Chapter Nine

The next morning dawns cold and bright. I wake to sunlight glittering off snow and memories of Oskar's hands on me. I'm alone in the bed now, tangled in blankets, and he's sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space.

Instantly, anxiety catapults into my throat. No one who just had one of the best kisses of their lives looks like that, which leads me to suspect it was not, in fact, one of the best kisses of his life.

Which is fine. It was a spontaneous thing, and it's not as if I was expecting anything from him. What happens at night stays trapped in the darkness, right?

At the sound of me sitting up in the bed, he glances at me, eyes absurdly blue. He raises a hand to his chin and scratches at his stubble, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think he looks . . . awkward. Like this right is the next day after a one-night stand. "Hi, Lucy," he says.

Oh good, so this is how it's going to be. "Hi," I say.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Did you sleep at all?" I counter.

"Not much," he admits, and the corner of his mouth curls into a half-smile. "The floor isn't very comfortable."

Glad to hear the uncomfortable floor was preferable to sharing the bed with me. I do my absolute best not to be offended, but a sharp sting goes through my sternum anyway. "We should probably talk about last night," I say, taking a deep breath. "First off, I should apologise for, um—"

"No." He stands so abruptly his chair almost topples over. "Don't apologise."

I wince. "But you ended up sleeping on the floor because of it, and . . ." I trail off at the look on his face. Utter bewilderment.

"I slept on the floor because I didn't want to take things too far," he says, slowly, like I'm a child incapable of grasping basic concepts. "Not because I regret what happened, or didn't like that it did." He runs a hand through his hair, and as I stare at his arms, I think how much of a travesty it is that I've never seen him without his clothes. "I'll be honest, I just wasn't expecting this."

"I can see that. Me neither, if it helps."

Abandoning his hair, he comes to sit on the bed beside me. It's a physical struggle not to lean into him. I think he's going to say something more about last night—I don't know, soothe my ego a bit—but what he actually says is, "I called my brother this morning."

I gape at him. "What? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Your estranged brother you haven't spoken to in three years?"

He nods, his expression tight. "To get us off the mountain."

This is a big deal, and there's a part of me yelling that I should be supporting this momentous step.

On the other hand . . .

The fact it came after our not-night together feels like another sting. A blow to the stomach. I take it stoically, because if my British blood has taught me one thing, it's that emotions are private, never-to-be-expressed.

"Oh," I say. Lame. "That's great."

"We need to get off this mountain," he says. Before anything else can happen between us, I finish for him.

"Oh," I say again. "Yes."

Someone should give me a conversational award.

Oskar frowns as he looks at my face, like he's trying to piece together my emotional state. Like, for a reason I can't comprehend, it's any sort of mystery. "I thought that's what you wanted."

Yes. Well he's right about one thing: it is what I wanted. Past tense.

Right now, all I want is to feel his arms around me again, because somewhere amid this nightmare-fuelled situation, I started to like Oskar. Enjoy his company. Want to see him smile. Somewhere along the road, having him look at me like I'm important became integrally connected with what I want.

But clearly that doesn't align with what Oskar wants. If Oskar wanted to kiss me again, I'm right here. Instead, our kiss prompted him out into the snow to call a brother he hasn't spoken to in three years, because he can't wait to get rid of me.

My chest pinches. There's a weight in the pit of my stomach. Some would say organ-crushing, but that would be melodramatic, and I only engage in medium forms of drama. It feels like I've missed a step. Mid-lurch, waiting to hit the ground.

He's still looking at me, still frowning, still acting as though I'm the one being strange here. "Is everything okay?"

I summon the last fragments of my shattered dignity. "Fine. Well done for calling your brother." I attempt a smile, though it sits weirdly on my face, and I'm almost certain I've grimaced at him. "That must have been hard."

"Not as hard as I thought," Oskar says, blue gaze still raking over my face like if he looks hard enough, he'll get a glimpse into my soul. Neither of us wants that.

"Oh," I say. It's the only word I'm capable of, it seems.

He nods seriously. "I never had a reason to before."

But now he has a reason: to get off this mountain. To get away from me. I'm the catalyst, the thing that's finally made him uncomfortable enough to risk contacting his family. It is . . . not the best feeling.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "For putting you in this position."

His forehead furrows in confusion and I've never been a violent person, but I'm tempted to smack him. "I told you, don't apologise." His expression clears and for a moment he looks almost stricken. "Unless . . . do you regret . . ." He gestures between us. "We don't have to—"

"Wait," I interrupt. "Why are you asking me? I initiated."

"Because you're being weird."

"You're the one who left the bed last night and this morning told me you called your brother so you can escape my company."

The frown reappears, deeper than before. "It's not so I can escape your company."

It's my turn to be confused. I swivel on the bed to face him, my bad leg propped up. He does the same, tucking one leg under him. "Then why did you call him?" I ask.

He makes a frustrated noise. "So we can get out of this stupid cabin. I have an apartment, and I know you hate being stuck here."

Is he suggesting what I think he's suggesting? But I'm still confused. "Yesterday, you did not react well to the idea of calling him. What changed?"

He reaches out to smooth the hair from my face. It's messy and static, clinging to everything, including itself, but he doesn't look like he's tempted to laugh. Impressive—if it was him, I would probably be rolling on the floor laughing. Unfortunately, he looks like he could have stepped out of a Vikings Today photoshoot, his hair up in a topknot at the back of his head and his face sharp and far more awake than mine.

"I like you," he says, and the words are so unexpected that they take a moment to filter through. I stare at him, processing. God, but he's beautiful. A little bit frustrated, a little bit exasperated, a tiny bit devastated, a whole lot tender. Even being near him makes my heart do weird things in my chest, and my stomach is changing its mind about where it wants to catapult—my head or my shoes. "Until yesterday, I thought I was going to take you back to wherever you wanted to go and that would be the end of it, but—" His gaze falls to my lips. "Then you made me think you liked me too."

"You like me?" I whisper.

"Of course I do, kj?re." His smile is breathtaking, and then he leans forward, fingers tilting my chin. It's a slow, deep kiss, the kind you give someone when you're certain there will be many more kisses in the future, and the fact alone makes my stomach flip-flop. "I'm only human," he tells me as he pulls back, as though this explains everything.

It does not.

"Many men have resisted my charms," I say, my voice dripping in so much sarcasm my words are drowning in it.

"Did you trap them in a small cabin in a storm?"

I gape at him. "How dare you."

"Did you force them to share a bed with you? Tell them about your life? Lose repeatedly at cards?" He's laughing now, and although I do my best to maintain my insulted expression, he's so outrageously attractive when he laughs that I'm a little lost.

His laughter fades and we stare at one another. I reach up to press my fingertip against his dimple. "Do it again," I say quietly.

"Do what again?"

"Laugh."

His mouth catches mine in another gloriously sensual kiss. "Lucy, with you I just can't help myself," he says, and I wrap my arms around his neck as we fall back against the bed.

* * *

The helicopter arrives almost as soon as we've finished packing and cleaning. Oskar gets quieter as the morning goes by, and when we finally hear the guttural engine, his face goes so tight, I reach out to take his hand.

"It'll be okay," I say, although I have no idea how okay it's going to be. All I know is if Thomas did what Oskar did, we would welcome him back into the family with open arms.

Not everyone is the same as us. But maybe they're not that different, either.

He gives me a little grim nod, reaches down and kisses me again—there's been a lot of that over the past few hours, and I have to say I'm a fan—and slings his bag over one shoulder. It's about three times bigger than mine, which he also picks up and shrugs on the other shoulder. I have nothing to do but concentrate on not falling over as we leave the little cabin.

Weirdly enough, there's a pang in my chest as the door shuts behind us. I've not stayed here long enough to get any sort of emotional attachment, but Oskar and I haven't directly talked about what's going to happen once we get back to civilisation, and after the implied sex (which we are definitely going to have if I get my way), there's a big red question mark.

It all started here.

While I'm having my crisis about the future, Oskar is squinting up at where a red and white helicopter is hovering, far enough away that the rotors aren't causing havoc on the ground. A man is descending on a rope, lowered until he reaches the packed snow. When he looks up, I have a sense of déjà vu.

This man could be Oskar's twin.

As he strides forward, I realise that there are more differences than I first thought. For starters, this man is older by quite a few years, judging by the lines around his eyes. Despite it being the dead of winter, he's more tanned than I expected, and his blonde hair isn't tied at the back of his head in a topknot but cropped short.

Military. Obviously.

Aside from these differences, though, it's almost alarming how similar they are. They have the same proud nose, the same sharp chin, angular cheekbones. The same enormous (and somewhat unnecessary) height. If anything, his brother is even bigger.

I'm pretty sure I gape at him.

"Os," the man says, staring at Oskar, who is practically vibrating with tension beside me. Of course Oskar is the younger brother. And although he seemed so capable to me, it's obvious he doesn't feel that way in front of his big bro.

His gaze, the same sharp blue as Oskar's, slides to me. "And this must be Lucy," he says. His accent is clipped, too, but it's obvious he's fluent and comfortable in English. Just like Oskar. "Lucky for you my brother was around, huh?"

Unable to form anything coherent, I just nod.

Oskar clears his throat. "Hi, Eirik."

The corners of Eirik's eyes crease as he looks back at Oskar, and for a second I really don't know how this is going to go. Maybe I massively misjudged it and recommended a reconciliation that isn't in either of their best interests (at this point, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that my judgement is faulty). Or maybe neither of them are interested in being close the same way I would expect from siblings.

But then Eirik pulls Oskar into a hug, one of those tight bro-hugs where they slap each other's backs with their fists a few times. It's so different from the hugs that Oskar and I shared that I want to laugh, but I clamp my lips together and stare at the distant peaks like I'm fascinated they're still here.

Finally, Eirik pulls back and turns to me. "Thank you," he says, and it's my turn to my yanked into a bear hug.

"Careful of her ankle," Oskar says, but I'm too busy being wrapped in this monstrous man's arms to think about my ankle, which is fine. It's like being hugged by a yeti, I would assume, his many layers of clothing providing a soft surface for me to sink into. I feel utterly encompassed, and when he releases me and steps back, I blink up at him, a little dazed, a little squeezed to within an inch of my life.

He's so tall. Oskar is tall, but this man is a giant. It's overwhelming.

Eirik turns back to his brother and cracks a grin. "Hun er s?t."

Oskar blushes—he blushes—and although I have no idea what he just said, my entire body goes hot at Oskar's reaction. I'm pretty sure it was a comment about me.

"Can you walk?" Eirik asks me.

"I think so."

Oskar picks up our bags, which he had by our feet. "Here," he says, handing them to Eirik, who's watching us both with twinkling eyes and barely restrained amusement. This was not the man I was expecting from the way Oskar described his military family. "Take these back to the helicopter, will you?"

Eirik salutes, picks them up like they're nothing—seriously, what do the men in Norway eat?—and Oskar slides an arm around my waist.

"Hold on," he tells me, before scooping me up, bridal style. I laugh and bury my face in his neck.

"I could've walked, you know."

"I'd rather you didn't break your leg at this stage in the game."

I shiver a laugh against his skin. "I think it's because you like having me in your arms."

He makes a non-committal noise, but his arms tighten around me, and I have to work on keeping my breathing steady as we reach the ropes and harness dangling from the helicopter. Eirik is already up there with our bags, and Oskar clips me in with familiar, practised movements. Then he fastens himself in and gives Eirik a thumbs up. I guess a winch is activated, because the rope tightens and then we're hovering midair, twirling slightly as it steadily lifts. Up here, there's nothing protecting us from the wind, which is biting, and when I peer at the cabin for one last look, vertigo almost has me chucking the contents of my stomach all over the distant snow.

What a way to say goodbye that would be.

Then Eirik is hauling us both into the helicopter and the door is closed. The harness is removed from around my waist, and Eirik guides me to a seat. Oskar sits next to me and we both strap in. The pilot, wearing a headset with a mic, turns to give us a salute before we pull away. We're off, back home, the adventure officially at an end.

Opposite us is Eirik. Oskar's brother, someone who hasn't so much as seen Oskar in a long time. Neither of them will get into it now, and especially not in front of me, but there's a certain tension in the air that makes me want to squirm. Eirik's easy smile is gone, and Oskar never had an easy smile. If he's ever smiled, I've had to work for it—and each time has felt like a victory.

Nothing feels like a victory now. Except the obvious: I'm finally escaping back to civilisation.

Eirik glances back at me. "So, Lucy. What brought you out here in the middle of a storm?"

At the thought of my writing, a new wave of anxiety overtakes me. Thanks, brain.

"Research," I say. "For the next book I'm writing."

I think Eirik's eyes flit to Oskar, but if they do, they're back on me in an instant. "Did you get what you needed?"

I think about my conversation with Oskar. My future, and the big question mark that hangs over it. The way, when I was with him, away from all my responsibilities, I wanted to write again. I've not figured things out—my current state is so far away from figured out—but I still got more from this trip than I'd ever counted on.

"Yes," I say, and glance up at Oskar, who's watching me with a smile hidden in his eyes. Just for me. "I think I did."

"And you didn't die," Oskar says. "Despite your best efforts."

"Rude."

Eirik scratches the back of his neck as he looks at us both, then he says something to Oskar in Norwegian. Oskar replies with a harsh denial. Stubbornness flashes across Eirik's face, and it's so familiar, so like Oskar, that I have to stifle a smile.

"Eirik is going to drop us off near Sogndalsfj?ra," Oskar says after another moment of tense conversation. "Near my apartment."

I lower my voice, even though there's absolutely no chance he won't hear us. "What about him?"

"What about him?"

"He's your brother."

"I know."

Men can be so annoying and stubborn sometimes. "So aren't you going to maybe spend some time with him and figure things out?"

Oskar's eyes are very blue as they meet mine. "I figured I could maybe do that after."

Oh. Oh.

Okay then.

"Mom misses you," Eirik says unexpectedly. "Dad pretends he doesn't, but he does. Just so you know. I've missed you too."

"See?" I wrap my hand around Oskar's arm, pretending not to notice how very muscular it is. "It was worth it, look."

Oskar looks back at his brother. They could be twins. "Yeah," he says, his voice low but somehow the only thing I can hear. "I know."