“It’s just that you gave me a different impression—that you thought I was the most hateful person on the planet.”
“You can be hateful and sexy at the same time.”
Nora’s head was spinning from the physical exertion involved in both sex and baking, the stuffy air inside the bakery, and the emotions sizzling between them. Henrik suggested a walk, and she quickly agreed.
Västervik was dark and deserted. Not many people were out and about at three o’clock in the morning in the middle of the week. They wandered along the main street, over cobblestones still covered in snow. They carried on toward the sea. The sky was clear, studded with stars.
The nearer they got to Henrik’s hotel, the more her heart raced. She really wanted to spend the night with him. She wanted to have him, over and over again. She turned toward him and saw that he was watching her, which made her feel warm inside.
Henrik was different from all the other men she had known, but this could never turn into something serious. Filming would soon be over, and he would go home to Stockholm. She wasn’t into serious relationships, and she was pretty sure he couldn’t be over Bente yet. Maybe Nora was just some kind of rebound for him? Oddly enough, the thought was painful. However, there was one way to numb the pain. She stopped and kissed him, in the darkness and the icy cold. Her desire sparked to life again, pushing aside all other thoughts and feelings.
32
Nora was woken by the sound of her phone pinging with a text message. It was from Bea, saying that she was home. Nora breathed a sigh of relief.
Henrik drew her close. “What was that about? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s Bea—I always ask her to text me when she gets home from her night shift, so I know.”
“So you know . . . ?”
“That she’s safe. She’s a cop, and I worry when she works nights.” The room was cool; Nora shivered and curled up next to Henrik with her head resting on his shoulder. She drew the thick quilt up to her chin.
“Is Västervik such a dangerous place?”
“I’m sure I have no real reason to be anxious, but I’ve gotten so much bad news over the years ...” She sighed. “It’s not easy when you care about someone. I’m terrified of getting a terrible shock, like when my father died.”
Henrik cleared his throat. Pulled her close. “Can I ask what happened?”
Nora swallowed hard, took a deep breath. Remembered thinking that things were different with Henrik. She wanted to share this with him.
It was just that every time she touched on the deaths of her parents, the pain overwhelmed her again. But she also knew that talking about it eased something inside her a little. “It was an ordinary day. He was driving to Kalmar to look at a new industrial mixer.” She paused. Henrik placed his hand on hers. She could barely make out the contours of his face in the darkness. “A truck was on the wrong side of the road. Mom got the news while I was at indoor floorball training, so a friend of hers came to pick me up. Mom was a wreck when I arrived home. Apparently Dad died instantaneously.” She shook her head slowly. “I experienced an indescribable, almost physical pain. I thought I would never feel anything like it again. But ... I was wrong.” Henrik kissed her head, gently stroked her shoulders. “When my mom died, the pain was agonizing and drawn out. Every time we were given bad news about the progression of her illness, it was like hearing about my dad’s death all over again. And yet I couldn’t help hoping for better news next time—only to be disappointed. So ... I guess I’m always expecting the worst.”
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. It’s ...” He broke off. “I don’t know what to say, but it seems terribly unfair.”
Nora nodded, and they lay in silence for a while. She loved being in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.
“I’ve been thinking,” Henrik said after a while. “You said you had a story about your sourdough, and I never let you tell me what it was.”
Nora turned her head, looked up at him in surprise. “You’ve been thinking about my sourdough?”
He shrugged. “I’m a baker, that means I think about stuff like an old sourdough starter.”
She smiled. “It belonged to my great-grandmother.” She told him the story her grandmother had told her many times, of how the sourdough had been passed down and survived so much.
“Interesting.” She thought she heard a slight tremble in his voice. “I’ll ask production if we can include the story somewhere; I think it would be a good addition.”
Filming with Nora in the days following their night together was ... strange, but in a very pleasant way, Henrik thought. Everything they had shared with each other that night gave rise to a burning, intimate attraction he had never felt before.
They ended the week with a simplesee you around. He went to the hotel, and Nora stayed to lock up. Which seemed a little ... flat. But what else could he have done? It would be obviously a good idea to let things settle, especially as she was a participant in his show, and they still had a few more days’ filming to complete.
As usual the team had dinner at the hotel. Since Sunday was going to be a day off, the atmosphere was more relaxed. Elnaz suggested they all go for a drink after they’d eaten. Much to his surprise Henrik found himself agreeing—for the simple (yet in a way quite complicated) reason that he would otherwise have spent the evening in his room, thinking about Nora. He might even have called her.
Once they’d settled in at a nearby bar, he accompanied Elnaz to the bar to order drinks for everyone.
“What did you think of the first scenes? Honestly?” Elnaz asked while they were waiting. Henrik had seen the early clips just before dinner.
“I thought they looked really good—including the material for the press launch.”
