik leans on the door in that casual way that makes his biceps look infused with super soldier serum. "You could go there."

When he sees my incredulous stare, he corrects himself, surrendering, " We could go there. In my cousin's car. He won't pick it up before tomorrow." I'm about to say it sounds good when he adds, "Or you can take the car if you want."

"I don't drive," I tell him dryly. "Much less in Denmark."

Erik shrugs, looking more relaxed than he is feeling, I'm sure. "Fine. We leave in ten."