“Maggie, get out!” April yells at me from the other side of the bathroom door and before I even have a chance to yell back, she starts pounding on it, rattling it on its hinges.

I close my eyes, counting down to ten, hoping to rein in this permanent caldera of frustration I seem to have whenever she’s around.

“I’ll be a few minutes,” I tell her as I grab a towel, having literally just stepped out of the shower. “Go use the other bathroom.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” Her animosity flows right through the door.

The other bathroom is the one in mom and dad’s room. The room no one likes to go in, unless I have a drunk Swede passed out in there.

Which I don’t. Not today.

Last night I was shocked that he showed up like that in the middle of the night, throwing rocks at my window nonetheless. I’d only been asleep for a couple of hours after I’d spent a lot of time sobbing into my pillow and generally feeling sorry for myself, when I’d heard the clatter on the windowpane.

It took a lot of effort to wake up and notice the sound was real and happening and then I was at the window and looking down at Viktor.

I thought I was dreaming.

Viktor bathed in the moonlight, pebbles in his hand, looking up at me like every romantic movie scene you can think of. But this wasn’t make believe, even though it felt like it, and it wasn’t a dream. It was like high school all over again when my old boyfriends would throw shit and yell up at my window, so I could sneak downstairs and go have sex with them in the back of their car.

Except Viktor is the antithesis to every boyfriend I’ve ever had, and he wasn’t at my doorstep because he wanted to have sex with me.

Although, there was something carnal and hungry in the way I caught him gazing at my mouth and my body a few times…

Regardless, he was there with an apology and a proposition, neither of which I felt were owed to me.

But I still accepted them. I accepted them because I’m a weak, weak woman who is okay with feeling like charity as long as it benefits others.

And yet it wasn’t just that. I accepted his apology, his willingness to start over, his offer to be the subject of the article because I like him. I want him. I want to be around him, as much as I can before he leaves forever.

I want to get to know Viktor as Viktor. It’s not about the article anymore, though of course that money will help immensely. It’s about finding someone else who seems to understand you in ways no one else does, even if you don’t understand yourself all that well.

I mean, I was not only humiliated after what happened at the restaurant, my heart felt crushed too. Every naïve and silly hope I had inside me, the ones I kept buried, those moved to the surface like bones through a freshly-dug grave. They were exposed, bare, and felt every lash of the consequences.

This time I won’t fuck up.

Which is why I’m taking a shower right now, trying to get all gussied up for the date tonight. Okay, so I’m not sure if it’s really a date anymore. Things seem kind of odd now between us and we’re technically starting over.

Except that he wanted to kiss you last night, you know he did.

I ignore those thoughts.

Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with looking your best for a fucking prince, that’s for sure. In fact, I wish I could get everyone else in the family to dress up a little bit and behave. I know that Viktor’s already seen our side of crazy but now that I know he’s a prince, we could try a little harder.

Only I haven’t told anyone yet who he is. I did tell them his name is Viktor and I had been mistaken earlier, but I’ve left the prince part out. They definitely don’t need to start losing their shit and fawning all over him and with April being my sworn enemy these days, I hate to think what she’d do. She’d be the one contacting the local paper, or at the very worst, Tito and his crew. I’m sure they’d love to fuck up Prince Charming.

And you’d love to fuck Prince Charming.

I push that thought out of my head too.

“Maggie,” she whines, still hitting something against the door, maybe her head now.

“Argh!” I yell and quickly wrap my towel around me, whipping the door open. “Fine, it’s yours!”

I storm past her and she storms into the washroom and that door slams shut, and I slam my door shut and now I’ve officially regressed into being a teenager again.

Knock, knock.

My door now.

“Oh my god, what?” I cry out.

“It’s me,” Pike says, voice muffled on the other side.

“I am naked this time, okay? Go away.”

“Does the Swede know that Callum is allergic to shellfish and peanuts?”

Argh, fuck. I should have mentioned he has allergies. “No. I’m sure it will be fine!” I yell.

“Okay,” Pike says. “Well I’m going to skip out on dinner.”

I clutch my towel tighter around my chest and go over to the door and yank it open, wet hair in my face. I blow a strand away. “What? Why?”

Pike looks bored as he leans against the doorframe. “I have a date.”

I cock a brow. “You…you have a date?”

“Oh fuck off,” he says, clearly way too insulted by what I just said. “You think I can’t have one?”

I just shake my head. “It’s fine Pike. Go on your date. We’ll save you the leftovers.”

“So what’s his deal?” he asks as I’m trying to close the door on him.

I pause. “Who, what deal?”

“The Swede. Why is he cooking for you, for us?”

I shrug. “I guess that’s a thing they do in Sweden. Haven’t you heard of Swedish hospitality?”

“I’ve heard of IKEA and Stig Larssen and that’s about it.”

“Well it’s a thing. They like lots of candles and throw pillows and little painted horses and they like to cook dinner for people, okay?”

“I’m not sure I trust him,” he says, looking off down the hall as if he’s smelling something.

“You can trust him,” I tell him, trying to close the door again.

“He just seems too good for you, Maggie. Too good for us.”

Again, I pause. Let out a painful sigh because damn if I haven’t been thinking that this whole time and Pike doesn’t even know the half of it.

“You can’t second guess everyone’s intentions,” I say to him. “That’s not the way to go through life.”

“No?” His eyes darken. “That’s the way dad thought. And look what happened to him. To mom. You give someone the benefit of the doubt and you’ve given them too much. They trusted too much, and it got them killed.”

Well, fuck. Way to forever inject paranoia into my life, Pike.

“I know,” I say softly. “But I’m fighting really hard to let this guy in. I can’t stay an island forever. I can’t stay a rock. I want to be soft for once.”

Pike rubs his lips together and looks away. Finally, he looks back and says, “Just be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt. When you hurt, we all hurt.”

Then he turns and walks away. “I’ll be home late,” he says over his shoulder. “Story time is on you tonight.”

I know Pike is just looking out for me as any good brother should (watch Callum when he gets older, he’ll throw me right to the wolves), but I wish he wouldn’t worry that much.

I’m also annoyed that I have to do story time. Story time is what I like to call the brother’s bonding session. Even though Callum can read (better than most kids, actually), Pike has made it a habit to read to him from a book every night. Looks like I’ll be on duty and I know that Callum is going to make it hard on me, just because it’s fun to get me all riled up.

There’s no time to dwell on that though, not when Viktor is coming by in an hour.

I quickly get dressed into jeans and the blousy top I tried on last night. It’s silk or fake silk and this brilliant blue and shows off just enough cleavage without being trashy. I spend time doing my makeup again, putting just gloss on my lips in case he feels like kissing me, and then dry my hair so it falls around my shoulders in long dark waves.

Is it touchable? I run my hands through it. It’s touchable.

I won’t have any excuses for him not to touch me.

Then it’s time to start on the house.

Because it’s Sunday and I worked all day, the kids have been home all day and I haven’t been here to pick up after them. As a result, the house is an absolute disaster.

I find Rosemary and Thyme downstairs in the living room, both of them on their phones scrolling through websites, both looking bored out of their minds, and enlist them to help me.

With bribes, of course. They can both choose a meal for me to cook later in the week. It was something my mother used to do. We didn’t have the money for allowances or special rewards so what she would do is bribe us all with food. If we did X amount of work, then we could choose the dinner. As long as it wasn’t steak or lobster or something crazy, we could have it and it always worked. At least for me. I worked my ass off for my mom’s lasagna.

The twins are easy though, thank god, and within no time the entire house has been dusted and vacuumed and tidied. I take in a deep breath as I lean against the broom and wipe the sweat off my brow, admiring my work.

There’s a knock at the door.

I immediately shove the broom away and smooth down my hair.

“The Swedish Chef is here!” Callum cries out excitedly from the kitchen. “Bork, bork, bork!”

“Oh my god, Callum!” I exclaim. “No. Please stop.”

I hurry past him and open the front door before anyone else can.

Viktor is standing there in a suit.

A fucking black suit, white shirt, black tie.

He didn’t even look like this yesterday when we went out for dinner.

And in his hands are flowers.

Lavender, to be specific, in a small pot.

“These are for you,” he says, smiling at them as he hands the pot to me. “And for me too, I guess. I know our aversion to flowers and lilies now and figured lavender not only smells very different, calming, but it’s an herb as well. My mother has them all over her garden at her…house…and it brings good memories.”

I’ve only gotten flowers once, from my dad when I graduated high school, and yet somehow this little plastic pot of lavender means just as much.

“Thank you,” I tell him, subtly sniffing the purple ends. Their soothing, herbal scent fills my heart and I know this smell will forever remind me of him.

He holds up a tote bag from the local grocery store. “And here is the dinner.”

I step aside and usher him in. I may have been able to ignore the dirty thoughts I was having earlier, but I can’t ignore the way he makes my body feel. How my hair stands on end and shivers roll down my back and how just him brushing past me lets loose the butterflies that were caged in my ribs.

I follow him down the hall into the kitchen, both mesmerized by the sight of him in his suit and the scent of lavender filling the air.

“You look amazing,” I gush.

“And you look outstandingly beautiful,” he says, his eyes drinking me in until I’m squirming on the spot. He places the tote bag on the kitchen table and Callum immediately runs over to him. “Hi! Bork, bork! If you’re making lobster or crab or shrimp, I will die, you know. I will literally die.”

Viktor looks up at me in horror. “Oh no,” he says slowly. “Really?”

“It’s okay,” I tell him quickly. “Callum can eat mac and cheese.”

“I’m just kidding, Miss America,” Viktor says, breaking into a grin. “I didn’t bring any shellfish of any kind.”

“But I want mac and cheese now,” Callum whines.

“Who says I’m not making mac and cheese?” Viktor says teasingly to him. He starts bringing out items from the bag, placing them on the table. “Let’s see, we have fresh pasta. We have hard cheddars and parmesan. We have chorizo and prosciutto. Onions, garlic, rosemary and…”

“Me!” Thyme yells from the living room. Obviously eavesdropping.

He grins. “Not quite. Paprika.” He looks at me with the most adorable gleam in his eyes. “You don’t have a sister called Paprika, do you?”

“No, you’ve met them all,” I tell him. Despite what Pike had warned me about earlier, I immediately feel at ease with Viktor. The fact that he’s a prince, that I’ll be interviewing him later, barely crosses my mind.

Well, it does a little.

Enough so that I’m doing a quick glance around the kitchen, making sure there isn’t anything out of place. Everything looks tidy and spotless, except the fridge, which is absolutely covered with drawings and report cards and calendars and notes with a plethora of magnets holding them all down. For a second I feel a burst of pride, knowing that the fridge looked like that before my parent’s died and it still looks like that now. Perhaps I’m doing a better job than I thought.

“Do you need any help?” Callum asks Viktor as he sorts things.

Callum has never asked to help me in the kitchen before.

Viktor smiles at him appreciatively and I’m aware of how charmed they are of each other. It warms my heart.

“Well let’s see,” Viktor says and takes off his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair, and starts rolling up his sleeves. His tanned, muscled forearms pop against the white fabric as he folds it around his elbow. Hot damn. Forget about warming my heart, this is warming up other places.

“What are you good at Callum?” he asks.

Callum taps his finger against his chin in thought. “Math.”

“That’s great. I meant in the kitchen.”

“Slicing things,” he says with a big smile. “Or stabbing things.” Evil giggle.

Viktor’s eyes widen briefly. “Okay, so we’ll keep you away from the knives.” He looks at me for help.

I shrug. “Beats me, he’s never wanted to help me in the kitchen.”

“Because you’re not James Bond,” Callum says.

“Well sorrrrrry,” I tell him. I can’t blame the kid. Viktor in his suit in our kitchen is probably the most exciting thing to ever happen to us.

“Have you ever grated parmesan, Callum?” Viktor asks him while rummaging through the drawers and finding the cheese grater. He raises it up triumphantly while I silently shake my head, no way. A cheese grater is just a knife with scales.

“Never mind,” Viktor says quickly, placing the cheese grater far away from him. “How about you just sit there and sing me songs. I rather liked your rendition of Dancing Queen.”

Oh god. Now that I know “Dancing Queen” was sung to his actual mother the night before she became queen, by ABBA themselves, Callum’s version seems even more crude.

“I forgot the lyrics,” Callum says with a shrug. “But I can rap.” He clears his throat like he’s about to sing an opera. “I like big poops and I cannot lie.”

I roll my eyes and give Viktor a warning look. He asked for this.

“Can I help with anything?” I ask coming around the table beside him.

“An apron would be great,” he says. His hands are already floured from handling the fresh pasta, so I grab an apron hanging in the pantry–one that has chickens all over it, my mother was obsessed with chickens–and bring it over to him.

We smile at each other as he lowers his head so I can slip the top strap over his neck. With his head at my height, I take a moment to run my hands through his hair under the guise of fixing it.

My god. This is what heaven feels like. His hair is so thick and lush and silky, the ultimate sensory experience. I get a whiff of his shampoo, something woodsy and herbal that makes me want to drool. How I want nothing more than to just grab a few strands between my fingers and give it a sharp tug. I want to see the easy-going expression on his face become something raw and wild.

He sneaks a glance up at me and I realize how inappropriate I must be touching him like this.

“Your hair was a little messed,” I say quietly, then I go behind him and tie the straps around his lower back. Damn, if Callum wasn’t sitting right there and watching this whole scene, I’d start running my hands up and down his back, feeling every hard, taut muscle, and then climb him like a jungle gym. He’s just so tall, his shoulders so broad and wide, that I feel like I take up no space at all next to him, like Viktor commands every atom in the room when he’s around.

But Callum is watching, very intently I might add, and whatever intimacy I had conjured up by putting on an apron vanishes.

I take a few steps back from Viktor and decide to go and tell the girls to help set the table. The pasta shouldn’t take too long. I bring out a bottle of red wine too, for the adults.

When Thyme and Rosemary are done, they sit down at the table and start grilling Viktor as he stirs the pasta and cheese on the stove, asking a million questions about Sweden. At least it prevents Callum from singing.

“What’s Sweden like?”

“Do you have the biggest IKEA in the world?”

“Do you know Alexander Skarsgard?”

“Do all girls have dragon tattoos?”

“Is it snowing there right now?”

“Does everyone have funny names?”

“Do you have a nickname?”

At that last one Viktor laughs.

“Actually, I do,” he admits, grating some more parmesan into the pot. By now, it’s almost ready.

“Well what is it?” I ask, hoping it’s embarrassing because it would be nice to see Viktor look flustered for once. He’s always so poised and regal.

My mind goes back to my fantasy about hair-pulling.

He says a word that sounds like “elk” but if, like, a sick person said it.

“What?” Callum asks, scrunching up his nose.

“Älg,” he repeats. “It means elk, but it’s not the elk that you know. It’s actually a moose.”

“So your nickname is moose?” Thyme asks.

“Like in the Archie Comics,” Rosemary says.

“Why moose?” I ask.

He grins at me. “Have you ever seen a moose, especially a young one? They’re all legs with a big head. Growing up, that was just like me. Of course, now that I’ve gotten older this head is…” he trails off and looks at the kids, “well, my head, seems pretty normal.”

“Except what’s in the inside,” Callum giggles.

“Callum, please,” I beg.

“No, he’s right,” Viktor says good-naturedly. “Long legs, big head, a little crazy. Seems like a moose to me.” He takes a step back from the pot and wipes his hands on the apron. “Hey, Callum, how about you add the paprika at the end, the finishing touch.”

Callum looks so proud to be chosen, he can barely get out of his chair fast enough.

Viktor holds a mound of the red spice in his hand and lowers it for Callum who carefully takes a pinch. For one long, agonizing moment I swear I can see the wheels in Callum’s head turning, evil wheels, ones that are telling him to blow the mound of dusty paprika all over Viktor’s pristine white shirt.

Please no, I think to myself.

And Callum actually looks over at me with a tiny smile like he can hear what I’m thinking and suddenly I’m struck by how much he looks like that creepy kid at the end of The Omen. I swear I hear the demonic Latin chanting, Ave Satani!

Then he stands on his toes and sprinkles the pinch of paprika into the pot.

“Voila,” he says proudly. “Mac and cheese by moi.”

“Your French is very good,” Viktor says. “Now we eat.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and get up to start helping him serve.

“Sit Maggie,” Viktor commands.

“Yeah sit Maggie, woof,” Callum says.

“Not what I meant,” Viktor chides him and then nods at me to sit down as he grabs the pot from the stove. “Maggie, please. Just relax for once. There’s no cow on the ice tonight.”

“Cows?” Callum asks.

“It’s, what do you call it, an inside thing between us,” Viktor explains.

I sit down, both loving and hating the feeling of him doting on me. I’m so used to doing everything all the time that to actually just sit and be served food like this makes me feel like I’m royalty here and not the other way around.

And once again I’m reminded that, holy shit, he’s a fucking prince.

“Where’s April?” Thyme asks, grinning up at Viktor like she’s got a mad crush on him as he doles out the incredible looking pasta onto her plate.

“April!” I holler. I know I heard her get out of the bathroom a while ago.

I guess the strength of my bellow surprises Viktor because he says, “Wow. That’s a set of lungs.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“I’ll get her,” Rosemary says, getting out of her chair and running up the stairs. By the time Viktor has poured the two of us wine and the kids all have juice, she comes back, alone. “She’s not coming.”

I sigh heavily. This hurts. I don’t know why this does in particular but I feel like this is her way of telling me to fuck off again. It’s obvious I like Viktor and that this means a lot to me that he’s here and doing this for all of us.

“Should I go talk to her?” Viktor says, poised to get up.

“No,” I say quickly at the same time Rosemary says, “Big mistake.”

“I think she’s sore that you beat up her boyfriend,” Thyme offers.

“He wasn’t her boyfriend,” I tell her. “He was just a big jerk.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Viktor says under his breath. Then he smiles at everyone and raises his wine glass. “Smaklig måltid!” he says. “Which means have a nice meal.”

We all raise our glasses and clink against each other’s and I look into Viktor’s eyes and he looks into mine and I hope he can see just how touched, just how happy I am, that this is happening. I know April and Pike aren’t here, I know I felt like charity at the beginning but now, now I just feel what it’s like to just be normal for once.

Of course, the food is absolutely amazing. I know you wouldn’t expect too much with mac and cheese but with the spices and the chorizo and the cheese, it’s melting me inside.

“I think you really are the Swedish Chef,” Callum says after a few bites, cheese dripping from his mouth. “Hurdy schmerdy!”

“It’s really good,” Thyme says.

“Can you cook for us every day?” asks Rosemary. She’s serious too.

“Sadly, Viktor has to leave for LA at the end of the week,” I tell them. “He’s flying back to Stockholm.”

In unison, all of their faces fall.

“Bummer,” Thyme says.

“But,” Viktor says, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “we still have a lot of time to get to know each other. You were asking me questions earlier, so I think it’s time I ask you the questions.”

And then he proceeds to ask the twins and Callum questions about themselves. Mainly trivial questions, but questions nonetheless. The kids feel important, that much I can tell, and even though the food is incredible, there’s more talking at the table than eating.

The way that Viktor listens so intently to each one, his focus completely on them, makes my ovaries want to explode. Add in the fact that he cooked us this damn meal, he’s wearing a suit, his forearms are golden and rippling with strength and I now know what running my fingers through his hair feels like, it presses a small ache in between my ribs.

I want this man so much, I don’t even have words for it.

And I’m not sure I’ll even get a chance to have him before he leaves.

He doesn’t belong to me.

He belongs to another country.

And I’ll be left behind in mine.

As if sensing my thoughts, he turns his head to look at me and once again the breath is knocked out of me. He is so damn gorgeous it makes me want to cry.

“And you, Maggie,” he says to me. “What’s your favorite flower?”

Is this where the conversation turned?

But I don’t even have to think.

“Lavender,” I tell him, my eyes falling on the pot I put in the middle of the table. Forever lavender.

When we’re all finished eating I tell the kids to go in the living room and watch some TV while Viktor and I clean up in the kitchen.

They take off like rockets. Usually I have them help me with clean-up but since Viktor is here, I want time with him alone.

“I suppose I should have brought dessert,” Viktor says as he starts filling up the sink with dish soap and warm water. We’ve never had a dishwasher, so you can imagine the amount of dishes there always were to do in this house. “Your brother and sisters would have liked that, maybe a pie of some kind.”

I grab a dish towel and lean back against the counter beside him, ready to dry. “You did enough,” I tell him. “Those kids are over the moon with you.”

He glances at me with a smirk. “Over the moon?”

“It means to be, I don’t know, not quite in love but…enamored. Charmed. In such a huge way that the moon somehow gets involved.”

He chuckles softly, the sound spreading warmth through me. “And you, are you over the moon with me?”

Well that puts me on the spot.

I give him a shy smile. “The moon doesn’t seem big enough. I might be over the sun.”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze sinking deep into mine. I see enough longing and heat in his eyes that I don’t feel silly for my admission. “I don’t think anyone’s been over the sun for me before,” he muses.

“I’m sure they would be if you cooked them a meal like you did.”

“The way to your heart is through your stomach,” he says with a nod. “I shall keep that in mind.”

You’ve already found your way to my heart, I think and for once, the thought doesn’t scare me. Tonight, I feel emboldened.

Yet when he hands me a wet dish, my eyes focus on drying it, afraid to look at him. He’s so close, his elbow and arm brushing mine as he works, that gorgeous scent of his mixed with the lavender and the lemon dish soap are burning a memory in my head. My skin feels tight and hot and the nerves in my stomach dance in a constant conga line. Every part of me feels alive.

The fact that I think I’m falling for him doesn’t scare me but what does scare me is what happens after that.

“So, when does the interview start?” he asks after a long bout of silence.

Oh right. That.

The truth is, I don’t want to write about this dinner even though that was his intention. I feel like what I witnessed tonight, the quiet charming moments between him and my family, I want to keep that just for me.

“Tomorrow,” I tell him. “It starts tomorrow.”

“So then what is tonight?” There’s gravity to his voice, the low tone making electricity burn in my stomach.

I look up at him and try to read his gaze. “I guess we’re just getting to know each other,” I say. Because what can I say? That this is a date? A date with me and my brothers and sisters? I don’t think so.

He nods in response, hands me another dish.

We work together in silence but it’s comfortable. It’s the kind of silence that lets you be lost in your head without having to explain your thoughts, the kind that tricks you into believing you’re deep in the stages of domesticated bliss.

And I am lost in my thoughts. Thoughts about him, the kids, my life, my future, that it takes me a moment to notice that we’re done and Viktor is taking off his apron. He’s standing right in front of me, folding it in his hands, and staring at me with such intensity that I feel like I might have missed something, like he was saying something before and I didn’t hear him. Something heated. Something I want to hear.

He tilts his head, his eyes settling on my lips for a moment before he looks up to meet my gaze again.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low and smooth.

Oh my god.

Did he just ask if he could kiss me?

I knew the guy was a gentleman, but I didn’t know how much of one he was.

I swallow the brick in my throat, fireworks going off in my heart.

“Of course,” I say softly, wishing my voice was steady.

This is it. This is it.

Fucking finally.

I close my eyes, my lips parting open, just enough.

I wait.

Nerves on fire.

Heart dancing.

Lips aching for him…

No kiss.

And I don’t feel him come any closer.

I open my eyes and look at him.

He hasn’t moved. Instead he’s just watching me, wearing the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen.

“I didn’t mean now,” he says. “I just wanted to know for future reference.”

My eyes narrow, my body growing hot with embarrassment and sexual frustration. “You’re a jerk.”

He laughs playfully. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

I shake my head and snatch the apron from his hands, bringing it to the small hamper we have in the pantry and tossing it in there.

“So your nickname is moose, huh?” I say, trying to cover up the awkwardness. Even with my back turned to him, I can tell he’s still grinning. “Maybe your nickname oughta be dick.”

“Who’s to say it isn’t?” he answers.

Once everything is dry, I tell the girls to do their homework and tell Callum he has to get ready for bed. Like I thought, he makes a huge fuss, not wanting to miss out on what’s going on with Viktor and the “adults.”

Then I bring up story time.

Then, to my surprise, though honestly, I don’t think I should be surprised by anything he does now, Viktor volunteers for story time.

And suddenly Callum is racing to his bedroom to put on his pajamas and get in bed.

“Do you even know what story time is?” I ask Viktor as we go up the stairs.

When he doesn’t say anything I look down at him over my shoulder and see that his focus is completely on my ass.

His eyes flit up to mine. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. “And story time, that sounds like when you make up a story, a bedtime story.”

“Callum usually has Pike read from a certain book.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just make something up,” he says.

“Suit yourself, he’s a tough critic,” I tell him as we step into Callum’s room. He’s already sitting in bed, big grin on his face, in his faded Superman pajamas. Viktor pulls up a chair from the desk and I sit down on the end of the bed because there’s no way I’m not going to be here for this.

“I know you usually have a book read to you,” Viktor notes, “but I have a special Swedish story to share with you. Do you like trolls?”

Callum shakes his head.

Viktor looks at me, trying not to smile. “Okay, do you like dragons?”

Callum shrugs.

“What about dragons and Vikings?”

Callum sits up straighter. “Are there battles and axes and swords and blood?” he asks excitedly.

“Of course,” Viktor says to him and then he looks at me. I’m shaking my head. No. Not a good idea before bedtime.

“Or maybe not,” he corrects himself.

“Awwww,” Callum whines.

“Or maybe a little.” Viktor nods at me. “Your sister can just cover her ears at that part.”

I raise my brow and try to bite back a smile.

So Viktor launches into a story about a Viking prince named Erling. At first I know he’s making it all up off the top of his head, but the more he goes into the story, the more it seems natural, real, and the more I get involved in it. Soon both Rosemary and Thyme are sitting together on Callum’s bean bag chair and listening intently to the battles and the wars and the Viking boats and the dragons and even the fair maidens that need rescuing. There’s an evil king and a supernatural queen and a witch and flying whales.

By the time it’s all over–almost an hour later–Callum is both wired and half asleep. And out in the hallway is April, skulking around outside the door, having listened to most of it even though she would never dare admit it.

Now it’s late and everyone is tired and Viktor says he should get going.

I want to protest, but he’s right.

The cab is called.

I follow him out in front of the house, waiting with him for the cab. After that whole “can I kiss you” thing, I’m feeling a little slighted but still hopeful. Maybe this is it. Maybe he was waiting until we were really alone.

I gaze up at him, the moon rising behind him. He gazes down at me. But the moment I start to think it might happen for real, Viktor’s eyes fly up to the windows behind me.

I turn around and look up to see everyone watching us from the bedroom windows, goofy smiles on their faces. I wave, sigh, and look back at Viktor with a wry smile.

“Always an audience, huh,” I say.

“I’m used to it,” he says just as the cab pulls up. “So tomorrow we’ll get more…professional.”

Professional? Fucking great.

“Of course,” I tell him, pasting a smile on my face. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“It was my pleasure,” he says and does a little bow.

I curtsey to him in return which makes him burst out laughing. Then he gets in the backseat and the cab drives off.