Chapter Ten

True to his word, Eirik drops us off in Sogndalsfj?ra, which was my original destination. I was originally going to stay in a little hostel for a day, sightseeing and recovering from my hike. My flight is today.

Technically, I think we could make it if we left now, but neither of us mentions it again. The truth is, I don't want to go, and I don't think he wants me to, either.

At least, I hope he doesn't.

Neither of us has mentioned the future. What happens after his apartment and the lure of a shower and fresh sheets? What do I want to happen?

What I want is terrifying.

And so, in true Lucy fashion, I don't talk about it. I just let him slide his fingers through mine as we walk (or I hobble) to his little apartment. Sogndalsfj?ra is a quaint little town, although it's more like a village, with mountains rising all around. Fresh spring growth pokes through melting snow. We've come out of the worst and there is an other side.

"I am so excited for the hot water," I say, leaning heavily on him as we cross a cute little river. "Like, you don't even understand."

"Running water, electricity." He glances down at me. "A hot, home-cooked meal."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me." I groan in not-so-mock ecstasy. "Do you have tea?"

"I'm sure I could buy some."

"I've been dying for a cuppa."

"Cuppa?"

"Cuppa tea," I say, and laugh at his bewildered expression. "Don't tell me you've never heard of it."

"I didn't think people actually said that."

"Says the man in a town that has way too many syllables."

He prods my side, and I almost stumble. Almost immediately after tripping me, he has to catch me again. I land in his arms, semi-deliberately, and hook my hands behind his head. "Is this real?" I whisper.

"If you're asking if you nearly fell over again," he says, the dent forming at the corner of his mouth, "then yes."

"That wasn't what I was doubting." I lean up to press a kiss to his dimple. "It was more this."

His hand lands on my waist, pulling me flush against him. We're wearing too many layers for me to feel the hard line of his stomach or the jut of his hips, or the individual press of his fingers, but my brain provides me with all the details, filling in the blanks. Want pools in the pockets of space between us, his and mine, combining until they're one and the same.

Time to be brave.

I feel like the cowardly lion, but I need to say this before I get to his apartment and into his bed.

"I don't want to go back to England," I say, and lean back to see the way the news hits. The slight puzzlement, the flaring of his blue eyes, the tilt of his head as he processes. His hand doesn't leave my waist; if anything, it tightens.

"Not forever," I hasten to add. "I mean, I should probably go back sometime. But not . . . yet."

"Not yet," he repeats. His nose brushes mine and my stomach tightens in anticipation.

"It's just . . ." Deep breath. "I don't know what this thing with us is. Whether there is a thing. Or an us. But I want to find out, because even if there isn't a thing or an us, I feel different with you than with anyone else I've ever met."

"And if there is a thing?" he asks. "If there is an us?"

I look into Oskar's face, trying to figure him out. The sun bathes one half of his face in sun, casting the other half in shadow. He's just as terrifyingly, overwhelmingly handsome as he was when I first saw him, but this time I know details about him I didn't before. The fact that he has dimples and a half smile that hooks directly into my chest and harpoons into my heart. The fact that his slightly stern exterior is hiding softness I could burrow into.

I know he can chop wood like a pro and play Rachmaninov without breaking a sweat. All these pieces of him I've slotted into place. And every detail, every new discovery, just makes me like him more.

"Then I want to ride this train as long as it's running," I whisper.

"I have two weeks until I have to go back to Oslo and finish my degree."

"Oh my God. You're going to go back?"

He nods, and I laugh. Maybe squeal. I definitely throw myself into his arms with more enthusiasm than grace. He staggers backwards, hands coming up to brace on my back. I can't wrap my legs around him, but I give it a good go, and when I kiss him again, it's scorching.

"I've never been so glad that I almost died."

His laugh is rough against my ear, and the scrape of stubble sends heat all the way through me. "Don't do it again. I'm not even close to being done with you."

I close my eyes, press my face into his neck, and let go of the last of my inhibitions. This wasn't the research I was counting on, but I have a feeling that my terrible go-hiking-in-March decision will be the best I've ever made.