14. Ned

F or the first time in what seemed like ages, I woke up to my alarm, my body aching but refreshed.

I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be this awake. I sat up in bed and pushed the heavy woollen blankets off my legs—no comforters here. Violet's bedding was all starched linen and wool throws. The old, lumpy mattress still made me ache the same way it had in my youth on school mornings when I'd sat right here feeling a lot more carefree than I did today.

I still smiled, though. Once I'd sorted shed four this morning, I was heading into town for an appointment with the tax office to present my passports and sign more paperwork as well as pick up supplies for the farm. I was already thinking of what else I could get away with during my impromptu outing, since I had both the time and the use of Violet's truck.

I was definitely going to buy some decent groceries. I'd made a promise to look after Teddy—well, perhaps not those exact words, and maybe it wasn't the greatest attempt at seduction, but I needed him to see that I wasn't a completely pointless addition to his life. Or pointless other than the sex. I had a feeling we were already in agreement that we made good use of each other's bodies.

I was going to look after him, make him see how good we could be if we tried this. I was aiming for full-on romance, which scared me a little because I had no idea how I was supposed to do that, apart from getting him fed in a few minutes flat before he passed out from exhaustion. He'd almost fallen asleep at the table last night, and I'd almost crashed Violet's car into the hedge on that sharp corner trying to get myself home and into bed.

I suddenly had nightmares about walking along these roads in the dark, something I'd done so many times in the past. If you met a lorry on that road? Fuck me.

Another thing I added to my list of things I needed to learn, perhaps talk to him about putting up some warning signs or something. Health and safety and all that. I was grateful for that orange vest he'd given me last night and spent a moment relishing the smooth texture of the fabric of it against my fingertips before I zipped myself into my gear. Thermals. More thermals. Socks. Boot liners. Electric warming pads for my hands.

Those were Violet's additions. I wasn't used to the cold yet, although the guys outside weren't even wearing hats today, the snow having all but melted away during the night. Again. No doubt we'd be snowed in next week only to hit sunshine and warmth the very next day. I sighed, realising I was wearing all the wrong gear again and would be passing out from heat exhaustion within the hour.

I didn't miss the Arizona heat. Not at all. Here, I could breathe properly. I loved the sensation of the cool air hitting my lungs, only to be swapped for warmth from the open fire in the kitchen where Violet already had the coffee maker vending big mugs of that black tarry stuff. She had the window open, handing steaming cups to the guys outside, same as every morning here. Coffee, the noise from our cattle and an overcast view of corrugated metal sheds.

"You didn't stay the night then?" she asked like she wasn't nearing seventy and should have honestly had more shame.

"Nope. His virtue is perfectly intact," I snarked with a smile. "We're good. We talked. I'm going to head down there and feed him after he finishes up later."

"There you go. Wasn't that hard, after all, was it? Now, here's your list of things to pick up in town, and on your way back, you have another parcel to collect from the supermarket service desk. Write it all down. I'll send you screenshots of my schedule. "

Seventy or not, Violet was organised to a point that sometimes frightened me, but there it was. My inbox was filling with orders and collection points and another collect-in-store order and Teddy's contact details.

"Teddy?" I questioned.

"I bet you didn't ask for his number. I know what you're like, Ned Anderson. "

She wasn't wrong. I added him to my contacts and shot off a cheery Good morning! text followed by all the emojis. Like you would to your…boyfriend.

I liked the idea of that. Boyfriend. I'd had a few, none of whom had lasted more than mere weeks, me being clingy and not independent enough, apparently, or, as some guy had once suggested, not understanding the concept of ‘open' relationships.

Fuck that. I didn't want ‘open' anything. Each to their own, but it wasn't for me. Here I went again with the ridiculous smiling. Him. I wanted him and for us to spend time together and laugh and have masses of…

"Ned?"

Yes. Daydreaming again. I took the mug Violet offered, grimacing at the first sharp taste of tarred-coffee stuff as she rattled off the chores for the day. Earmarking checks. A few of the cows were missing tags. The hoof and trotter man was coming tomorrow, and we needed to check the logs of the critters in need of seeing to. Heifer 233 needed extra chalk.

That done, I headed out to shed four. I was following Kamila around today to learn how to safely give a cow a vitamin and mineral concoction orally with a dangerously long looking stick. I wasn't a vet, but I was picking up skills and making mental notes so I could Google all this stuff later in the hope I might understand half of what I was doing.

The cows ready to give birth in January were to be taken off free-roaming and brought inside the heated sheds for check-ups. That took most of the morning. Then there were about ten cows that were being sold since we were overpopulated and slightly understaffed .

Overpopulated was actually a good thing, since it meant we were running a tight ship, had healthy critters and were good at what we did. Just the way things were on a working farm.

I was more than grateful to break off after lunch, grabbing a swift shower before getting my paperwork in order and heading off in the truck. Size-wise, the town was not much bigger than an American mall, but it had all the necessary offices—the giant car supply place and of course its obligatory twin, the blue-and-yellow furniture warehouse. With added meatballs. Another thing that brought back memories of my youth.

We'd had one of these in Phoenix too, a place that had become synonymous with birthday treats and little Swedish flags and pretending we were all special and exotic and not the average American family we appeared to be.

I'd picked up everything else, done my jobs, and I had ideas. Perhaps really stupid ones, and maybe I should text Teddy and ask, but at the same time, I wanted to wow him, surprise him, make him see what a good person I was, and how I could—

I was an idiot, but I still stomped around IKEA, bouncing my ass against mattresses and picking out bed frames and choosing comforter covers and blankets, overpriced, mass-produced stuff, nothing like Violet's scratchy heirlooms, but still. Blankets. Loads of them. Piled them into my cart with matching fancy cushions with rustic prints.

I decided against my usual white sheets—even I could see how hard it would be to keep those clean—so dark colours it was. Homely. Warm.

Then I did that frustrating song and dance with picking up far too many boxes and paying with my US card, which would no doubt land me with masses of fees, but whatever. I had some savings for exactly these kinds of scenarios. Like, when I moved across the world and needed a proper bed.

And I didn't mean a bed just for me, even though the one I had taken to the Goodwill shop in Arizona had seen better days and had not been worth the shipping fee .

I drove back home with a smile on my face, the wipers smearing mud across the windshield as the skies once again opened with rain this time. I didn't mind, not at all, as I took the corner down towards…home. Then I had to reverse back up the hill to make way for the massive lorry in my way, and then I realised I'd forgotten Violet's last delivery, and off I went again.

Stress. Yet it was absolutely nothing compared to trying to staff an American call centre with reluctant robots on minimum wage, so I shrugged and did what I'd been asked to do. Then I burnt rubber down the gravelled hill with my haul, parking perfectly straight in the yard in front of his house.

Walking through the door, I had to laugh at the handwritten note taped to the kitchen entrance demanding in spiky letters that people remove their shoes. Seemed to have worked too since the floor was surprisingly clean, despite the coffee rings and line of mugs and paper cups by the sink.

And a small cat hissing at me as I turned toward the living room.

Empty. Which was such a shame, because it was a large room full of potential. Blinds and drapes at the windows would make the space much cosier—and provide privacy at night, very much needed since the guy in the tractor driving past was staring in, looking right at me.

We might as well live in a high-rise block in an inner city. Well. Maybe. Farm life was not what people expected, and still that little cat was hating on me, while the old mog splayed out on the windowsill skilfully ignored me.

"I'll have this place warmed up in no time," I said out loud, not sure if I was telling the cats or trying to convince myself the place wasn't freezing. Honestly, this was one of the most advanced countries in the world with such amazing innovations—zippers and adjustable wrenches and those drying cabinets—yet they couldn't figure out how to keep their homes warm. I was grateful that I had dry and warm clothes to slip into every morning, my jacket usually heated to perfection in Violet's back room, but the fact remained that Teddy's central heating was shit, something my hand against the cold radiators confirmed.

I started unloading, then I stopped to get the fire going, and brought in my haul of frozen meatballs and ready-made everything. Teddy would mock me again, but frozen mash was both practical and tasty, as was the powder mix for gravy, even if I did know how to make gravy properly.

I barely noticed time flying past, and perhaps I should have tidied up a bit before Teddy caught me trespassing in his home.

"Hey!"

There he was, red-faced and more than a little flustered. Not that I blamed him since two more of the cats had joined me in the now-warm room and were having some kind of tiff inside a cardboard box on the kitchen floor and there was packaging material all over the place.

"Surprise?" I said weakly as I rose to my feet, his electric screwdriver in my hand. "Found your toolbox. Hope you don't mind."

He was supposed to say something back. Praise my genius or something. Tell me how much he loved my choice of furniture.

"I sleep upstairs," he said weakly. "What the fuck?"

Well, that was a bit more aggressive and a whole lot less grateful than I'd hoped for.

To be fair, I had expected him to shout at me. That was all part of the plan, to get some emotion out of him so we could start to build something.

"I bought you a bed. Might not be the most romantic of gestures, but Ted, I was in IKEA. You need to furnish this place."

" My place," he muttered, and now his hands were up in the air and he was huffing and puffing and stomping around, still in his work boots.

"Shoes," I said sternly, taking control. "Then go get yourself cleaned up—I have food. See? I told you. We need to get to know each other, and I have a sofa coming from my old place and then here's a bed. What else do you need?"

He didn't seem to want to answer that as he just turned around, did some more stomping, arms flailing one minute, hands covering his face the next. Then he stilled and stood there, quietly breathing.

Or so I thought. I was too pumped up and defensive, and I wasn't on the ball. If I thought this had been idiocy before ?

He was crying. Deep, terrifying sobs tearing through him as I deflated like a balloon. I wasn't good with crying. Especially not him crying.

I took a step forward, but he held out a hand to stop me. Another clumsy stumble toward the sink, he held on to the worktop and let his head hang.

Oh, Teddy.

I got it. Fuck I did. Grief was a horrific thing, and perhaps I should have asked his Flora the reason he'd chucked all the furniture out instead of just filling his space with fluffy pillows.

At least I had the sense to move and walk up and wrap my arms around him, my chest against his back as I pressed a kiss to his neck and held him, rocking gently to soothe the blatant sobs coming from him. He wasn't even trying to hide the crying, the anger or the way his fingernails dug into my skin. Teddy. Oh, Teddy.

"Sorry," I whispered.

"Nothing you did." He snivelled, grasping for the roll of paper towel on the side and loudly blowing his nose. At least he was calming down. More nose blowing. His hands firmly on the worktop. My cheek wedged on his shoulder. Arms still around his chest. Gently swaying, seeing if I could make him move. Come sit down. Talk. Anything.

"My dad had this thing," he said quietly. "He knew he had a few months left, and…well. When my grandparents passed, he spent months trying to clear out their house to make it ready to sell. Junk everywhere. He was massively scarred by that and always talked about how horrific it had been to deal with. So when he knew…"

He stopped again, composed himself in an awkward symphony of grunts and snorts. More ripping of paper towels. Shivers against my lips as I kissed his neck—the only part of him I could reach.

"My Aunt Emma came here, and she and Dad got rid of everything. The lot. He didn't want to leave me anything but the kitchen table and a bloody box of paperwork. I don't even have, you know. Anything. He thought it would make it… "

He had to stop again, shudders going through him as he tried to get words out of his mouth.

"He thought it would be easier, but it wasn't. My whole life was just suddenly gone, and I was left with this fucking empty house, and I don't know what to do with it."

More tears. I had no idea what to do to stop them, how to soothe this talking. He was hurting and I could feel it, the way his chest constricted between sentences and the way he still wouldn't look at me.

I gave it a try, moving my hands gently down over his stomach, then up over his chest. Walked my fingers down his arms and gently gripped his wrists.

"Who does that?" he asked desperately as I held on tighter. I hated how much he was hurting. "Who chucks away their entire life?"

"Teddy," I whispered.

"He only did it because he had all that unresolved trauma from his own parents hoarding everything. He didn't ask me if I wanted to keep anything, just blasted through the house because he read something about this death-cleaning concept and then went completely overboard in this panic he was in. I get it. I do. He was dying, and I was a mess and things just…"

More nose-blowing. More shivers. But at least he was talking to me. I think I needed it as much as he did.

"I hate this. I hate living like this. It's like a bloody prison sometimes. The walls caving in on me, and what the fuck am I supposed to do? Dad's bedroom upstairs is stark empty, he even chucked out the carpet. Floorboards and old wallpaper and nothing to…"

He breathed out. I tried to breathe with him. In. Out.

"Sorry." He snivelled again.

"Nothing to be sorry about. I can only imagine how hard this must have been for you, which is why I'm trying, very badly, to… Shit, Ted. I'm so sorry. It was an idiotic thing to do. I should have asked what you wanted. I know what it looks like. The weird American who talks too much just rocked up and moved himself and his weird-ass IKEA bed into your living room on a whim or whatever on a random Wednesday night."

His shoulders moved in what I hoped was a small laugh, and he grabbed more paper towels from the roll, having now created a little mountain of scrunched-up balls of the stuff next to the sink. "It's actually the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, which wasn't much help since he was all in waterproof, windproof, manmade fabrics that just seemed to smear wetness all over his skin.

"Hey," I said and carefully turned him around, but he looked down. Looked to the side. Anywhere but at me.

"Sorry," he said again trying to get his hands back up over his face. Instead I gave him my shoulder and put my arms around him, holding him against my chest. I was in a better position to give him the support he needed. Warmth. Love. Understanding. Hope. I wanted so badly to give him all the hope because, if I was honest with myself, I needed to hold on to that hope too before I completely lost myself here.

"It's as much for me as it is for you," I admitted, keeping my voice low. "So I can be here with you when you need me to be. If you want space, I'll be up at Violet's. If you need me here, this is where I'll be. In the weird-ass bed by the fireplace, with blankets in all the colours of the rainbow. A bit of something in that blank room. Somewhere soft where we can just rest, because we both…maybe we…fuck, I have no idea what I'm on about."

"Sounds like some kind of wanky poetry." He snorted.

"It's super-wanky poetry. The bed is called VILSAM." I tipped his chin up. "Is that like VILSE, when you're lost?"

"Nah." He smiled. "It means something like restful. It's a bed, after all."

"True, but I was thinking…we're both a little lost, and maybe it was a good name for a bed. Where we wouldn't be so lost anymore."

"Lost," he repeated, finally looking at me. His face all blotchy and red. Those long eyelashes, ice-blue eyes.

Edward Backman. Ted. My Teddy .

"Go shower." I grinned. "You stink."

"I don't." He lifted his arm and stuck his nose inside his jacket. Smiled awkwardly. "I do. Shit. I stink and all I do is cry, and I'm sorry."

I leaned in, kissed him. I loved that he let me. The softness of his lips against mine. I loved the talking too.

"Talk to me," I said. "Tell me things like that, so I know what I'm dealing with, because I keep my promises, Teddy Backman. I'm gonna look after you. Make sure you're okay. Okay?"

"And who's gonna look after you?" He looked so sincere, just standing there in the soft light from the ceiling fixture and the fire. The room was warm now and filled with the sound of rain tapping against the windows and the crackle of burning logs. "I have no idea how to look after you. What am I supposed to do?"

I loved that he asked.

"You already do. You look after me by just being you. Fuck do I know? We'll figure it out, won't we? Just go shower."

"Shower."

"Yup."

One-word sentences. I slapped his shoulder. He gave me a gentle fist in the chest, a smile on his lips as he went off to lose his boots and hang up his wet clothing.

When he was gone, I stared in disbelief at the state of the living room, not quite the inviting scene I'd planned on impressing him with. Instead it was a mountain of cardboard and plastic packaging and, on top of the unmade bed, that tiny hissing cat.

"She hates me," I said when he returned a while later, fresh and clean in a different set of thermals. He pulled a hoodie on, even though I'd managed to tackle the heating issue. Opening every cupboard in the hallway had revealed some kind of heating system that had just needed a good whack with my elbow to spring back to life.

"Who?" he asked. "Flora? Don't worry about Flo. She's just who she is. Give her time. She's as bad as you, never shuts up," he muttered, looking around the table, moving paperwork and plugging in his laptop, iPad, and the phone that appeared from somewhere in his hoodie.

He shot me a small smile. Something that made me all warm on the inside.

"Nah. This one here." I walked up and took his arm, gently turned him around to admire my masterpiece—the bed all made up with what I hoped was enough fluffy pillows and draped blankets to make him appreciate my vision of Scandi-style hygge-greatness. And one small cat that now meowed pathetically.

"Fifi," he scolded. "Don't be a dick."

"It's her home."

"It's not. She's an outdoor farm cat who refuses to leave the house. She sits in here all day and makes noises, then I have to carry her out and feed her, and she just scurries straight back inside. If I lock her out, she cries like she's being…I don't know. Weirdest cat I've ever known."

"Says the guy who tells me I talk too much." I said it softly, hoping he got that I was teasing him because he didn't really know me, not this grown-up, messy me, and I didn't know him, but I wanted to. So much.

"Need to send off another email. Can I help with food?" he asked into his hoodie. Still smiling, though.

"All under control," I assured him, opening the trusty microwave to reveal my defrosted meatballs…which I now realised said COOK FROM FROZEN on the bag. Whatever. He shook his head and left me to go full-on romance, ready to impress him.

With the meatballs bouncing around the frying pan—I'd even scored butter to fry them in—and the frozen mash whirring around in the nuke box, I slammed a jar of Lingonberry jam down on the table along with knives, forks, and the last of the beers from his fridge.

Dammit. Should have gone to the liquor shop too.

"Out of beer," I said apologetically. "I'll replace them and go shopping at some point."

"Mate, you bought me a bed. "

"Yep," I said proudly because he was still smiling. A happy smile, which was rare for him. He wasn't a naturally cheerful man. More…careful, restrained. Grumpy?

Nah. He was cute. Shy Teddy. Mine.

"I have trays of them in the basement," he said. "I stock up once a year."

"Once a year." I laughed, and he winked.

Which meant I abandoned my frying pan and walked over to where he was sat and tipped his face up with my fingers and kissed him because he was there, and I could.

"Is this how it's going to be from now on?" he asked.

That smile. I liked it. So much.

Yes. It was. I'd make sure of it.