Page 22 of A Copenhagen Snowmance

Chapter Fifteen

“Your ears look cold,” he says, leaning against the shop window.

This seems to have been deemed a foodie day, as having walked through the shopping streets, Jamie has steered them to Conditori La Glace, the generations-old cake shop.

Behind the glass, there’s a range of decadent gateaux, Christmas cakes and cookies.

There are a host of nisser positioned around the cakes, the little Christmas elves making the entire window look very festive.

Not that passers-by can really appreciate it as the queue to get in is long and thick.

Anna had suggested they go to A.C. Perch’s instead for the afternoon tea, but it seems Jamie’s heart is set on hot chocolate, which La Glace will serve him bottomlessly, and A.C.

Perch’s won’t. To convince her, Jamie actually pouts, which makes Anna laugh, seeing the young boy in him.

Then he rubs the top of her one ear between his forefinger and thumb. “They’re freezing, Anna. Where’s your hat?”

“Yeah, I’m not wearing it anymore. At least not here.” She’d stuffed it in her pocket as they got further into the city.

“Why? You’re cold.”

“Why do you think? Everyone will know it’s us. In the pictures.”

“So what?”

She has to think about this, because it technically isn’t a problem; Carl knows she’s here. The damage is done. And it is helping Jamie’s cause, but that doesn’t mean she wants to become the poster girl for the city. The hurt is still there.

“If I wear the hat, then my life suddenly becomes Where’s Holger? You know how social media works.” He looks confused and she explains the reference.

“Oh! You mean Where’s Wally?”

“Huh. OK.” She hasn’t seen the English version before. “But my point still stands.”

“Come on, give the world a little fun.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head, shifting forward as a group of four ahead of them are shown in.

She can smell the coffee inside, tantalising on the cold air.

The light is beginning to fade now. The day is short as they approach the winter equinox, but the lights suspended across the street, boughs of fir, with a big red heart illuminated in the middle, now come into their own.

The move brings them to a new window and an array of more cakes.

“Which one have you got your eye on?” he asks, and she can almost hear him salivating. He might be buff and fit, but Jamie has a sweet tooth. He’s happy to put away his fair share of treats. She likes that.

“Othello cake for me,” she states, looking at the macaroon-based cake, with layers of custard and thin vanilla sponge, topped with chocolate icing, with a marzipan collar.

“Or maybe a Karen Blixen.” The cake with its coffee mousse and mocha truffle with roasted hazelnuts, all on a chocolate sponge base, looks to die for. Now she’s in a dilemma.

He leans in to look closer at the window, too, his body alongside hers. Anna doesn’t move away. In fact, she might lean a fraction closer in. Well, like he said, her ears are cold…

“I think I’m having the Sportskage, simply because “Sports Cake” feels like an oxymoron. Whoever called it that was having a laugh.”

At last, it’s their turn to be seated, and they are led into the vintage room, with its dark wood furniture, green upholstery and pink walls. Anna is sure it’s looked the same since it opened in 1870. Jamie, behind her, places his hand on her shoulder as they steer through the room.

“Hej, Anna,” someone says as they pass a table, and she draws up short.

The couple at the table are Carl’s colleagues.

They’ve been guests in Anna’s house for dinner many times, and Anna realises there’s a whole extra layer of people she hadn’t even thought of, on her list of people she wants to avoid.

“Rasmus, Mette, hej,” she says weakly as the couple gaze up at her, then to Jamie and back to her.

“It’s been a while,” Mette says with a smile, then it fades as she remembers why. Maybe she doesn’t know the ins and outs of what happened, but she knows about the split.

“Ja,” agrees Anna with a flat smile. She suddenly imagines them gossiping between themselves as to why Carl moved out.

It’s the same image she’s played many many times in her head, with various permutations of friend groups, all speculating at first then getting wind of the truth – or Carl’s version of it – and discussing that, too.

The pain in her chest from eighteen months ago is suddenly back.

It’s just the tight cringing pain, though – it isn’t the additional debilitating ache of heartbreak, which came with missing and longing.

She definitely doesn’t long for Carl anymore.

So, this is pure shame and humiliation. Is that progress?

“Hej. Jamie,” she hears him say next to her, and sees him stretch out his hand to Rasmus and Mette, who introduce themselves in return.

Anna sees what he’s doing and leans into him.

Well, it’s more of a slow slump, but the effect is enough for Mette, who is now looking at Jamie with renewed interest.

Right, thinks Anna, let’s do this. She slides her hand into Jamie’s. He gives a light squeeze to confirm they’re “on”.

“It was good to see you,” she says, summoning up a big smile, “God Jul.” Turning, she beams at Jamie. “Shall we sit, skat?” It’s been a long time since she’s called anyone her treasure.

In her head, they’ll now walk away into the back of the café, far away from Rasmus and Mette, but to her dismay, the waitress is standing at a vacant table just on the other side of them, talking distance, in fact. Bugger.

They sit and unpeel themselves from their many layers.

“OK?” Jamie says under the guise of wedging coats onto a spare seat.

“Carl’s colleagues,” she fills him in.

“Excellent,” says Jamie. There is something in his expression, something new. Mischief? He offers his hands to her across the table, palms up. Looking at him, she sees he’s gazing lovingly at her. Right. She places her hands in his and he clasps them, running both his thumbs over her skin.

“All right?” he asks, still doing the gazing thing.

“Sure,” she says. His hands are warm and just that right blend of soft but worn enough to have seen some graft.

“I think they need something to talk about when they report back to Carl.”

It makes Anna gulp.

It makes Jamie grin. It is quite … devastating.

“Trust me?” he clarifies and all she can do is nod.

The waitress comes and takes their order, and as she leaves, Jamie moves his chair around to sit closer to Anna. They have their backs to Rasmus and Mette but are perfectly in their eyeline.

Jamie is back to looking at her and Anna chooses to bask in it. Why not? She lifts her chin to meet his gaze, affording Rasmus and Mette a perfect view of their profiles.

He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, then trails his fingertips back down to her jaw and along to her chin, all the while Anna feeling the heat rise in her skin to his touch and also between her thighs.

She sees his pupils widen. Bloody hell, how does he do that on command?

She’ll have to ask him later, but in the meantime, she focuses on softening her gaze at him.

It isn’t hard. It comes quite naturally, in fact.

Maybe she’s a better actress than she thinks, too.

He tips her chin up even more, his eyes releasing hers and gliding down her face to her lips. Her eyes immediately follow suit to his.

They are good lips, she thinks and not for the first time. Neither too wide nor too thin, plump but not rubbery, just right. And right now they make for a fabulous all-in smile. Nothing measly there.

“Hold on tight,” he whispers to her, which makes heat shoot up through her body.

And then, fingertips at her chin, he settles his lips on hers, and she’s right back to Tivoli again; the scent of his skin wrapping around her own face, the soft notes of cedar, patchouli and leather; the warmth of his breath mingling with hers; the softness of his lips; the teasing of the tip of his tongue as he spreads her lips, and they begin a light but short dance.

He pulls away far too soon, but it’s enough to leave her feeling quite heady and she has to tear her eyes away from his mouth.

“Anna?” he asks, under his breath, as he gives her hair a light stroke.

“Ooof” is all she can manage at first, then blushes for being such a doofus. She remembers they’re on show and leans her head onto his shoulder.

“Too much?” he asks, wary. Not enough, she thinks. “I decided there’s probably some café etiquette to follow,” he says into her hair, before giving the top of her head an additional kiss.

He probably has a point. If that had gone much further, she might have crawled into his lap and that would never do. She would hate to be blacklisted from La Glace, even if she doesn’t live here anymore. That would make her soul sad.

Not living here brings her thoughts back to that thing he said, about her being homesick.

She doesn’t think that can be true. She’s engaging with London life.

OK, so making new friends is tricky when you work by yourself, but that’s more loneliness than homesickness.

No, she spends a lot of her week seeking out new spots in London to write about; sights, venues and places to eat.

She has places who invite her to come now.

She’s engaged with them. She doesn’t think she was pining for Copenhagen.

What would make him say that? So, maybe her shopping included a regular stop in at ScandiKitchen, the Scandinavian grocer, but that’s just including food she’s used to in her diet.

And perhaps her apartment is decorated with Scandi things, things she’d scoured Etsy and second-hand stores for, but that’s simply about taste and it’s completely normal for hers to have been shaped by her years living in Denmark.

She has plenty of other souvenirs from her travels about the apartment, perhaps just not as prominently on display.

And the Danish news apps she has on her phone are just there to keep her informed if anything bad happens in the city, so she can check her friends are OK.

Everyone does that, she’s sure. Jamie most likely has a Scottish news app or maybe even the shipping forecast on his phone for exactly the same reason.

She’ll ask him at some point, but for now she’s quite sure he’s off the point with that observation.

Their drinks and cakes arrive, and Jamie lets out a deep groan of pleasure.

That, in and of itself, does things to her.

It’s such an intimate sound, and she knows exactly what he’ll sound like in bed.

His serving of Sports Cake is a big slice of white decadence, with the whipped cream covering layers of crushed nougat and caramel choux buns to garnish.

In stark contrast, Anna switched at the last second to a Lucky You cake.

It’s a base of pumpkin meringue, mascarpone, caramelised and salted pumpkin seeds with a chocolate mousse on top, filled with raspberries, covered with chocolate ganache, decorated with more pumpkin seeds, which, frankly she’d like to plant her face in, it looks so good.

Instead, and keen to take some lead in their ruse for Rasmus and Mette, she scoops a forkful and feeds it to Jamie.

He gets no say in this, but he’s invested in the game – or simply the cake – so doesn’t protest.

“’S’amazing,” he groans again, savouring his mouthful. “You’re not hoping for me to share mine, are you?”

Anna pouts. “Not even for our audience?”

Jamie pouts right back and they both laugh.

“I could do the When Harry Met Sally reaction,” she suggests.

Jamie’s eyes bug a little at that, which makes her laugh more.

“Tempting to watch, but maybe too much,” he replies, but he does feed her some. A smaller morsel than she fed him, and not as willingly. It’s the first time he’s been anything less than generous, and Anna feels she’s learned something about Jamie and his catnip.

The hot chocolate clearly meets his approval, too, and Anna wonders whether La Glace have really thought carefully about their free refills policy.

He finishes his cupful quickly and Anna’s delighted to see the chocolate moustache it’s left.

Emboldened, she reaches a hand to his face, cups his jaw and then wipes the chocolate away with her thumb.

Jamie’s eyes glaze as she does so, and then in a move that seems to come from nowhere, she draws her hand back and gives the tip of her thumb a slow suck.

She gives him a loud, long, “Mmmm,” for good measure.

Jamie is still gazing at her, his mouth fractionally parted. She does believe she’s left him speechless.

“Vi ses, you two,” says a voice from behind them. Rasmus and Mette are leaving, and Anna watches as Mette gives Jamie a proper check-over, garnering as many facts as she can to make her report. Well, check away, Mette, love. Fill your boots.

“Hej igen,” says Anna, with the biggest smile she can fit on her face, “og God Jul.”

The couple depart and Anna feels both she and Jamie relax, though neither of them moves away.

In fact, they stay close to each other for the rest of the cake and the four cups of hot chocolate Jamie manages through the next cosy hour, where they chat amiably about all and nothing, looking to all and sundry like a firmly established couple.