Page 6

Kjartan

I beat myself up for messing things up with Beryl most of the week. If my new colleague, Ragnar, noticed anything, he didn’t let it on.

We were making a custom kitchen table. As we cut the wood to size, joined it, and sanded it until it was silken to the touch, I let the evening play over and over again in my head.

My favourite moment had been when Bee had ground himself on my lap. Arousal looked so good on him.

I suppressed a little sigh, then straightened up.

“I need to make a phone call,” I told Ragnar in Suitian. He didn’t look up and just growled to indicate he’d heard me.

My heart hammered in my chest as I left the workshop with my phone clutched in my sweaty hand.

After a few deep breaths, I dialled.

Nobody picked up.

I didn’t just call him once but many times over the course of a couple of hours.

“Hello?” a grumpy voice finally answered my hundredth call.

“Hello, Vindur? It’s me, Kjartan.”

I missed you.

Beryl huffed in disbelief.

“Why are you calling me a million times? You could have texted like a normal person?”

I mumbled something about preferring phone calls that made him laugh.

I wanted to hear your voice.

“You’re lucky I picked up. I usually block unknown numbers.”

“I am,” I agreed with him. His flustered little huff gave me hope.