Chapter 10
Travel to Norway
Travel to Norway with Scandinavian Hottie
I’m definitely insane.
As we’re taking a taxi through Stavanger, Norway, I wonder for the hundredth time what the hell I’m doing. Last night I had been so determined that Christian and I would go our separate ways, this hadn’t even been a possibility. Yet, somehow I ended up here…now.
I can’t stay with him another week and not tell him the truth about my cancer. But how do you tell the guy you’ve given your virginity to, the guy you’re living with (if only temporarily) that you have a terminal disease?
Oh, by the way…
“Oil is the main support of the town,” he explains. “Hence all the ships and platforms you can see not far from shore.”
Oil. He’s been talking for ten minutes about oil. My chest feels tight and I’m near to panicking, but I have a smile on my face as if I’m actually listening to him talk about freaking oil.
He’s holding my hand, but I can feel the tension between us. No doubt, he does too. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, that crease between his brows. Is he actually nervous? And that’s when I realize maybe I’m not the only one rethinking this trip. He’s either anxious, or way more interested in oil than a guy should be. Any other time, I would have found it amusing.
If my mom realizes I’m staying with a man I just met, she will blow her top. Hell, she’ll board the first flight and stage an intervention. And maybe she should, because I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my damn mind. The crazy thing is that I’m not even positive how this happened. What if his roommates hate me? What if they think I’m weird? And why the hell do I even care?
Last night I’d told Gabrielle everything. Without asking me if I’d accept his offer, she’d started packing for me. And for some reason, I didn’t stop her. She knew before I’d even known, that I would accept.
I’d hardly slept. When he text’d me at six to ask if I was going, I typed back a simple “yes.” He showed up an hour later, waiting patiently while Gabby and I shared a tearful goodbye. Since then, I’ve been working on auto-pilot, barely aware of where I’m going, what I’m doing. I don’t miss the glances Christian keeps throwing my way. He’s concerned. He should be. I want to demand the driver stop, so I can jump out of the car, and hightail it back to Denmark. Want to fast forward through today so things are normal again.
“Right here is fine,” he calls out to the driver.
The man pulls to a stop alongside a road. To the left is the wharf, where a cruise ship is docked. On the other side is a small hill covered with little white houses. In the backdrop are tall high-rise buildings and apartments that look strangely out of place next to these historical homes. I admit my interest peaks. Christian lives here? In this cute little village surrounded by modern technology?
Christian pays the driver, then helps me out of the car. He smiles at me. A truly happy smile that reaches down into my soul, touches me, and I can’t help but smile back. He’s not anxious. He’s excited I’m here, thrilled to show me his town.
He’s different here, I realize. More relaxed. No cold ice lurking within the blue of his eyes. This is where he grew up. This is where he can be himself. A soft rain is falling, but I don’t mind. The mist comforts and cools me.
I start to hike my pack upon my shoulders, but he takes it, throwing it on his broad back instead, while lifting his own bag. “What do you think?”
We start up a cobbled road. “I love it.”
“I knew you would.” He smiles, pleased with himself. Perhaps he does know me. “Was actually my grandparent’s home, but they left it to me.”
They must have been close. We make our way through tourist groups, up a steep incline of a narrow, cobbled road. A variety of brilliant flowers are in bloom in small gardens surrounded by white picket fences. It’s so perfect, it looks like the set of a movie.
“The cottages are mostly from the 1800s.”
As I start to relax, my panic eases, and my attention is swept up into my environment. It’s like I’ve stepped into a magical world of quaint fairy-tale homes, flowers and cobbled lanes. This is the Europe I was hoping for. “You live in one of these?”
“Yes. The tourists can get a bit annoying at times, but it’s fun to be around so much energy, so many different people.”
He’s an extrovert. He loves life. He loves people. He makes friends wherever he goes. I’m the opposite. At the top of the hill we stop in front of a small, white house with a blue door. Was I more of an extrovert before the cancer? I remember fun, friends. I remember going to movies and skating rinks. But my childhood before the illness is a vague memory. A dream.
We move up the front stoop. Christian unlocks the door and we step inside. It’s much larger than I assumed. A small foyer opens into a large kitchen and living room. A narrow set of stairs dissects the two areas. The wooden floors are scuffed with age, the walls brilliant white. Beams cross the ceiling, breaking up the monotonous color. Instead of looking boring…it looks so very clean and Scandinavian.
He calls out a greeting in Norwegian, his voice echoing through the house. We move from the foyer into the kitchen. Coffee is brewing, the bitter scent filling the air. It’s comforting in its normalcy. The same scent I wake up to at home.
“Christian!” A woman in skimpy shorts and t-shirt races down the stairs and throws her arms around his neck. They speak in French, oddly enough, leaving me to stand there once again confused and feeling slightly left out.
“Hope, this is Audrey, one of my roommates.”
He has a female roommate? I smile even though I’m not sure how to feel. She’s still got her arms around his neck. I contemplate pointing that out, but don’t think it will win me any awards. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”
She nods, a lock from her pixie cut falling across her forehead. She’s cute and exotic all at once. “You as well.”
She also has a French accent that gives her a sexy vibe I could never replicate. She’s studying me curiously, as if trying to understand our relationship. I wonder what Christian has told her.
“What the bloody hell is all the racket?” someone yells. The great, booming voice bouncing down the narrow stairs is from Australia. “Is the house on fire, because that’s the only justifiable reason for this noise.”
A monster of a man stumbles down the steps; he looks half asleep. He’s wearing only boxers, and rubbing his eyes. While Christian is all tall, lean, fit, this man is a giant. Blonde hair, bulging muscles, probably 6’4.” Holy hell, I’ve found Thor.
“And this is Max, Audrey’s boyfriend and my other roommate.”
He smiles groggily, a charming grin that actually makes him look boyish, despite his size. “Hello.”
Boyfriend. Audrey has a boyfriend and she’s finally torn herself from Christian’s side and heads to Max. The relief I feel is entirely uncalled for, and I hate myself for being happy that this female roommate is attached.
Almost immediately the ribbing starts. Max claims Christian has become a pansy Danish man since going to University. Christian says Max is just a muscle meat-head who doesn’t understand anything outside of the pub where he works. Audrey merely shakes her head, as she moves to the coffee maker.
These two roommates are so different from the people I met at the museum benefit. They’re open and lively and actually nice. Christian’s friends are the complete opposite of his family and his father’s acquaintances. Maybe he doesn’t choose to be around Kirstin, but he does choose these people. These happy, kind, caring, fun people are the real Christian.
‘You’re here for a week?” Audrey asks as she pulls mugs from a cupboard, sparing glances at me.
I nod. “Then off to Sweden.”
“Unless I talk her out of it,” Christian says, surprising me. He leans over and kisses my cheek, then takes the mug Audrey offers. I’m too stunned to reply, and sink onto a bar stool near the counter. He wants me to stay longer? Maybe he’s just joking.
“Nothing to see in Sweden anyway. Just really hot Alexander Skarsgard type guys.” Audrey pours a cup of coffee for me with a grin.
“Exactly,” Max says, slapping her on the bottom. “Which is why we’ve never gone.”
She turns and punches his arm. With a growl he jerks her close and kisses her. I’m watching the two interact, wishing I could have that sort of relationship, when I feel his attention. I might be watching Audrey and Max, but Christian is leaning against the counter, drinking his coffee, his gaze on me.
I give him a quick smile and sip my coffee, mostly to have something to do. Out the window of the kitchen I can see the tourists wandering the streets. I love it here. I could live here.
“Tea?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Coffee is growing on me.”
“I gotta get to work.” Audrey takes a last drink, then dumps her mug into the sink. “Can’t wait to see you guys later!”
She skips up the stairs, full of energy.
Max remains in the kitchen, joking with Christian. It’s pleasant here. Comfortable and warm. I realize that the bundle of nerves that had been knotting inside my stomach since we left Copenhagen have faded. While Max and Christian chat, I take the opportunity to explore.
Did he decorate the house himself? I move to the cozy living room. Large windows allow plenty of sunlight. A small, black piano sits polished in the corner of the room, while a fireplace dominates the opposite end. Although he continues to chat with Max, I can feel his gaze on me.
There’s only one picture in the living room, tucked away in the corner of a shelf. A younger Christian, standing with a pretty brunette. I smile reluctantly. He has a type. Was she someone who broke his heart? A first girlfriend?
“Your mum’s going to want to see you,” I hear Max say.
I don’t miss the glance Max slides my way as I start back toward the kitchen. He’s wondering if Christian is going to take me to meet his mom. Are we that serious? God no. That’s way too much pressure. His dad was enough. I sip my coffee pretending I don’t notice Max’s pointed look.
“I know.” Christian places his cup in the sink then smiles at me. “Come on. I’ll show you the upstairs.” He picks up the bags, his biceps flexing and I wonder if he’s trying to avoid Max’s unasked question.
We move up the narrow set of steps, the wood underneath creaking with age. Damn it all, I love it here. The history, the culture. I love the warmth of this little cottage where Christian’s grandparents lived. I love Max and Audrey, even though it’s obvious they’re suspicious about me.
We pause at the first door. “My other roommate is visiting his family in India, but doesn’t care if you sleep in his room. Or you can sleep in mine, and I’ll sleep here.”
He nudges open the door. The room has a queen bed and is clean, sparsely furnished. Christian sets my pack on the bed. I can’t help but wonder where his room is located. It smells like lemon cleaning products. Empty. It’s not as comfy as the rest of the house.
“He’s moving out in a month and has already taken some of his stuff home.”
I nod. “It’s really nice of you to let us stay here.”
He smiles. “Tour of the city, or you too tired?”
Things have been strange between us since last night. Not much touching. Not much kissing. There’s a sort of wall that is keeping us both at a safe distance. I don’t miss the fact that he keeps glancing at me as if trying to understand. I want things to be normal again, and he does as well.
“Definitely a tour. But you are going to show me your room first, right?”
He grins and pushes away from the wall. “This way.”
I follow him down the narrow hall. We pass another door. I can hear Audrey softly singing in French. It must be the room she shares with Max. I glance at Christian’s broad back, loving the way it tapers to his waist. The way his gray Henley shirt and dark jeans cling to his muscled form. “You can tell a lot about a person from their bedroom.”
“Can you?”
“Of course. It’s where we live, where we keep our secrets.”
He pauses at the door. “You’re scaring me.”
I laugh. I want things normal between us again. As normal as our two week relationship can be. I don’t want a week of awkwardness. “Come on then, unless you’ve got something to hide?”
I inch by him, wrap my hand around the door handle, and push it open. His scent assaults me. That warm and sexy and wonderful scent. Stepping into his room is like stepping into his arms. My gaze automatically goes to his queen bed. A shiver of heat whispers through my body, awakening that ache.
No. I won’t go there. I tear my attention from the bed and scan the room, taking in the fine details. Trying to understand Christian better. It’s clean. Tidy. It’s cozy. Although there are only a couple small windows, skylights allow light to pierce the gloom. The wooden floorboards are covered with a gray carpet.
Finally, I return my attention to the bed. The duvet is white, pristine, matching the walls. Around the room are photos of Christian with friends and family: smiling, on vacations, on yachts, in castles, sipping champagne. The pictures make me uneasy. He’s an extrovert and he’s rich. We are way too different to work. I’m glad this is just a fling. And it is just a fling.
He closes the door, secluding us from the rest of the house, and props his shoulder against the wall, watching me. “What can you tell about me?”
“Well, you value your friends. You’re clean, neat, but not obsessive. You like things in order.”
I move around the room, taking in the desk with the laptop, the one potted plant near the corner, the pullup bar in the closet doorway. I wouldn’t mind in the least watching him do pullups.
“You like to keep in shape. You vacation a lot.”
On his desk there’s a picture of him in some African village with a group of other teens. It looks like a volunteer project. “You’re caring.”
There are no pictures of him with his father.
“And you have family issues.”
“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
I force myself not to grin. Sore subject. I notice the piano music in the corner of the room. I’d seen the piano downstairs but hadn’t thought much about it. Surprised, I turn to face him. “You play the piano?”
He merely quirks a brow, but doesn’t answer. Is he annoyed, nervous, or impressed? I spot the chocolate bar on his dresser.
“And you like chocolate.”
His brows are drawn together. “Good god, you got all of that from my room?”
I shrug, finally allowing myself to grin. “What can I say, I’m good.”
He’s watching me almost warily now.
I pick up an award tucked in the back of a shelf, as if forgotten. I’m not sure what it’s for, as the writing is in Norwegian. Or maybe it’s Danish. I replace the statue. “My grandfather was a detective. He told me that the clues were there. Always.”
I’m also more observant since being ill. I have to be. Suddenly, Christian is at my side, his arms around my waist as he pulls me closer. And suddenly I’m aware that I’m in a guy’s bedroom, just the two of us.
“What would I find in your room?”
He settles on the bed, falling back and pulling me down with him. As I nestle against him, I think about his question. My bedroom…is forgotten. Stuck in the past. The rose bedspread, a porcelain doll on the chair. The walls are pink. Good god, I’m going to be remembered always as a child. I suddenly want to remodel my room when I never cared before.
“Nothing,” I say, realizing he’s waiting for an answer. “Just typical female stuff.”
“Typical female stuff? How intriguing.”
I roll atop him and press my mouth to his, mostly to change the subject. A quick kiss to divert his attention away from me. As I pull back he’s still got that look in his eyes as if he is trying to figure me out. It makes me nervous. I roll off him and fall onto my back. His bed isn’t too soft or firm. It’s perfect, just like this adorable little house. The duvet is fluffy, so damn comfortable. I could imagine cuddling in this room on a cold winter night. Cuddling with him.
“That’s okay, I don’t need to see your room. You,” he props himself upon his elbow and looks down at me. “Don’t care about material things or money.”
I laugh, even as my nerves jangle in warning. I don’t like this game so much when it’s directed at me. “How do you know that?”
“You weren’t impressed with the royal jewels at Rosenborg.” He trails his finger down the side of my face. “Plus, when you wear jewelry it’s always something small.”
I bite my lower lip. Okay, that was easy. There’s no reason to be nervous. He’s not going to uncover anything that I don’t want him to know. At least that’s what I tell myself.
He slides his fingers through the hair at my temple, playing with the strands. His gaze narrows on my face, as if he’s trying to read into my soul. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”
I quirk a brow, mirroring his expression earlier. Only him. Oddly enough. And the realization stuns as much as it frightens me. I suddenly want to bolt. “Why do you say that?”
“You haven’t traveled much, yet you came here alone. Another country where you’ve never visited. Don’t know anyone.”
I shift, the uneasy feeling grows. Maybe he knows me better than I thought. Or maybe it’s just stuff anyone would realize. Still, I want to push him away, insist we go site-seeing right now. But I can’t seem to move. I’m frozen in place.
His thumb brushes my lower lip, his gaze on my mouth. “You haven’t dated much. You say you had one serious relationship, but I don’t think it was that serious.”
“Why not?” I whisper, enthralled.
“Because you were still a virgin. You’re not religious, so that wasn’t the reason why you didn’t sleep with your boyfriend. I have to assume it wasn’t serious enough. It also means you’re confident and know what you want. You weren’t pressured into sleeping with him even though you dated for some time. You know your own mind.”
His words startle me as much as they make me think. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I wasn’t ever truly in love with Matt. Maybe we’ve always been just friends. “Or,” I say tentatively. “Maybe Matt was just really nice and wasn’t ready to sleep with me.”
He smiles. “No guy is that nice.”
But he is. I clench my jaw to keep from saying the words. He doesn’t need to know how much I like him. How perfect I think he is. He doesn’t need to know that if I could have a boyfriend…I’d want that boyfriend to be exactly like him.
“And you, perhaps, feel slightly disconnected from this world.” He frowns. “As if you’re not really part of it.”
My heart jumps, startled, then starts pounding against my ribs as if it understands what I don’t. I frown. “What do you mean?”
He starts to unbutton my shirt, pressing kisses to my cleavage. “I mean there are things you haven’t done…like go dancing. I assume you like to stay at home. You also like to watch people, study them, but you don’t feel the need to interact.”
He makes me sound like a sociopath. His breath is warm against my belly as he travels down my body. It’s so damn hard to think when he’s kissing me. My brain has gone foggy with lust. “You got all that from being with me for two weeks?”
“I’m very observant.” He unbuttons my jeans. “And then there are the more obvious things.”
“Obvious?” My voice comes out breathless as he pulls my jeans slowly, slowly, slowly down my legs. I’m acutely aware of his every touch, his every breath. This is so happening. My fingers curl into the bedding. “What’s obvious?”
He crawls back up me and parts my shirt. “You love art, historical buildings.” He presses his lips to the valley between my breasts. “You are kind, brave, unpretentious and intriguing all at once. You’re also afraid of commitment.”
The words startle me from my hazy lust. Why would he think that? Am I? No, I’m just going to die soon, so what’s the point. “Am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He pulls his shirt over his head. A variety of feelings assault me at once. Too many feelings. So many feelings I don’t dare inspect them. Not now. Not here. He undresses, and I don’t care about my anxiety, my unease, my fear…I only want to touch him. Want him to touch me.
“And,” he says, prowling up my body. “I know that you think it was a bad idea to come here, with me, today.”
He tugs off my shirt and unhooks my bra so we’re both naked. The entire time on the airplane, in the taxi…he knew. How is it that this man I met only two weeks ago understands me so well? At any other moment it would have been unsettling. Here, now, all I can focus on are his lips trailing down my neck. I am helpless underneath him.
“I am, however,” He says, his breath warm. “Very, very glad you decided to come anyway.”
I am too. His mouth covers my nipple. My eyes close as excitement washes over me. We haven’t had sex since that night in Denmark. More than once I’ve wondered if it will be as good the second time.
“Your roommates…” I mutter.
“Audrey is gone, Max went back to sleep. He could sleep through a world war.”
It’s all I need to hear. He lowers atop me. My nipples harden as his chest brushes mine. I run my hands over his broad shoulders, up the back of his neck, into his hair, pulling at the strands. I can feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against my lower belly. God, I want him.
My body instantly reacts to his touch, as if it’s been waiting ever since that first night and is so damn relieved. Finally, it sighs. It’s come to life. Humming, buzzing under my skin. And now that we’re touching its fireworks, angels singing…heaven. Our connection is electric.
Do all Scandinavian guys know how to make a woman come so easily? Or maybe it’s all European men? Maybe they teach a class here.
“I so badly want you.”
His words make me shy, even as a shiver of delight races through my body, leaving me breathless. I can’t believe we’re doing this here…now. My prude, rational mind might be protesting, but my body sure as hell isn’t. That area between my legs has flared to life, aching, tightening, pulsing with a desperate need for release. And then his hand is sliding down my belly. I moan, lifting my knees and digging my toes into the blanket.
He kisses my neck. “I could get addicted to you.”
I try not to react to his honeyed words, after all, they’re just something said in the moment. But I can’t deny the blush of delight that overtakes me. I grip his shoulders, my nails biting his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
His lips are on me again, catching my breathless gasp. As he kisses me, his hand cups the area between my legs, and before I can prepare his middle finger slides into me as his velvety tongue rubs against mine. I’m slick, wet, hot. A groan gets stuck in my throat.
I’m going to die. Die. Here and now. But oh what a way to go. I squirm underneath him, trying to ease the torment. His room smells like him, a warm, crisp and clean male scent that surrounds me, invades every cell of my being.
“You drive me insane,” I mutter.
His finger pulls out as his thumb rubs my clit. I jerk in response. It’s too much. Too much feeling. Too much sensation. Too much pleasure.
“Stay in my room,” he whispers against my lips. “With me.”
My hands are running down his back, I’m trying to touch every lovely part of him at once. I don’t have time to rationally think about my response and I know I’ll regret it later, but “yes” pops out before I can pull it back in.
He presses a quick kiss to my lips, then leaves the bed and grabs a condom from his dresser drawer. Surrounded by his scent, his very essence, makes me feel weak, drugged. He’s back before I have time to miss him, his hard erection brushing my thighs.
“These last couple days have been pure torture.” He braces on his elbows so he doesn’t crush me. “I can’t get that night out of my mind. It haunts me.”
His words please me when they shouldn’t. I want to leave behind my mark, even if it is just an emotional scar. Part of me wants him to remember me, mourn me. He nudges my thighs apart with his knee.
Yes. Yes. Yes. He’s going there.
I feel the tip of his erection slide between my folds, then press into my entrance. His arms are braced on either side of me, the muscles flexed tight. He doesn’t want to crush me. But I love the weight of his hard body. Bare skin to bare skin. I’ve been so numb, trying to ignore the aches and pains, but here, now, Christian brings me back to life. I lift my hips, whimpering. He enters me slowly, carefully. So carefully, that my body tenses, remembering that first night and how it stung.
“Are you alright?” he whispers against my lips.
“I will be, if you kiss me.”
He grins right before his lips mold to mine. My muscles relax, my body sinking into the bed. He takes advantage and slides in deep, thrusting into me fully, completely. The pain is only slight this time. I groan into his mouth, arching my hips to take him deeper. I want to be as close to him as possible. Need to feel that connection.
He pulls back and thrusts into me again. And again. Each surge feels deeper, touching a part of me that no one ever has. We find a natural rhythm that is all our own. As he rocks into me, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, mirroring the actions of his hips. It’s almost too much, being so connected to another.
Aching need flares inside me. My nails dig into his muscled back. God, he feels so damn good. Smells so good. He slides his hands under my ass and grips my bottom. As he thrusts forward, he lifts my hips, bringing me higher, sending him deeper, harder.
“Yes,” I whisper against his shoulder. “More.”
I’ve become wanton. Desperate. And I don’t care.
“What do you want, Hope?”
“You,” I gasp. “Just you.”
With one final thrust, every nerve-ending inside of me explodes. The pleasure pulses through my body leaving me breathless and groaning and floating on wave after wave of pure bliss. I feel him grow harder inside of me right before he surges forward one last time and comes.
Amazing. So wonderful. I float back down into my body, and a peaceful, relaxed buzz remains. He is hot and heavy atop me, but I don’t want him to leave. His weight anchors me.
“God, you’re going to kill me,” he mutters.
I feel his harsh breath right before he kisses me. A gentle kiss. A caring kiss. He pulls away and nuzzles his face against my neck, sucking on the delicate skin. Shivers race through my body, making my cells tremble.
“Is it always like this?” I manage to ask.
He releases a harsh, shaky laugh. “No.” Is he saying this is special? Unique? “Do we be lazy and stay in bed?”
I slide my fingers through his hair, playing with the strands and smiling. It would be so wonderful to remain in bed with him all day, touching, exploring. But his roommates would know, and I’m too new to sex to be comfortable with that. “No. I want to see your town.”
He sighs. “Alright. Get dressed then. If you don’t, we’ll never leave this bed.”
I giggle. Actually giggle for fuck’s sake.
With a grin, he rolls off me and heads to his attached bathroom. I’m a little slower to leave, as I pull on my clothing. Every piece of material feels oddly erotic as it whispers against my sensitive skin. He’s awoken something inside me I didn’t even realize was there. I can still smell him on me, feel his touch. I’ve just participated in a quickie, and am rather delighted. Something new to add to my growing bucket list.
He returns and presses a kiss to the back of my neck, before dressing. “How do you feel about going on a motorcycle?”
My mom forbid me years ago to ever ride on a motorcycle, but mom isn’t here. And that was before she knew I was going to die anyway. “Fine.”
I grab my camera bag and we leave his room. The house is quiet. The streets outside aren’t as crowded as they were. Christian explains that the cruise ship is getting ready to leave, and with the cruise ship go the visitors. “How did you meet Max?”
“About eight years ago his father got a job at the oil rigs near here, and they moved from Australia. He and Audrey have been dating since she moved in. They’re great.”
I have a feeling Christian is the kind of person who sees no flaws in his friends. Blindly loyal. We walk around to the side of his house. “All your friends are great.”
Except for Kirstin but we won’t go there.
He grins. “They are. What about your friends?”
I shrug, trying to keep my smile in place. I had two good girlfriends when I got sick. But they couldn’t keep up with the visits. They send me an email once in a while, but it feels forced. I have a feeling they’re just checking to make sure I’m still alive, and to relieve their guilt. I wonder briefly if Gabby and I will stay in touch. If she’ll really visit as she said she would. “They’re wonderful.”
He pulls a helmet from the back of a sleek blue and black motorcycle. “Have you been on one before?”
I put the helmet on. “No.”
“Just hold tight.”
That won’t be a problem. Damn, if he doesn’t look sexy. I climb up behind him and press myself to his back. He starts the motorcycle. The machine vibrates under my legs, and makes me feel things I shouldn’t on overly sensitive areas. I take in a deep breath. I could get used to this. All of this. We head slowly down the street, bumping against the cobbled road. All too soon we’re zooming through traffic, headed toward town.
I tighten my arms around him and grin into my helmet. Things are back to normal with us. In this moment, in this time, life is perfect.