His weary sigh had her looking up at him. They were standing close now, peering at each other. His beard, neatly trimmed, was a shade darker than his hair. There were shadowy circles beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in a while, and his thick, auburn eyebrows were drawn into a frown.
“He’s not coming back,” he grumbled.
Lottie leaned her ass on the door to keep him from closing it, though she suspected a big guy like that only needed to give a push, and she’d be thrown down the steps. He was allowing her to stand there, and she would not waste that opportunity.
“Do you know where he lives now?” She extracted the papers from the envelope and unfolded them for him to see. “I just need him to sign these. For the babies. It will only take a minute, and I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for months.”
The man blinked at her. His eyes were a remarkable light brown, surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes.
“Babies?” he repeated.
“Yeah, Aksel and Elise.” She gave him a smile she hoped was enthusiastic without being desperate. “Mikkel is their father?”
He stepped back, and Lottie lost her balance as the door opened wide. She tumbled back, landing on her butt at his feet.
“Ow. Shit.”
The guy stared at her for a beat, then sighed. He offered her his big hand, and Lottie took it. It was warm, too warm, as though he was running a fever, but she resisted the urge to touch his forehead. In this moment, she wasn’t a nurse, and this man wasn’t her patient. Besides, his eyes seemed clear, and he wasn’t shivering, so maybe he just ran a little hot.
Come to think of it, Mikkel’s warmth had been very welcome when she’d been with him. He’d been so hot on that cold winter night, she couldn’t resist him.
She pulled herself up to her feet and reluctantly let go of his hand. “So, how do you know Mikkel?”
The man glanced at the open door. He stepped around her and closed it, and Lottie tried not to feel weird about being in a house alone with a stranger. It was hard: he was taller than her by more than a head, and if he wanted to hurt her, she didn’t think anyone would hear her scream. The cabin stood as near the water as land would permit, and the sea was rough tonight, choppy and high. Even through the insulated walls of the cabin, she heard the waves crashing against the shore.
She retreated a step and grabbed the phone in her pocket.
He was staring at her as though he was mulling something over. Then he said, “He was my brother.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Lottie said. Then she deciphered the Norwegian declension of the verb and said, “Wait, what do you mean, hewasyour brother?”
“He’s dead.”
The words were blunt and emotionless, and his expression didn’t change. Lottie searched his face for any sign that he was lying, or kidding, even though that would have been the world’s worst joke.
“What? When?”
Pressure built in her chest, painful and crushing, making it hard to breathe. She hadn’t known Mikkel, and wouldn’t miss him for herself, not really. They weren’t friends or partners, they weren’t evenlovers, and she knew she’d just been a fling for him. But if this was true, her children would never get to know their father, and somehow, that seemed too tragic to bear.
The man took her elbow and steered her into the living room, where the fireplace stood unlit and empty. The space was colder than it had been the last time she’d seen it, and dusty, as though nobody had been here for a while. Which made sense since Mikkel wasdead.
He led her to a couch, where she sat while he dropped in a chair opposite her. Lamplight illuminated one side of his face, casting the other half in shadow. Lottie gripped her hands in her lap, waiting.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Charlotte Shaw,” she said. “Lottie.”
He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I’m Eiric, Mikkel’s brother. You said something about babies?”
Lottie swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” Her voice came out a whisper, so she cleared her throat. “I have twins. They’re five months old.”
“And they’re Mikkel’s?”
Lottie nodded.
“You’re sure?”
She sat up straight. “What are you implying?”
