WE VENTURE INTO A GIFT SHOP where we finally separate and browse the aisles. There’s all kinds of colorful interesting stuff — I’m in shopping heaven. I buy a pretty decorative box for Emma, and an antique toy car for Theo. Eli buys a fork. I shake my head, wondering what kind of weirdo I’m hanging out with. “Do you always buy random flatware when you’re just walking around, chilling. Do they not have flatware at restaurants in Copenhagen? Should I go back in there and buy one too?”

I’m fascinated by the Danish coins — they call them Kroners. I study the 2 Kroner in my hand — it’s so interesting; cool design, and a hole in the middle. I almost want to wear it as a pendant on my neck.

He smiles. “You hungry?”

“A little. It’s only been three hours since breakfast.” The thing about me is I’m usually always hungry. If I were ever on Survivor, I’d die by day two.

We take a seat at one of those outside restaurants lining the boardwalk. It’s so cozy; small white tables, bistro wicker chairs, and red flannel throws — the kind you can buy at Ikea. I immediately wrap myself in one, and watch the buskers do their thing. The guy close too us is an amazing singer. He strums his guitar with no care in the world — it’s wonderful to watch. I reach into my purse and give him a few dollars. I hug myself as I head back to our table. I’m still wrapped up in the red throw.

Eli studies me, concern tracing his brow. “Are you cold?”

Yes, I am. My jacket is not quite warm enough. “What?! My chattering teeth gave me away?”

He grins. “I told you to dress warmly, you silly girl.”

“I know, I did bring a sweater, but I took it off on the plane, and forgot it there.”

He shoots me a sweet pout and shrugs out of his jacket.

“No, no… you don’t need to—”

“You’re freezing,” he points out. As he pulls off his cozy sweater, his t-shirt rides up and I spot the delicious dark line below his navel. Desire rushes through me, and I tell myself to stop being so pathetic. Right now. Although, in my defense, I can’t even remember the last time I had sex. Probably a few days before Valentine’s Day. I mentally do the calculations in my head. I haven’t been laid in over two months!

“What’s wrong?” Eli asks. “You look like you’re in pain. Really, it’s no problem,” he says as he hands me his sweater — it’s so soft. The goosebumps on my arms are cheering, “Yay! Yay! Sweater!!”

“Thank you.”

He pulls his jacket back over his t-shirt, and meanwhile, I take mine off and slip into the sweater — it feels like heaven. I pull my jacket on again, and then wrap myself in the throw — it’s quite the production.

He studies me again, a huge grin on his face.

“You think I’m funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, very much.”

We almost share a moment then, but the server breaks the spell. “Hello, how are you today?” Her slight Danish accent instantly makes her interesting. She’s blonde, perky and pretty, but Eli doesn’t seem to notice. She’s quick to take our order; a pork sandwich for Eli, and a small potato omelet for me.

We chat about my flight. I tell him about the crying baby and the couple sitting next to me. And he talks about beds; apparently he has a room all ready for me. I think it’s cute how he pretends we’re not going to sleep together — he’s the perfect gentleman. When our food arrives, I dig in — it’s delicious. I people watch as I enjoy my omelet.

The woman next to us sits alone and is engrossed in a book. She’s finished her burger, or possibly a sandwich. Small remnants of bread and lettuce dot her plate. She’s still picking at her potato wedges. They actually look pretty good.

Eli leans into me quietly with a playful mischievous expression, and my mind instantly goes there — maybe he wants to play footsies under the table. “You dare me to steal one of her potato wedges?”

I look over at the middle-aged woman who is still completely engrossed in the story she’s reading. “What?!”

“Watch me,” he says. He digs into his small shopping bag, and pulls out the fork. He tears off the price tag and wipes the fork with a napkin. I watch him intently, not believing my eyes. He pulls at the end of the fork and extends it — suddenly, it’s over two feet long. I stifle a laugh, not believing he’s actually going to go through with it.

He smiles at me as he slowly inches the fork over toward her plate, ever so slowly. I want to laugh so badly but I know that if I do, I’ll blow his cover. The woman is completely oblivious. He quietly digs the prongs of the fork into one of the wedges. I’m watching intently, and my pulse is racing. He slowly pulls the fork back. He’s pretty good at this — I wonder if he’s done this before.

Finally, he pops it in his mouth and chews.

“Is it any good?” I ask in a whisper.

“Delicious,” he replies. “You want one?”

Before I can object, he’s at it again. This time, he moves a little faster, and a second or two later, he presents me with a potato wedge. I open my mouth, and he sets it carefully between my teeth. It’s actually kind of sexy — I’m never ever going to look at potato wedges the same way again.

It’s pretty tasty, a little spicy. “Mmmmm,” I mumble, and then I lose it, and burst out laughing.

He laughs too, and the woman turns to us, a brow cocked, probably wondering what in the heavens is wrong with us. We quiet down and after a beat, she reaches for a potato wedge and turns back to her book.

“You’re a weirdo,” I say.

He grins. “So are you.”

After lunch, we rent bicycles, and go cycling around the city. Our bikes are retro-like. His is red, and mine is robin’s egg blue. I have a basket and a bell I like to ring as much as I can. Eli turns to me and smiles every time I do. I wear a safety helmet, but not many people do. I suck in the crisp air, and mentally check off an item on my bucket list: Ride a bike in Copenhagen. I’ve always wanted to do this, even before I ever met Eli, either in Copenhagen or Amsterdam. It’s apparently the thing to do.

As we nip through the tourists and traffic, I try to focus, but I can’t help doing a rundown of my bucket list in my head.

• Nyhavn (check)
• Eat a good meal at a quaint little bistro (check)
• Ride a bike (check)
• See the Little Mermaid statue
• Ride a boat on the canal
• Queen’s Winter Palace
• Kiss Eli <3
• Ride on Eli’s Vespa
• Tivoli Gardens
• Visit Eli’s studio

And finally… and this one is pretty detailed.

• Sex, sex, sex. Preferably against a wall (I’m not sure why my Eli sex fantasies always feature a wall and not a bed. Maybe it’s because I’m looking for something exciting, sex in an alley perhaps. I don’t question it too much — I just go with it.)

I almost ram right into a baby stroller. Thank god, I stop myself just in time, and shake my head. I really need to stop thinking about sex.

Following our bike ride, we sit on a bench for a while, and Eli tells me a little about the city. Adrenaline has been coursing through me all day, and I’m finally crashing. I’ve had two coffees but it doesn’t seem to be helping.

“Are you tired?” he asks. “You must be.”

“I don’t want this day to end,” I tell him. “But yes, I’m exhausted.”

“Let’s go home,” he says. The words coat me with unexpected excitement.

“I’d like that.”

He takes my hand, and I entwine my fingers in his. His hand is so much larger than mine, and also so warm, and rough. I love the feel of it, and I let the sensation soak in all the way to my core. I never want to let go. We walk in silence, and every once in a while, he turns to me and smiles, and I practically melt into the cobblestones. “I’m so happy you’re here, Gabriella,” he finally says. “I can’t tell you how much.”

“Probably as much as I am to be here,” I tell him.

He stops and turns to me. “But don’t feel like we need to… this isn’t about that.”

He’s talking about sex… obviously.

His gaze is glued to mine when he tells me, “I don’t have any expectations. I know it’s complicated with you and your husband, and you have kids… I don’t want to get in the middle of—”

“You don’t want me,” I blurt out, desperate. I hate that I sound so pathetic.

His gaze travels the length of my body, from my breasts, down the curve of my hips, all the way to my flats, and back up again, and stills when he reaches my eyes. He digs a hand softly in my hair and pulls a strand between his fingers. He stares at my mouth. “Uh… no, believe me,” he says, his voice not quite as soft as it usually is. “I want you.”

I feel light headed, and I almost reach for him. I so badly want to kiss those sensual full lips of his.

“But I also don’t want to ruin your life,” he adds and pulls away.

Come back.