Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Are you okay? Freya? The baby?”
“Yes, everyone is fine.” I pushed the box into his hands. “You don’t have to open it. I just needed currency to get in the door and donuts always work. You don’t have to share those, though. It’s a lot of fritters. Your favorite. I thought about adding the special, but it’s lemon meringue and I wasn’t sure you’d like the tartness. You tend to go for sweet somethings and—I’m talking too much, huh?”
Viggo tilted his head. “You do that sometimes.”
“Yeah, well…I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. I was going to come by after work and apologize for last night. I could have handled it better, but I—”
“Jag älskar dig,” I blurted.
He went perfectly still. “What?”
“It means I love you, doesn’t it?”
Viggo opened his mouth. “I…yes.”
“I looked it up. I didn’t have to…I knew, but I wanted to be sure. Then I listened to a native speaker say it on repeat for a few hours so I’d get it right, because I really, really want to get this right.”
“What are you—”
“Jag älskar dig, Viggo. I love you.”
He set the donuts on the giant log and closed the distance, lifting my chin with his thumb. “Dex…”
“I do. And I know it’s bad timing and that I’m coming to you with more baggage than any sane person would want to take on, but I’m taking my shot here. See…I wanted to create a family that felt a little warmer than mine. I figured I could do it on my own, and if necessary, I will. But the thing is…you feel like family, like home, like everything I’d ever hoped for but wasn’t sure I’d find. Somehow, I found you, Viggo. Or you found me. And I love you so much, and there’s no one I’d rather grow old with. Just you.”
Viggo cradled my nape and pressed his lips to my forehead, my nose, my mouth. “Jag älskar dig.”
I smiled. “Me too, but…maybe you should think about it. This is a lot. I’m a lot, and I’m about to have a baby and that’s a lot and—”
He shut me up with a quick, urgent kiss.
Viggo’s nose brushed mine as he stared into my eyes. “I can carry your heavy baggage. And mine. But…maybe we could leave the past behind and start over—just me and you…and the baby—and we can be something new.”
“A family.”
“Ja, a family,” he repeated.
“I want that. I really fucking want that.”
Viggo flashed an epic grin and crashed his mouth on mine.
I was vaguely aware of catcalls and applause in the background, but there was no one else in the world. Just me and my lumberjack—the kindest, coolest, best man I’d ever met.
I had the strangest sensation at that moment that I’d finally found what I’d been looking for—family, home, and that sweet something poets wrote about. This was love, and this was where it began.
With us.
EPILOGUE
“Wherever you are is my home—my only home.”— Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Two years later
Viggo
Six-year-olds were wacky. Literally.
They ran around like wild monkeys, pausing to roll on the grass or do cartwheels. They passed the ball in the wrong direction and purposely didn’t pull their friend’s flags. I was the first to admit that I still didn’t know much about coaching, but basic flag football rules couldn’t be ignored.
“If you pull Derek’s flag, he’ll have one less flag, which means you have a better chance to win, yes?” I explained to Caleb, a skinny kid with knobby knees and dark bangs that hung over his eyes.
“But he’ll be sad. Our moms are taking us out for pizza and ice cream after practice today. He won’t be hungry.”
“If someone else takes his flags, will he feel better?” I asked, legitimately confused by first grade logic.
“Yep, I think so.”
There was a lesson here about sportsmanship or maybe leaving personal feelings out of the equation in the spirit of the game, but the kid’s earnest expression gave me pause.
“I’m going to tell you something in Swedish. Repeat after me: Ingen ko på isen.”
“In-gen koo pen?”
“Close enough. Translation: There’s no cow on the ice.”
Caleb burst into laughter. “What does that mean?”
“It means don’t worry. It’s only a game. But if that doesn’t help and you feel too worried, maybe you can concentrate on taking someone else’s flag for now,” I suggested.
“Like Tommy’s?”
“Sure, but…Tommy’s very quick.”
“I’m quicker!” Caleb boasted. “I’ll show you!”
He raced off with renewed vigor, pleased that the alternate solution wouldn’t ruin his pizza.
I scanned the field of minions practicing karate moves, tying their flags into bows, or just chattering away. There wasn’t a serious athlete in the bunch, but they seemed to be having a good time, and according to my husband, that was what mattered.
I chuckled softly as I jogged to rejoin the group, then stopped in my tracks at the sound of a tiny voice calling my name.