“The war is over!” Wilhelmsson yelled, hurtling out of his grocery store, hands in the air. “It’s peace!”
Nils jumped off his bike. “Seriously? Peace?”
“Yes—the Germans have surrendered!”
Nils laughed and gave Wilhelmsson a hug. Soon the street was full of people celebrating; he greeted those he knew and smiled at everyone. Dizzy with joy, he got back on his bike and set off for the bakery. Suddenly everything seemed easy. Only now did he understand how much the ever-present dark shadow of the war had affected him. He had tried his best to live a normal life, but it was suddenly so much easier to breathe, as if a deep-seated mortal fear had finally released him from its grip.
The news had already reached the bakery; he heard the cheers as he rounded the corner and saw everyone out on the loading dock. He dropped his bike and ran to join them. He hugged Fritiofsson, the baker who had been with him the longest. One of the drivers was dancing around in circles. Lydia was weeping with joy, and Nils caught Tuula’s eye before they all cheered in unison.
“Take the rest of the day off,” Nils yelled when the cheers subsided.
“But I’ve got loaves in the oven,” said Wingård, one of the bakers.
“Okay—as soon as they’re ready, you can go. Any customers waiting for bread can wait until tomorrow.” He looked at the drivers. “Youtoo—we’ll deliver tomorrow. In you go, get changed, go home, and celebrate with your families.”
Another burst of cheering ensued. The staff began to head inside.
“Tuula, do you have a second?” he asked. Tuula stopped and nodded. They found themselves alone.
“Peace—can you believe it?” he said with a smile.
Tuula shook her head and returned his smile, but then her eyes filled with tears. She smoothed down her cap, and he could see that she was making a huge effort not to cry. Was she thinking about everything that the war had destroyed? Old memories brought to life? Maybe she was remembering her late husband and her ruined hometown. She laughed, but the tears began to flow. He took a step toward her, reached out, and gently wiped her cheeks. He didn’t know what came over him, but a second later he was kissing her, tasting the salt of her tears. And coffee. Salt and coffee, along with the sweetness that was Tuula. She tasted divine.
“Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He stepped back, looked up at her in surprise, and said, “But the war is over.” Then he realized what had just happened. Oh God, was this even permissible? He was her boss, after all.
“I ... I apologize. I ... Sorry, I didn’t mean to kiss you.” He backed away, keen to make sure she didn’t feel pressured.
She smiled. “It’s fine.”
Nils cleared his throat, tried to pull himself together. “The reason I asked you to stay behind is that I have something to tell you. My father wants to sell your bread, and you’re going to be the one to bake it. You’re going to be a baker.”
“Seriously?” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Do you mean it?”
He nodded. “You’re going to be a baker, and your pay will go up accordingly.” She threw her arms around his neck, and now she was the one kissing him. He held her close, wanted her kisses to go on forever. The scent of her filled his nostrils—the Danish pastries she had just been packing, butter and cardamom and something else he couldn’t puthis finger on, but something fresh, like the aroma in the kitchen when his mother was making an elderflower cordial.
Someone coughed discreetly behind them. They quickly let go of each other, and Tuula looked anxiously over her shoulder. Lydia was coming toward them, carrying a box of bread. “I thought I might take this to the grocery store so they can sell it, as it’s not going to be delivered—is that okay with you,herrEklund?”
“Of course—good idea.”
Lydia’s smile broadened and she winked. “I haven’t seen a thing.” She walked past, then turned and waved goodbye.
Tuula looked at Nils, and after a second they both started to laugh.
“I play soccer,” he said.
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
“Would you like to come and watch? There’s a match tonight. Bring the children.”
“Lovely—why not?”
“Fantastic.” He was filled with excitement. “Down on Bredåsen—seven o’clock.”
Tuula walked through the village in the spring evening. The atmosphere was relaxed, and the celebrations were still going on. People were sitting outside the café, and there was dancing and singing in front of the hotel. The hawthorn had just blossomed, and its intoxicating perfume filled the air.
She was holding Ritva’s and Matias’s hands. Matias had his soccer ball tucked under his arm, and occasionally let go of his mother’s hand so that he could kick the ball and run after it.
No one was giving them dirty looks or calling them names tonight—everyone was too busy rejoicing.
