“She wanted to show how she’d been cured of her fear of needles, but as soon as the teacher took it out, she fainted,” Gina said with a laugh.

“Needles are horrible,” Peter replied, though he was laughing too.

He switched on the kettle, then took out two tall glasses and added the tea bags. Red chai tea for Gina, ordinary black tea for himself. Once the kettle was hot, he poured in the water, leaving room for milk in her glass, and added three sugar lumps for her.

“You’ll get cavities,” he said as he dropped the last sugar cube into the tea and watched it dissolve.

“Nah, I won’t. I’ve got strong teeth, plus I always floss. Could you pass me a plate for these?”

She held up a tub of her father’s small dumplings.

The thought of them made Peter’s mouth water.

He handed her a plate, found some side plates and napkins, and filled two glasses with water.

Gina fetched spoons and milk, then laid out the dumplings.

“Looks so festive,” she said. Her eyes caught the pink roses he had given her, and she blushed slightly.

“Well, we have something to celebrate,” he said, his voice happy and hearty, not wanting to embarrass her. He handed her the glass of tea. “Here’s to passing your exams.”

She sipped her chai tea and set the glass down next to her plate.

Peter put the sandwiches he’d bought onto a chopping board and cut them in two. Gina didn’t like Swedish cheese, so he’d brought one with French brie cheese and one with Swedish skagenröra—shrimp, mayo, and dill, which she claimed tasted like fish but devoured every time.

He stole furtive glances at her, loved to watch her quick, almost hasty movements as she grabbed some cutlery and closed cupboard doors with a bang, always waiting for her to burst into laughter.

She laughed more often these days.

He did too.

They sat down at the table. He had to stop himself from running over to pull the chair out for her, but he simply sat down and clasped his glass of tea. In truth, tea wasn’t his favorite, but Gina drank it, and at some point these past few weeks Peter had made the decision to broaden his horizons and try new things. So now he drank bitter hot tea.

Gina poured even more sugar into her glass, stirred it quickly with a spoon, and reached for the skagenröra sandwich. She ate it by breaking the bread into smaller pieces, scooping the filling with a spoon, smearing it onto the bread, and putting the lot in her mouth. She ate the accompanying vegetables on their own. Slices of gherkin, sprigs of dill, and pieces of tomato.

Peter smiled.

“What?” she asked. Daintily she wiped her mouth.

“Nothing,” he said. He bit into a dumpling. Crumbs fell to the table. He would never have thought that happiness could come in the form of crisp, golden flakes of pastry.

“Aha, what’s going on here, then?”

Peter looked up toward the voice.

It was almost half past eight in the evening, and he and Gina were the only ones left in the office.

The man who had appeared, Dag Billing, was one of Peter’s least favorite coworkers. Peter wiped his mouth. He saw Gina lower her gaze, put down her sandwich, and sit utterly still, as though she had been caught doing something she wasn’t allowed.

Dag had his arms crossed. His eyes lingered on Gina before he gave Peter a knowing grin.

“Nothing is going on. We’re just having a break,” Peter said, though he suddenly felt annoyed at himself. When had he become someone who needed to excuse himself for what he did?

“A break? Is that what it’s called these days?”

“What do you want?”

“I forgot my cell phone. But now I’ve got a craving for some chocolate. Dark chocolate, if you know what I mean.”

Peter leaped to his feet. “That was really fucking inappropriate.”

“I’m inappropriate? I’m not the one in here, drooling over the cleaner.”

Dag’s eyes moved across Gina’s body, up and down, stopped at her breasts.

“Though I get it. There’s just something about black women.”

Gina abruptly got to her feet.

“Gina, wait,” said Peter.

“I have to go,” she said.

“No, he’s the one who should go.”

But Gina bowed her head and tried to leave. Dag reached out a hand and laid it on her arm, stopping her. “Maybe you can go clean my desk. I’ll come and inspect it in a minute?”

“Let go of her,” Peter said as Gina pulled herself loose.

“Take it easy,” said Dag. “Can’t people in this country take a joke anymore? Oh, forgive me, little cleaner, did I offend you? That’s how people always feel these days, isn’t it? Offended.”

“Stop it,” Peter hissed. His eyes sought out Gina’s, but she just rubbed her arm and avoided looking at either of them.

Dag looked at Peter, and Peter could see nothing but contempt in his eyes, knew that was how he was seen at work, as someone who could just be ignored.

Dag shook his head.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he said.

“Peter, it’s okay,” said Gina.

But it wasn’t okay, not for him. How often did she have to put up with stuff like this? Every week? Every day?

“You don’t talk to her like that. Never again. I don’t give a damn what you think of me. But if you so much as look at her again, I’ll …”

“You’ll what, you fucking loser? What are you going to do?”

Dag had taken a step closer and entered Peter’s personal space. This was the moment typically Peter would have backed down, given up. But instead he took a step forward and saw a flash of uncertainty in the other man’s eyes.

“Get out of here. Don’t take your coffee, don’t take your fucking cell. Don’t say another word. Just leave.”

Dag didn’t move. Peter stepped even closer, his forehead virtually touching the other man’s. He knew he couldn’t back down now, knew that he’d rather let himself be carried out. Dag must have seen his determination, because he hesitated and then moved back, casting down his eyes.

And then he left.

The door swung shut.

Gina was motionless. She bit her lip. But she didn’t look as scared as she had, and that was all that mattered.

Peter stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, taking unsteady breaths, still unsure of what had just happened. He’d never won a man-on-man fight before, never dared stand up to anyone on his own. He had only ever dared fight in groups, against someone weaker than him. It had always been his biggest source of shame, something he knew about himself but had never thought he could change. He’d always been told he was weak. Always been weak. Scared. Repressed.

But now.

He sat down. Could feel himself shaking. But not necessarily in a bad way.

Gina sat down opposite him. Took her napkin and laid it in her lap.

Peter took one more shaky breath. He had felt ice cool when he was arguing with Dag, but now he felt some kind of reaction coming. He placed his hands on the table.

Gina looked at him. Long lashes, black eyes.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t interrupt him earlier.”

She shrugged one shoulder.

“Dag’s a jerk. He’s hit on me before.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if he ever does it again.”

She tore off a piece of bread, cut the brie, put the cheese on the bread, and then popped both into her mouth. She chewed, her eyes fixed on him.

“I promise,” she said.