Page 36 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
Chapter Twenty-Five
Despite not being able to feel her teeth – a state that is, she must admit, due more to the number of shots she’s had than the cold – Anna still has the sense to walk her bike home rather than cycle.
Katrine shares the same route for half of the way, so they continue their slurring until they finish with a huge hug and go their respective ways.
Katrine’s parting shot is to “Go get him!” and it’s all Anna thinks about as she plods homewards.
The muscle-memory is back as she locks her bike in the yard, but it doesn’t extend to getting the key in the lock, which takes a few goes. Fair enough, she thinks, it’s dark. Not her fault.
While it is indeed dark, it’s only just gone seven, yet her boozy brain tells her she needs to be quiet because Jamie might be asleep.
She might even whisper it to herself out loud, but it seems sound advice and so she does her best to tiptoe around the hallway.
Removing her chunky boots brings spectacular failure in this.
“Everything OK out there?” comes a voice from the living room. That faint glow of light isn’t just to ward off burglars, then.
“’S’fine!” she loudly whispers, from the floor, confused now as to whether she should be quiet or not. “’S’fine, ’s’fine, ’s’fffff…” she tails off, having difficulty getting her crossbody bag off herself from this angle.
“Need any help?” he asks. His voice is slightly singsong. Not mocking, per se, just knowing.
“All good,” she replies, finally dislodging the bag and flinging it in the corner, vaguely near her boot.
The one she did get off before keeling over.
Flipping onto her back, she unbuttons her coat and slides her arms out of the sleeves, then raising one foot in the air, unzips the remaining boot and sends it to join its mate.
Much safer from this position. She takes a moment to stare at the ceiling and work out the next bit.
Crawl up the stairs to her bed, or into the living room to say hello?
She remembers her mission to explore Jamie’s foreign lands, though she’s not sure crawling will be the most alluring approach.
It takes her a moment to control her eyes, but when she does, she focuses on the Poul Henningsen pendant lamp, to steady her breathing and thinking.
She should probably try her best to disguise her tipsiness.
It’s possible she might even have surpassed tipsy.
Not all men find that attractive. But they’d drunk together the night of The Kissssssss – she takes a few moments to veer off at a tangent in her thinking, to replay the kiss, a smile bursting across her face – so he can’t be too against it, can he?
She thinks about what Katrine had said about having some fun and going to get him.
Katrine’s editing advice has always seen her safe before, why would that not also apply to life advice?
“What are you muttering out there?” Jamie asks, and she realises she’s been thinking out loud again. That’s probably not a good idea.
Anna turns onto her front, then gets up on her hands and knees.
With the help of the banister she’s up onto her feet – yay!
– where she gives her hair a quick smooth down, only to find she still has her hat on.
She drops it onto the coat and re-smooths her hair, giving herself a quick glance in the hallway mirror.
She’s looking … pink. That’s all she’s got.
Pink. That’ll do. And she heads into the living room to go get him and venture into his foreign lands.
Turning into the room, Anna is drawn up short by what she’s met with. Any muttering she’s been doing lodges in her mouth as she stands stunned. Jamie stands at the far end of the room, with an apprehensive smile.
“I hope this is OK? I took a bit of a chance you’d be fine with it.”
Wide-eyed, Anna can only manage a slow mute nod.
The entire room is bedecked with Christmas ornaments.
Baubles, nisser of all sizes, embroidered wall hangings, hanging paper stars, woven paper hearts, colourful card cones filled with wrapped sweets, little bells, and in the deep windowsill a winter scene of snow-dusted model houses on a cotton-wool “snow” ground.
Perhaps they’re not quite in the same order as her mormor had them, but they’re all Vivi’s decorations, all the things Anna remembers from her childhood Christmases.
Next to Jamie, and equally tall, stands a wooden eco tree, covered with baubles of all colours, strings of Danish flags and live candles in golden holders, which he must have lit just as she stumbled in.
Crowning it is a gold star, the sight of which makes her eyes sting, as she and her morfar had made it together with golden craft wire.
“When…” she begins, but of course he’s been working on this all afternoon. “Why…” she restarts.
“I saw the boxes in the basement when we were getting the bike out and I thought…” He stumbles. “Well, I thought you might enjoy seeing the things again. I guess it’s been a while.”
Last Christmas, in London, an onlooker would not have been able to tell it was December in her apartment.
There was little difference from summer, except the windows were closed and the heating was on.
Now, her eyes keep sweeping over the decorations, drinking them in, remembering them like old friends, and her fingers itch to touch them or pick them up.
“Thank you,” she says, but the words are still sticking in her throat, so instead she takes the few steps over to him and throws her arms around his neck to hug him.
“Thank you,” she says again, clear this time.
“It’s wondrous.” That feels like the right word as, of course, it’s beautiful, but it’s not just what it looks like but also everything invested in the items, the meanings and the memories.
She feels his arms wrap around her back, warm and safe, and he says into her hair. “You’re welcome. It was nothing.”
But it was far more than nothing, more than she’d expected and far more than she’d realised she needed.
“And besides,” he says, “at thirty-five I felt I should own a tree.”
“A man of amenities,” she confirms into his chest.
Holding on tight to him for some moments, she revels in the closeness, then looks up into his face. With her slurry eyes she savours the depth of his and the prominence of the brows above them. She follows the smooth line of his nose to his lips.
She leans in to place a kiss on them.
Neither of them let go.
It’s a shy kiss only for a moment, but then Anna lets herself go, that beat in her head of “go get him” urging her on.
She slides her hands up to cup his jaw and leans further into the kiss and then backs him up to the wall behind him.
He lets out a low growl as her hips meet his and she presses further, and one of his hands slides up into her hair at her nape, in turn sending a shudder down her spine.
She feels life in parts of her that have been dormant for over a year.
It makes her tongue glide across his lower lip and then back in to dance with his, in time with each other but taking turns to hold the control.
It’s heady and intoxicating and Anna wants more.
She drags one hand away from his face, brushing her fingertips down his side where she slides them under the hem of his Henley.
The feel of his skin against her palm elicits a small moan from her and escalates her desire.
She wants her hands all over him, to feel the differences in his skin in ALL the places; the smooth, the rough, the silky, the strained.
She wants to know it all. And she wants to know it now.
Her lips kiss their way down to his neck, where she basks in the scent of his skin below his ear. Cedarwood and leather and lovely. It fills her nose and entices her to linger longer, with more kisses travelling along to his collarbone.
She doesn’t really notice at first that he’s stilled.
That his hands have released her, until they settle again on her upper arms and gently press her to make some space between them.
Has he been distracted? She tries to restart things by pressing her hips back into his, because she can feel he’s into this, too.
That’s not an advent candle in his pocket, she’s sure of it.
But the rest of him is still, save for his thumbs rubbing the top of her arms.
“Anna?” he says carefully.
It’s not really conversation she’s looking for, to be honest, so she brings her lips up again to his. He accepts the kisses, but there’s something missing. Response. She swipes her tongue against his lips, hoping he’ll let her in, but instead he presses her further away.
“Anna.” He’s firmer this time.
Her eyes flick to his, and it takes her a second to focus. Her lust is clearly blinding. His expression is an odd mix; his eyes dark, his lips red with use but his smile is gentle and considered.
He steps aside, to uncage himself from her and the wall, though he doesn’t let go of her, for which she is thankful. She doesn’t really understand what’s going on, other than her horniness is being stymied.
“What?” she asks.
He closes his eyes for a beat and takes a deep breath, as if resetting himself. “This. This…”
Yes, she feels it too – the epicness. She takes a step forward again, to show him. His mouth pulls up to one side and she thinks he’s on board. Yasss!
“Stay,” he says, like she’s a puppy, or an unruly toddler. “I mean, wait.”
She does so, but is glad for his hands on her arms, as she might just sway. She can’t keep her eyes off his lips. His delicious, clever, kissable lips. Why are they wasting time?
“Anna,” he says, catching her attention again. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Mmmm,” she agrees, thinking of the last shots she and Katrine had had, drinking arms entwined across the table, mirroring everyone else in the room, and singing heartily. “Just a bit.”
“Just a bit,” he agrees.
She leans in a little and whispers, “Might have been a bit more than a bit.”
“I think you’re right.”
She smiles at him, glad they’re so in tune. That they agree with each other, on so many things. Maybe. But definitely this. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it? That if you want to get close to someone you agree about things…
“Anna? Stay with me. Your eyes are going in opposite directions.”
“They do that,” she says. “’S’fine.” She gives him her best reassuring smile. “I can shut them, if it bothers you. They don’t have to take part.”
She hears him chuckle, then feels the warmth of his breath at her ear as he whispers, “When we do this, I want your eyes open and on me. I want to see your pupils blown wide as you shout my name.”
Anna can’t quite get all the words in the right order in her brain to make sense of them – her attention is mostly on the sensation by her ear – but she feels deeper heat in her knickers.
He pulls back and she experiences a base need to stand on her tiptoes to get her ear back to his mouth.
“Here’s the plan, Lundholm. I’m going to take you to bed.”
Oh yes, back on track! Anna reaches out and places her hand on his crotch. Nope. Not a candle. She gives him a slow stroke and delights in the combination of the deep rumble from his throat and the grimace that shoots across his face.
“Behave.” He moves himself from her touch. “I’m going to take you up to bed, your bed, and I’m going to tuck you in, and you’ll sleep this off.”
The cogs of her brain can probably be heard turning in Malmo, so slow and churning are they, and along with them, the crunch of her smile juddering as it drops.
“You don’t want to?”
“Not a matter of want, Anna.” He drops his glance to his waistband and where her empty hand still hangs between them, because she’s forgotten about it – the hand, that is. “A matter of good decisions, and snaps isn’t really a good decision-maker.”
“I don’t think I had much,” she says, shaking her head vehemently. “Katrine had most of it.”
“You didn’t match her?” he asks.
“I don’t think so?” Every shot. All the way.
“Maybe a bit more than a bit, though?”
She scrunches her nose. That sounds familiar. Her brain circles back to the right now, where it dawns on her that he’s rejecting her. Her stomach drops and she feels shame beginning to rise in her face.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. This isn’t me saying ‘no’. Just ‘no for now’. You’re drunk—”
“Tipsy,” she corrects.
He blows out a Pffft, but lets it slide. “You’re wearing Eau de Aquavit, my friend. And I prefer my partners to know what’s going on.”
“I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on.” Her smile feels filthy, but that’s because the images sprinting across her mind are exactly that.
“Aye.” He suddenly sweeps her up in his arms. “Sure you do. And if that’s the case then you’ll be able to describe it to me in tantalising detail tomorrow. And then we can see where we go from there.”
He’s already got her to the first step, having circumnavigated the discarded coat and hat in the middle of the hall floor.
She leans into his chest, which is warm and toasty and smells all lovely and him-y.
“Hmm,” she sighs into his top. “Can I keep this?” she asks, giving the fabric a tug.
“Sure,” he says, humouring her.
By magic, it seems to Anna, they’re in her room. He must have flown up the stairs, like the beautiful god that he is, and he’s gently tipping her into her bed.
She holds fast to the Henley, and chuckling, he slides out of it, leaving her snuggling into it like a blankie. She opens her eyes and sees his bare chest.
“Get in toooo.” She is on the brink of begging, her pride a distant speck on the horizon.
“Not tonight, skat.” He pulls the duvet over her.
“I wanted to know your foreign lands,” she mumbles then, and hears him ask, “You what?”, but sleep overtakes her and she’s out cold before she can explain her exploratory plans.