‘I’ve lost you. You’re off doing Pythagoras theorem again, aren’t you?’
I laugh. ‘I’m hopeless at maths. More of a word person, actually.’
His slow smile is enough to stop my heart. ‘We haven’t even finished our discussion about favourite books yet,’ says he, as if we’ve got our whole lives to chat about the things we love. And if I were truly untethered, I could throw myself at this, couldn’t I?
‘We really need hot chocolate and the warmth of a roaring fire for that.’
‘I live in a little cabin in Connecticut with a log fire and bookshelves along one wall.’
Oh God. How to kidnap me 101: tell me there’s a log fire and books. ‘Are you the kind of guy who likes spending all day in bed with a book?’ Please say yes! My mind goes off on a tangent picturing Jasper twisted in sheets, book in hand, hot-guy-reading fantasy. I shake my head to dislodge the vision, but it’s stuck.
‘When I come back from work trips, I often spend all day in bed with a book, and it’s even better if it’s cold outside, or you can hear rain drumming on the roof. I would happily spend a whole weekend like that.’
‘Reading snacks?’
He rubs his jawline. ‘Chocolate truffles. You?’
‘Dark chocolate truffles.’
‘Do you read in the bath?’ His lips twist into a grin.
‘Yes, for my sins.’
He lifts a brow. ‘Dog ear the pages?’
‘I’m not sure I know you well enough to answer that one.’ I make a show of being coy. It’s a sin in literati-land and causes quite the stir among bibliophiles. Books are meant to be enjoyed, to bend with the reader, take shape under my hands; so what if I fold the page? But I don’t tell anyone that!
‘That means yes!’
I grimace. ‘Fine, yes. But in my defence, I mostly buy from second-hand bookshops so the novels are usually pretty well loved by that stage anyway…’
He waves me away as if to stop the excuses pouring from my mouth. ‘I do too, and I highlight passages I want to reflect on.’
‘You monster.’
‘Guilty.’
‘We better check out the gingerbread houses before you share any more secrets.’
The museum is full of gingerbread creations made by professional chefs and amateur bakers. We explore each section of the museum and buy some gingerbread on the way out.
My phone beeps. ‘It’s Princess. They want to meet up at the Stortorget’s Christmas market in a couple of hours.’
* * *
We meet the Unlucky in Love Travel Club at the Stortorget’s Christmas market, which has been trading since 1837 and is located in Old Town. It’s the oldest festive market in all of Sweden. We wander around the cute cabin-like stalls with offerings such as handcrafted ceramics and knitwear. There’s a stall selling fresh spices, and another with a range of hard cheeses, chutneys and relishes. We come to the hot food stalls. On display are big, fat, juicy sausages, which of course make me think of Princess, who spots them at the same time, her eyes lighting up. I drag her away before she can make any lewd jokes.
We wander along, snow crunching underfoot. There’s a stall selling pepparkaka, ginger biscuits, so I buy some for the Unlucky in Love Travel Club to eat later. We stop to warm our hands by an open barrel fire and listen to a children’s choir sing a beautiful rendition of Stilla Natt, which even I can recognise is Silent Night. With their long white gowns and sweet pure voices they’re like little Christmas angels. When the Christmas carol ends, we clap for the choir and make way for other market goers to warm their hands by the fire. Princess ambles beside me. From what I can gather, she’s back to her bubbly self. The others peruse a stall selling lussekatter or Saint Lucia buns, saffron brioche named for the patron Saint of light. Princess takes the opportunity to pull me aside, her face is bright with happiness. ‘I spoke to the albularyo. You’re right, she’s knowledgeable. My mother always trusted in healers, more so than conventional doctors. If my mother was alive, she’d have insisted on me consulting with an albularyo ages ago. In fact, she’d have marched me there, despite any protests on my behalf. I grew up with a life very different to the one I have now, and that’s all down to my mother believing in me, showing me the way. And so you’ve brought her alive again, reminded me that perhaps I’m being unfair to myself, taking all the blame, punishing myself the way I have.’
‘So… you don’t think there’s a curse?’
She shakes her head sadly. ‘The albularyo helped me understand what a real curse would look like, and it’s not this. What ails me is different. It’s a broken heart that never quite healed and then broke again twice more. Putting the blame on myself stopped my heart from healing over and didn’t allow me to let that love go. I’ll always love my husbands, but life is for living and, by holding on to the past, I’m allowing grief to win, blame to darken my days. I’ve finally retired but instead of enjoying myself with a companion, I’ve been denying myself that gift. And look how many men I’ve left in a puddle of tears because I said “no, sorry, you’ll die this horrible early death if you so much as kiss me!” Well, no more! I’ve got a whole life to cram into the next twenty-five years. I’m not going to say no any more.’
‘I’m happy for you, Princess. You deserve to enjoy your retirement with someone who loves you for you. Have you… met that certain someone, do you think?’ I slide my gaze in Barry’s direction.
Princess follows my gaze and smiles. ‘I’ve made a great friend, that much I’m sure of, and friendship is a good start. And what about you?’ Her eyes land on Jasper. ‘You also seem to have found a friend amid your sadness.’ We watch Jasper, who has his head thrown back and is laughing at a story CJ is recounting.
‘Yeah, I have, I’ve found six wonderful friends in all of you.’ Princess cocks her head, purses her lips, but doesn’t call me out on it. ‘And I’m going to walk the Camino with Jasper in March. Why not?’
