The Heart Doesn’t Always Decide

Two weeks. No weird winds, painted messages, or even a hint of harassment. And all the patrols brought back negative results. The man had vanished. Or, as Officer Murphy said, more than likely gave up when he saw the patrols, or left the island due to the upcoming threat of snow.

Tom assured them, however, that even though they were easing up on patrol, the case was still open and to let him know if there were any more incidents.

Claire wasted no time on her list, especially the last item. Taking daily lessons at the gun range, spending hours rigorously practicing, Danny watched her fear slowly fade into confidence, while his grew into a formidable beast. And when she came home one afternoon brandishing a gun catalog, asking for his help and guidance on what best to purchase, Danny knew why.

It had started with the routine. The everyday domesticity. Blending and adjusting to each other’s habits seamlessly. It was the one pair of shoes dwarfing the other, sitting side by side at the doorway. The shared meals.

But even more than that, it was the tea Claire had ready for him an hour before work. The meals she thought to bring down to him during his slow time so he could eat. It was the folded laundry neatly stacked on his bed, and the small notes of greetings she left on his fridge—written in Swedish. As if attempting to learn his ancestor’s language wasn’t barreling her straight into his sensitive center.

And now she looked to him for help on something as important as her safety—as if his opinion held weight.

Cohabiting with Claire, he alarmingly realized, had become more of a real marriage than his actual marriage had been. And the more their lives intertwined, the harder it became to draw that line separating her into the “just friends” category.

He couldn’t keep blaming it on exhaustion after work every time his breath hitched when he stepped inside his apartment and smelled her perfume. Or when he walked into the living room to see the living, breathing manifestation of his every thought sitting on his couch with the lights dimmed, music playing, holding up his favorite ale for him. Claire, smiling, wearing those damn wool socks he’d given her.

Perhaps he could blame it on the night he looked down and realized he didn’t remember the last time he saw her wear her wedding rings.

On the second Friday night since she moved in, “Hey Jude”drifted out of the speakers. Danny had heard this song more times than he could count, yet tonight his traitorous mind decided to morph the lyrics and associate them with Claire.

It didn’t help that she sat next to him, their thighs touching, her warmth melding with his. When the chorus hit, he chanced a quick look and found her eyes waiting for him.

No, not waiting, slowly dropping to his mouth.

The air in the room grew thick and crackled, pulling the breath from his lungs. All the charged energy magnetized his body to hers, and he found himself drifting closer, eyes glued to those lips.

Just once, he wanted to let it all go and taste her.

The record skipped, snapping the moment, and Danny jumped up to change the album. When he glanced back, Claire hugged her knees tight to her chest and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He’d almost kissed her.

He’d almost ruined everything.

“I’m uh ... ” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “I’m kind of tired. So, I’ll ... um, goodnight, Claire.” Without looking back, he rushed down the hall to his room. Crawling onto the air mattress, he crushed a pillow against his chest.

The music stopped, and he watched the light under the door flick off. Soft, padding footsteps came closer and stopped outside his door. He squeezed the pillow. If she knocked, if she came in, he’d—

The footsteps faded back down the hall, and he turned away, burying his face in the pillow.

Sinking into a fitful sleep, Danny floated between a dream and a memory.

Jessica straddled his hips in bed, looking down on him, smiling. “I have something for you.”

His stomach balled up. He knew that smile. Glint in her eyes, mouth too wide. He swallowed and scrambled to think of which “medicine” she could be taking right now. “What is it, babe?”

She unfolded papers and held them before his eyes. Divorce papers signed and ready. “W-Wha—” Danny stuttered and stumbled out of bed.

“You know I’m a free-spirit.” She waved her hands and swayed to music only she could hear.

“And I’ve never tried to stifle that.”

“Justin said ... you remember our neighbor? Strong jaw, nice biceps.”

Because that’s what a man remembers about his neighbor? At that moment, watching her touch her plump lips while describing him, he knew. Knew what she did, but he had to ask anyway. “You slept with him?”

She laughed like it was silly but didn’t deny it.

“Answer me, Jess.”

Her eyes, pupils blown, lifted with a smile not quite her own. “Come now, Danny. What do you think?”

“I think you married me.” His shaking finger jammed into his chest. “That you made promises to be faithful to me.”

She laughed and swayed again. Laughed so hard she rolled off the bed. “I have a list.” She held up her phone, opening her notes app. “Wanna see it?” Everything was so goddamn funny.

The list, he soon found out, was every man she’d slept with not only over the past month they’d been married but the entire year they dated. Danny lost feeling in his limbs, his insides slowly caving in.

She finished with flushed cheeks. “Yes, there it is,” she said, eyes drooping. “My bad energy is leaving now.”

“I have more for you.”

Her hazy eyes sharpened on him. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I am, or-or about my needs when you married me.”

“Your addictions, you mean.” She glared, and he released a harsh laugh. “And don’t you mean who you were? Or do you conveniently forget repeatedly telling me things changed for you when you met me?” He snatched his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Making an appointment to get tested for some other bastard’s disease. Something you should probably do.”

She slapped the phone out of his hand. “You are so ... ” She never finished and started fanning herself. Her ever-struggling anxiety taking over.

He wouldn’t ease it for her, though. Not this time. Instead, he spoke in a raw voice, fingers rubbing over the ache in his chest. “I don’t understand, Jess. You said I was enough.”

But he did understand one thing. He’d pushed her to see a doctor again. To get help for all the abuse of her past that turned into these addictions. He’d felt her closing off even then. Or maybe she’d never been open to begin with.

“You could never be enough.” She got so close. The tormenting scent of her washing over him. With a scathing smile she whispered, “I used you like I use all of them. Like my medicine. To make me feel good. But I’m tired of being chained down.” She laughed again. “You’re nice to look at, baby, but you’ll never be anything more than a nobody bartender from a goddamn frozen island.”

Danny startled, eyes flying open. He didn’t move. Heavy breaths lifted and lowered his chest. He pressed a hand over his racing heart, getting his bearings. He wasn’t with his ex-wife, but in his old guest room. On an air mattress.

His phone buzzed, and he rolled over to see a calendar notification pop up. He cursed, scraping a hand over his face with a groan.

Maybe he’d just sleep this day away.

A gentle knock. “Daniel? Are you awake?” a soft voice asked. “I made breakfast.”

Claire. The memory of last night rushed him, and he rolled to his back, staring at the door. They’d made plans to bring Gunner to Sven’s property together and then stop at the fishmonger. But that was before he’d almost kissed her. Before the calendar reminded him what day it was.

If he told her he didn’t feel like going, she might dig to find out why, and that was one conversation he didn’t need right now.

“Yeah,” he said. “Coming.”

Breakfast showed no signs that Claire was upset about the night before. He should’ve been relieved, but he wasn’t. If anything, her nonchalance only added to the heaviness he couldn’t shake. He didn’t want to be alone in this muck of regret.

A few times he thought he felt her eyes on him, but when he glanced up, she’d have them dutifully lowered.

The temperature now close to freezing, Danny threw on a wool sweater with his slouchy before they headed out into the blustering wind. He embraced the icy chill against his cheeks, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of evergreens and salt water as they walked.

“What’s your favorite food?” Claire held a swinging bag of fish, head bent against the wind.

Danny nodded toward Ylva’s. “Kanelbullar, hot out of the oven. I can cook almost anything, but I’m terrible with baking.”

“I see.” A small smile played on her lips.

“Why’d you want to know?”

“Just curious. Excuse me a minute.” She pulled out her phone and started texting someone.

The uneasiness he woke up with washed over him again. “Everything okay?”

“Perfectly so—oops.” She tripped on a rock, and he caught her arm.

“As nice as your shoes are, I think it’s time to head to Gene’s and invest in a good pair of winter boots before you break an ankle. Snow is coming.”

“Boots aren’t cute, though.”

“You don’t need boots to be cute.”

Her cheeks flushed, and he cleared his throat. He was misreading her again. Or did that blush mean something?

“We should also pick up a warmer coat and hat too. Trust me, you’ll need them.”

“I trust you.”

That was the second time she told him that and the second time his chest tightened with the responsibility of it.

More stones threatened her trek, and he held out his arm for her. She tucked her hand inside and squeezed his bicep. It’s not because she wants to touch me—right? God, hope was a dangerous thing.

“Is Ian coming back today?”

“Yep. End of term exams are done, and he’s heading in this afternoon.” He tried clearing his head by looking up at the thickening gray cloud cover. The snow may even start tonight.

“What time? Emelie and I are headed out together.”

“Around two. What are you and Ems up to?”

She smiled but didn’t answer. “I missed seeing him last weekend.”

“Yeah, working Saturday nights without him makes me appreciate even more all the Saturdays he did this without me.” Two months ago when I left, he didn’t add.

“Tell him I’ll cook dinner.”

“After you’re done with your mystery visit with Em?”

“Exactly,” was all she gave him.

They weren’t even home ten minutes before Emelie burst in. “Come on M.C.C., we’ve got places to go.”

Danny’s jaw went slack. “B-but ... ”

“Bye.” Claire wiggled her fingers at him as Emelie dragged her down the stairs and out the front door with a slam.

The silence swallowed him whole.

For the first time since she blew into his life, he was alone—truly alone. And he didn’t like it. Not. One. Bit.

His eyes traveled from the empty stairwell to the bag of fish still lying on the kitchen table. He’d planned to surprise Claire with a new recipe he’d looked up just for that fish.

The stupid fish staring at him with empty eyes and an open mouth.

“What are you looking at?” He shoved it into the fridge and cursed, slamming the door.

He loved his cousin, but seeing her out of her work clothes and all dressed up reminded him of the lifestyle she led when not working. A partying lifestyle. The same one that nearly destroyed her life when she’d left the bar on a night off with a stranger named Seth. The man who thought because she was drunk, he could drag her behind the Viking-shaped tavern and lay his hands on her.

The one and only time Danny nearly killed a man.

Emelie grew more cautious after that, but she still loved a bit of partying inside the clubbing scene on the mainland. Though not his idea of having fun, he understood she needed a break from island life. To blow off some steam from the heavy responsibilities put on her with her mother’s condition. But now she had Claire with her.

A plate cracked between his hands. “Shit.” He slammed it into the trash can. Why did Em demand Claire leave so fast? And why the hell didn’t she want him to know where they were going?

It could only mean one thing. Emelie planned for them to do something he wouldn’t approve of.

He stress-cleaned again. Scrubbed a pan in the sink so hard the counter creaked. The hum of the vacuum didn’t quiet his mind, and the dusted, re-organized bookshelves brought no satisfaction.

“Are you kidding me?” His arms curled over his chest as he stared at the kitchen clock. It’d been hours since he started cleaning, but the clock only read thirty minutes. Thirty damn minutes of no relief from his screaming head.

All his previous doubts about Claire crashed in. Every compliment she’d given, only politeness. Every smile meant nothing. Every hug, just a hug. And that small, cherished touch she’d given him earlier—meaningless.

This morning’s calendar notification popped back into his mind, and he knew it then. The hazy, happy cloud he’d lived in these past couple of weeks evaporated to the clear and ugly truth. The feelings he had for Claire weren’t mutual.

Why would they be? She had a big, fancy life to live and exotic places to travel. It’s not like she stayed on the island—at Flygande—for him. Who was he but a small speck on her map?

Insecurity gushed over him, pricking his skin and souring his stomach. He emptied the kitchen cabinets with loud clangs and started to scrub them. This small speck still wanted to know where she went, even if he wasn’t important to her.

He froze. Is that why she didn’t tell him where they went? Did Emelie drag her to one of her parties? Introduce her to some of her friends—male friends? That’s it. That’s where she was. With some twenty-something asshole grinding against her on a dance floor.

The cabinet groaned and clunked, falling lopsided on the wall. “Dammit,” he hissed. Steadying his shaking body, he ducked under to see a few snapped screws from his heavy-handed scrubbing.

“It’s morning, idiot.” The cabinet protested as he lifted it. “Nobody parties in the morning. Not even Em.”

Still, the uneasiness lingered. At least now he had a project to focus his attention on for the next several hours.

Damn his efficiency. Forty-five minutes later, he stood staring at his empty home again.

He needed to get out of there. Out of the place with little bits and pieces of Claire everywhere, staring at him. Mocking him.

Tearing around, he stormed down the stairs to Flygande. He’d get everything ready and prepared for a busy Saturday. Possibly the last busy Saturday if snow came.

He hit the bottom step and his eyes fell on her table by the fireplace, his mind conjuring images of soft hair falling around her face, brushing along her slender nape. That mouth pursed around a pencil clamped between her teeth while she focused.

He groaned, fists pressed into his eyes. There would be no escaping Claire here.

“Get used to it.” Beer glasses clinked as he stacked them. She was going to leave, and this would be the rest of his life.

He stopped his fourth round of bar polishing and sank his head with a heavy sigh. It was nobody’s fault but his own.

You’ll never be anything more than a nobody bartender from a goddamn frozen island. He tore up the spotless rubber mats from behind the bar and slammed them down in the kitchen area.

His pride and joy had always been his family heritage. His connection to an island—to a people—that no one else had. But to someone like Claire, it was probably pointless. Small. Pathetic.

He sprayed, soaped, and violently broom-scrubbed the mats.

What about his plans to never let another woman past his barriers? The place that could destroy him. Yet there she was, dangling a finger over his bleeding center.

“At this point, I’d think you could serve dinner off these mats.”

Danny was spiraling. Not sure over what, but Ian spotted it the moment he stepped into the kitchen to his flushed-faced best friend with wild eyes.

“Ian, what the—is it two already?” Danny looked at his watch-less arm. “Shit. I didn’t open the doors. The chairs are still up. Where’s Kevin and Fin and-and where the hell is Emelie?”

“Whoa.” Ian held up both hands. “I’m early. Thought I’d surprise you and Claire. You didn’t enter a time warp.”

Danny didn’t smile, so Ian did a few quick calculations. He cleaned things that were already clean and was pissy. He’d only left him for two weeks and he reverted back to angry, obsessive cleaning?

Only one thing could’ve caused this. “Where’s Claire?”

“Don’t know. With Em.”

“When is she coming back?”

“Don’t know.”

“Ah, got it.”

Danny stepped into his space. “What? What have you got?”

Touchy too. Could be pretty serious. “Nothing.” Ian smiled. “Want me to take down chairs?”

“Yes.” He scrubbed the mats again.

Ian spun out of the kitchen and reached for his phone, texting, S.O.S. WHERE ARE YOU?

Emelie responded almost immediately. TOP SECRET. WUZ UP?

YOU PLANNING TO brING CLAIRE BACK SOON?

NOT YET, WHY?

DOES DANNY KOW WHY YOU’RE OUT TOGETHER?

A long line of zipper-mouthed emojis popped up in response.

EM, HE’S MAT SCRUBBING.

SHIT, REALLY? DID JESS SEND HIM ANOTHER PACKAGE?

NO, THIS IS DIFFERENT. It’s worse, he keeps himself from adding.

HE PROBABLY REALIZED HE LIKES CLAIRE AND IS FREAKING OUT A LITTLE. HE’LL BE FINE.

HE’S NOT FINE.

There was a long pause, the three dots appearing and disappearing. I NEED TWO MORE HOURS. COVER FOR ME AND I’LL HAVE HER BACK THERE, WRAPPED IN A PRETTY LITTLE BOW.

Ian rolled his eyes, mumbling, “Maybe you should have let me in on this secret to begin with.”

Danny kicked the swinging kitchen door open, and Ian stuffed his phone into his pocket.

“How’s seminary?” Danny dragged out the heavy mats, one in each hand.

“Incredible, really. I still can’t believe I get to do this. Even if I fail, it’s worth it for Theology alone.”

“You’re not going to fail.” The mats dropped with a slap, and he used his boot to position them.

“Thank you for that. Did you eat?”

“No, why?”

“I’m hungry.” Ian pulled down the last chair. “How about I fry up something bad for us. Some Flygande specialties.”

“Go for it, but I’m not hungry.”

Ian let out a quiet sigh, watching Danny clean spotless chairs. He’d been overly optimistic about how well his best friend had been doing.

Ten minutes ’til eleven, Emelie rushed in, heading straight for Danny’s office. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Claire swooped in after her, covered in a thick, down coat, wind-blown and smiling. “It was my fault, I’m afraid.”

At the sound of her voice, Danny visibly relaxed—for five seconds. That’s all he allowed before something else took over. Something cold. Foreign. Every muscle in his body flexed and tensed the closer Claire got to him, and Ian was grateful he held a bar towel instead of a glass with his white-knuckled grip.

“Hello, Ian.” She waved. “Are you hungry? Daniel and I got fish today. He was going to help me cook it.”

“Don’t have time now.” He rubbed small circles into the wooden bar. “I open soon.”

“Oh.” Her smile faltered. “You’re right, it’s Saturday. You’re always busier on Saturdays.” She glanced around the spotless, empty tavern. “I can just make it the other way you taught me. Should I bring you some?”

“Not hungry.” He turned from her and began re-stacking the beer glasses.

She watched him, wide-eyed, for a few painful seconds before asking in a shaky voice, “Daniel? Are you angry with me?”

“Nope. Just working.”

She slowly turned to Ian. “Are you hungry?” she said so quietly he barely heard her.

He side-glanced Danny, waiting for him to stop whatever the hell part of him thought this act was a good idea. “I’d love some.” Even though he just ate.

“I’ll bring it down.” With one more confused look Danny’s way, she turned toward the apartment steps.

“The table by the fire can’t be reserved tonight.” He spoke over his shoulder without looking at her. “It’s going to be slammed and we need the extra space.”

“Yes, o-of course. I never expected you to do that for me anyway. I’ll find a place.” She gave him a gracious smile, but he edged around her without a glance, pushing through the kitchen door.

Ian’s hands dropped to his side and curled into tight fists. “I’ll save you a seat here.” He pointed to his side of the bar at the very end. “It’ll be open and ready for you with a cup of tea or wine whenever you want.”

Her eyes stayed on the swinging kitchen door as she walked toward the stairs. “If it’s no trouble.”

Ian burst through the kitchen. Kevin yelped but Danny didn’t flinch. He knew he was coming. “Kev, give us a sec.”

“He’s got work to do.”

“No, I don’t.” Kevin held up his hands and darted around them while Ian crossed his arms, boring holes into Danny’s dumb head. He wasn’t going to say a word until Danny did.

“It’s not her table.”

“The hell it isn’t. Why you shutting her out?”

“I just told her I needed the table.”

“Daniel Mikael Larsson, if there’s one thing I’ve never pegged you for, it’s a bullshitter. And I sure as hell never thought you’d try to bullshit me. Look at me.”

Danny whipped around, stepping into Ian’s space, but Ian held his ground, rising to his full height.

“You want to hear the truth? Fine, I’ll tell you the truth. I can’t be friends with her, Ian. I can’t even let her remotely close to me.”

“Why?”

He held a forefinger and thumb in his face, squeezing them together. “If I give her an inch—if I give her even a hair of space in here,” he smacked his chest, “then she’s all in. Do you understand me? I can’t just give her a little. I have to give her everything and I can’t. I can’t give her or any other woman everything ever again.”

“But she lives here. Are you going to throw her out now because you suddenly changed your mind?”

Danny faltered for a second, and his expression showed his inner struggle. “I wouldn’t do that. But maybe I can work something out with Em until Sven’s place is finished. There haven’t been any more threats.”

Ian deflated a little. “You don’t have to do this, Danny. It’s okay to be afraid.”

His head snapped up, and Ian stepped back when a dead look met his eye. He didn’t know what Danny was about to say, but knew he didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m not playing this game anymore.” His voice dropped low. “It’s over. I’m done.” He pushed past Ian like he wasn’t there.