He steps forward to kiss me, but I turn away and look at the letter on the table, on top of his recipe book. He follows my gaze.
‘The letter,’ he says.
‘Yes, the letter.’ I take a sip of the vodka to steady my voice. ‘You’ve read it. You can go back now, back to Stockholm, pick up where you left off. Start a new restaurant. Start again with Camilla.’
He stares right into my eyes, up close. ‘What if I don’t want to go back?’ I feel the breath of every word.
‘But your career, the chance to get your star back?’
‘Why would I want to go back to get a star when I have all the stars I want right here?’ He looks out at the big sky and then back at me. ‘Sometimes what we want is right under our nose.’
We look at each other.
‘And Camilla?’
He shakes his head. ‘Camilla and I are over. We’ve spoken. I rang her and thanked her for the letter and for letting me know how things are for me back in the city. She’s moved on. She asked me to join her in the new restaurant she’s gone to. But . . . I’m not going back to her. We worked long hours in a kitchen, we fell into a routine. But when I needed her, she wasn’t there, by my side.’ His stare is burning into me. ‘You never let me down when I needed you. I know what’s important now.’
‘What will you do?’ There’s a wobble in my voice that’s excitement and anticipation too.
He shakes his head again. ‘I don’t know. Be a reindeer herder, I guess.’
‘You could . . .’ I bite my lip and look towards the window and the glowing embers of the fire pit as the snow falls all around it.
‘Yes?’ He narrows his eyes keenly.
‘Well, this place.’ I throw out a hand towards the fire pit and the hills behind the house. ‘You love it. Tonight was amazing. You could set up here. Start over.’
He looks at me and frowns. ‘Set up?’
‘A restaurant. Here.’
‘Here?’ He laughs. ‘Who would come?’ Then he stops and looks at me. ‘You’re serious.’
A smile spreads across my face first, and then his.
‘Build it and they will come!’ We both laugh. Then he chews his bottom lip.
‘You mean cooking like tonight, the way I grew up with. The way I love. Cooking with fire!’ and his eyes light up like fiery flames themselves.
‘Exactly!’ I join in his growing enthusiasm for the idea. ‘If people start to hear about it, they will come. I would.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yes,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ll come back and visit. Maybe even set up a blog and write about it on my travels.’
‘Or you could stop travelling, put down some roots.’
I think about the job my sister has applied for on my behalf. I could. I really think I could put down some roots now.
‘And I could keep the herd,’ he continues. ‘Stay here. Listen to what my heart has been telling me ever since I arrived home.’
I don’t say any more. I watch as he stands and looks out of the window at the snow falling, the lanterns lighting up his face as the ideas flood across it.
‘Put on a daily menu, inspired by the seasons. And reindeer, the best around.’
‘Respecting the animal,’ I say.
‘Respecting the animal,’ he confirms, and smiles at me like I’m his star pupil.
‘You could do it, Björn.’ I join him by the window.
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be right here. I’m not leaving. This is where I belong,’ he says and he turns to look at me. Then his lips are on mine, and all my resolve disappears like melting snow, as we tumble, laugh and kiss our way up to the bedroom.
The next morning, in the pitch black, I’m woken by the sound of a snow plough clearing the driveway, followed by a car horn. Björn wakes sleepily and reaches for me as I grab hold of a blanket from the bed and look out of the window.
‘What’s going on?’ He sits up.
‘It’s Lars!’
‘Oh, not again!’ He falls back into the big fat pillows with a thump.
‘He’s come to take me to the airport.’ I gather my clothes from the bedroom floor and start to pull my socks on.
‘Send him away,’ Björn says with one arm over his eyes.
‘I can’t do that. I have a plane to catch.’
‘Well . . .’ he sits up and leans on one elbow, revealing his broad chest, ‘you could just stay.’
I stop jumping around on one foot on the wooden floor. ‘I . . . I can’t. I have—’
‘I know, a plane to catch. You said.’
The horn beeps again and Björn lies back down and turns away from me.
I look at him. He’s right. I could just stay. Why don’t I? What’s stopping me?
‘I’m staying here, Halley. You could stay here too. You could stop running. You just have to say the words. Tell me how you’re feeling.’
I look away, trying to escape his gaze, and pull on my other sock. The idea is just . . . so terrifying. The idea of finally stopping travelling . . . stopping running.
‘I have to go. It’s what I do. It’s my job.’
‘No, it’s what you do when you’re scared of admitting how you feel.’ He sits up fully, the blankets falling around his waist to reveal his taut stomach, and all I want to do is fall back into bed and kiss him all over again.
I want to tell him that I’m scared. I’m scared of falling in love again and scared of losing it all over again. He’s right: I’m too scared to stand still.
The horn sounds again.
‘Argh!’ Björn launches a pillow at the window. I run to it and open it. The cold air hits me like a smack in the face.
‘I’m coming!’ I shout, and wave to Lars and the minibus packed with most of the wedding party on their way back to Stockholm and the UK. The dogs start to bark, disturbed by the noise and wondering if there will be a new adventure today. I haven’t even had a chance to say goodbye to them.
‘I have to go,’ I tell Björn, pulling on clothes from my case, my old uniform of black jeans and roll-neck jumpers. I fold the clothes he lent me and put them on the end of the bed, as if leaving a precious memory behind. Then I pick up my bag and turn to run downstairs.
‘Wait!’ He throws back the covers and pulls on his trousers, his belt hanging loose. If he asked one more time, would I say yes? Go on, ask me, I think. But he just looks at me, and I turn back to the stairs and take them as quickly as the pounding of my heart.
I pull on my coat knowing that I don’t want to hear the words, because I’d be too scared. I can’t let history repeat itself, I can’t let myself love someone again. I can’t take the risk that they will leave me like my dad, abandoning my mum with two young children to bring up, then Griff. I can’t let it happen a third time. I put my hands in my pockets and pull out the knife in its leather sheath. I look down at it and then up at him, standing bare-chested and barefoot on the lowest step of the stair. I offer the knife to him.
‘Keep it,’ he says. ‘I made it for you, to keep you out of trouble, remember? Keep it with you always, to remind you not to be scared of living.’ He gazes at me intently, holding the thick fur blanket to his chest.
I look down at the knife in my hand and think about how odd I would feel without it now. It has become a part of my life out here, but I’m not sure how much use it will be in my life back home. I can’t imagine I’ll be opening tins of beans with it, or trimming the edges of my little patch of lawn.
‘Thank you.’ My voice cracks. I’m shivering, and my hands are shaking as I try and put the knife in my coat pocket as clumsily as if it was a moving target. ‘I have to go . . . I . . .’ There are so many things I want to say to him. So many words that have been left unsaid, but I can’t find any of them. Instead I grab my bag and head to the door.
‘I got you something else.’ He goes to the table and picks up what looks to be a book. ‘It’s made from reindeer hide. My sister makes them. I asked her to bring one for you last night.’ He holds it out to me.
‘Thank you.’ Tears are welling in my eyes so I can barely see.
‘With your old book being full . . . well, I thought you’d need a new one. You could write down all your travels.’ He looks at me. ‘Or even start a whole new chapter.’
We stare at each other, me through the tears that are filling my eyes like a lake about to burst its banks. The horn sounds again. My phone, finally charged, beeps telling me it’s time to go.
‘I know, you’re on a schedule!’ Björn throws up a hand and looks away.
I can’t find the words. I turn and open the door and step outside. I don’t look back. Isn’t that what I’ve learnt on this trip? Don’t look back, look to the future. Why then does it feel as if I’m moving in the wrong direction as I climb into the minibus, its heaters on full blast, and it pulls away from the farm and out onto the dark, snowy road, and overhead, like a handful of glitter, a burst of stars arcs and shoots across the sky.