Page 49

The hot spring is tucked behind a bluff of dark stone, steam curling into the sky like the earth itself is exhaling. The water’s pale blue and almost too warm, and the air smells like minerals and clean cold.

Kat strips down to her bathing suit and cannonballs in like it’s a hotel pool.

We’ve been in Iceland for a week now. Much as I predicted, we couldn’t visit during the All-Star break, not with Ragnar in goal, but he surprised me with tickets in December.

When I asked if he was worried, planning so far ahead, we’d been together for a month—maybe—at that point, he looked at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.

The season was a triumph. The boys brought home Lord Stanley’s Cup in June.

Every news outlet wanted a peace of Ragnar ólaffson.

The comeback kid. The man who left the ice on a stretcher one season, and took his team to the end of the playoffs the next.

I thought he’d want to stick around, celebrate, but he didn’t.

“I would rather celebrate with my family. With you.” Excuse me while I melt just remembering it.

Ragnar groans. “She’s never quiet.”

I grin. “She’s perfect.”

He wraps an arm around me as we slip into the water; the heat rising like tendrils of magic. “She’s obsessed with you.”

“Thank god. Can you imagine if it wasn’t mutual? Embarrassing.”

Kat floats by on her back, humming a song I don’t recognize.

“You know she made Amma re-watch all your photo reels twice last night?” he murmurs in my ear. “She said you’re going to be famous.”

“Clearly she’s a genius.”

We find a quiet corner in the shallows where the stone curves like a little bench. Ragnar pulls me onto his lap, arms circling my waist, and for once Kat is just far enough away not to interrupt.

“Have I told you how good you look in Iceland?” he murmurs.

I tilt my head back. “Only twice today.”

“Then I’m overdue.”

He kisses the curve of my shoulder, slow and warm.

Just as I lean in to kiss him back there’s a splash and a whoop of delight.

“Do we want súkkulaei after this or ice cream?” Kat calls out. “I’m fine with either.”

Ragnar groans into my skin. “Cockblocker.”

“She’s twelve,” I whisper, laughing.

“I’m almost thirteen!” Kat calls back and I bite my lip to hide my laugh.

“She’s effective.” My grumpy Viking presses a kiss to the side of my throat.

We soak for a while longer, just the three of us, the world quiet except for Kat’s occasional splashes, the low rustle of wind through stone, the waves crashing to shore at Langisandur.

Eventually, Ragnar shifts beside me, water sloshing gently. “By the way—Robbie finally made it official.”

I blink. “Official what?”

“Retired.”

I pause. “Seriously?”

He nods. “Vic said he won’t do a press tour, but it’s done. Full send-off at the local rink, nothing public. But he’s happy. Went public too.”

“With Vera?”

He nods and I smile, “That’s good.”

“He deserves to be happy.”

“So do you.”

He presses a kiss to my temple. “I already am, Saet stelpa mín .”

I asked Kat about that phrase the first chance I got. She made such a disgusted face I thought I’d scarred her for life. I hadn’t.

Pretty girl. My pretty girl.

Amma was the one who told me it’s almost exclusively reserved for lovers. Partners.

Back at Amma’s house, I towel my hair dry and collapse onto the couch with my phone. I need to check my email, send my parents a message, respond to Quinn and Tristan’s not-so-subtle questions about diamond rings.

And there it is.

A new message, subject line:

I Think We Might Be Family

My breath catches as Ragnar walks in, holding two mugs of cocoa. He pauses the second he sees my face.

“Big news?”

I hold up my phone. “You could say that.”

He sets the mugs down carefully, then sits beside me, his arm falling along the back of the couch. I lean into his side.

“You want to open it?”

I nod. My fingers are cold or something, that must be why my touch screen barely responds. Even though I’m warm all the way through.

He drops his arm to my shoulder, squeezing me closer.

He’s been nothing but supportive on this journey to find my family.

My parents have been too, but the subject is still rather sensitive.

I still second-guess what I can or should say.

Ragnar’s the one who came home with the DNA test. He helped me with the sample, cupping my chin in his palm as he swabbed my cheek before pressing a kiss to my mouth. We put it in his mailbox together.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

And I am. Because no matter what it says—I won’t be facing it alone.

I open the email. My hands don’t shake this time.

She’s kind. Her message is thoughtful, warm, cautious—like mine was when I sent it.

Her name is Maris. She lives on the West Coast. She says she’s always known about me, but never knew what to ask.

She’s always wondered if someone else was out there with her nose, her chin, her story.

She’d love to talk—no pressure—if I’m up for it.

I sit with that for a minute, rereading it while Ragnar strokes his thumb along the back of my hand.

“I want to tell my mom,” I say, and he kisses my temple.

“Then you should.”

I chicken out of a phone call and send a text instead.

Sadie:

Got an email about a potential match. A sister. She seems kind. I think I’m going to set up a call.

I hit send before I can second-guess.

The reply comes fast.

Mom:

That’s wonderful, sweetheart. We’re so happy for you. Tell us everything when you’re ready. We love you.

A second message follows:

Dad:

She’s lucky to find you. Just like we were.

Tears blur the screen. Ragnar’s arm tightens around me. I don’t need to say anything. He knows.

I set my phone down. Lean my head against his shoulder. Howl lets out a sleepy huff from the rug, as if to say, finally. Ragnar spent weeks figuring out how to get the pup here to meet Kat. Now that Howl is in Iceland, I can’t help but wonder if Rags knows he’s staying here.

Outside, there’s still snow on the tops of the mountains. The big ones bracketing Akranes, ancient and endless.

Inside, I am warm. I am happy.

I am home.