I want to leave them chatting and patting the reindeer longer, but I really need to speak to Björn.
‘So, did you get the rings there on time?’ he asks, walking over to me with an empty feed sack hanging by his side.
I sigh. ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. A landslide, from the storm, brought down the power cables. The chef has walked out. Look, I wouldn’t ask unless it was important, but could you go and help? Cook for them so they can have their wedding?’ I cling to a tiny bit of hope that this can still happen for them. ‘It means so much to them to be here, together, showing the world how strong their love for each other is. Even Pru’s mother has finally come round to the idea.’
Björn shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, no. I’m not going back into a kitchen. Besides, I promised to take you to bed as soon as I got here, remember?’
I swallow. I want that to happen so much. But tomorrow I’ll be gone. My flights are arranged. I can’t just sleep with him and leave. I can’t let it mean nothing, because if I do sleep with him, it will mean everything. My head starts pounding. I can’t think straight. I want this man. The first man I have felt anything for since Griff. But what good would come of me making love to him? I can’t love a man I can’t be with. We come from different worlds; worlds that keep changing.
‘Hey! Come on! Don’t look so down!’ He puts his finger to my chin. I can feel his sister and father looking at us and I blush. Do they know what I’m thinking? I blush some more.
‘I’ve had my itinerary through. I leave tomorrow. Los Angeles,’ I state in a staccato voice.
He nods, saying nothing, and bites his lip, realising that I’m putting up my armour once more as I step back and drop my head.
‘And I have a job interview. My sister applied for it for me. A job back home. Putting down some roots finally . . .’ I trail off and there is silence between us, just the sound of the reindeer munching.
‘And this couple,’ he finally says, ‘you want to help them celebrate their love for each other?’
I look up, optimism suddenly rising inside me. ‘Yes.’
‘Because you believe in true love, no matter how hard it is to be together?’
‘Exactly!’
He looks at me, and I stop myself saying any more, and again we fall into silence.
‘Okay, I’ll buy your idea of true love,’ he says.
‘So you’ll cook for them?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Yes, I’ll cook for them.’ He nods.
‘Wait!’ I run to the house as fast as is humanly possible in deep snow and reindeer-skin boots, and return out of breath with his recipe book.
‘Here.’ I hold it out to him. He frowns. ‘Your book. The one you threw on the fire. I saved it. You’ll need it.’
He takes it from me. ‘You saved it?’ He looks at me in surprise.
I nod. ‘Thought you might need it again when you came to your senses.’
He looks down at the singed corners of the book in his hand. God, I have come to love that face. I have come to love this man, I realise. But there can’t be any future for us, can there? What I want more than anything is for him to find his way back to his passion, and if that means doing this, then I have to do this . . . I love him, but that also means I have to let him go.
He takes the corner of the book and opens it. The cuttings inside flutter and fly around in the wind. The brown envelope, tucked in there for safe keeping, slides to the soft snow.
‘What’s this?’ He bends down.
‘It’s a letter. I tried giving it to you when I gave you the book. I mean, I’d’ve given it to you earlier if I’d known you were Daniel. But I didn’t.’ I stop gabbling. ‘It’s from Camilla, your . . . sous chef.’
‘Okay.’ He looks down at it.
‘I said I’d deliver it to Daniel,’ I say quietly.
He opens the letter and reads it. Then he lets out a long, slow sigh and looks out at the herd. His dad and sister are chopping wood, the sound of the axe in the background the sound of Björn’s childhood.
‘Do you want to read it?’ He holds it out to me. I shake my head. It’s not my letter. Besides, I don’t speak Swedish.
‘It says . . . it says that the girl who made the . . . accusation came to Camilla after I’d closed up the restaurant and put it on the market and admitted she’d made it up. She was hurt. She’d apparently been in love with me for some time, searching me out, wanting to work in my kitchen. She told Camilla she’d tried to come on to me, took advantage of the moment. The day of the new menu.’
‘So she didn’t go to the press then?’
He shakes his head, holding the letter tightly in his hands.
‘That’s good news,’ I tell him, bracing myself for what else is to come. The letter is from his ex. She wanted to find him. I know that he must take his second chance at love if that’s what she’s offering. I don’t ask. He looks at me.
‘She says there’s a backer, wants to set up a new restaurant with me and her, the old team back together. Says she knows we can get the star back.’ He looks up. I swallow hard.
‘She wants you to go back? To Stockholm?’ He nods. I take a deep breath. ‘And will you go?’
It’s Björn who takes a deep breath this time.
‘Hey!’ his father calls, carrying a big pile of logs unsteadily. Björn rushes forward to help him, putting the logs by the fire pit, under a big wooden pergola, like a cabin with no walls.
‘What will you tell her?’ I ask.
‘Nothing yet.’ He stuffs the letter in his back pocket and looks at his dad attempting to get more logs. ‘We have a wedding feast to plan.’ He smiles at me. And if I’ve learnt anything from this trip, it’s to live in the moment and enjoy it while you can. It might be our last night together, but I’m determined to make the most of it.
‘I’ll come with you to the hotel. I can help in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to cook there, not in a kitchen.’
My spirits plummet once more. This whole week has been one long roller-coaster ride. The highs and lows, spinning me round so I don’t know which way up my stomach is meant to be, but loving the experience – the ride of a lifetime – and not wanting it to stop.
‘But you said . . .’
‘I said I’ll cook, but not in the kitchen. I don’t need this any more.’ He tosses the book to one side. ‘I will cook here.’ He holds his arms out to the covered fire pit and looks at me, amused. ‘I’ll cook for them here, under the stars, like nature intended. How food should be. Will that be okay?’
‘That will be . . . perfect.’ And I smile, because it really, really is.