Page 20 of The Unexpected Lineup (Lost in Translation #2)

IF I SNEEZE, ALL BETS ARE OFF

HAISLEY

S ince we looked after Tilly last week, life has been a blur of deadlines and mental to-do lists.

Work’s been relentless, and when I haven’t been busy with my day job, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around all the changes happening at Maravilla.

Between the two, there hasn’t been much room or energy left for anything else. Including Rasmus.

Still, he’s managed to stay present in the small ways that matter.

He texts me multiple times every day without fail, sometimes a quick how are you feeling today , sometimes a funny meme or an eye-roll-worthy dad joke.

I’ve been able to get to know him better, one laugh at a time. And the more I learn, the more I like.

Now I’m waiting for him to pick me up from the brownstone. The plan for the long weekend is simple: just the two of us, tucked away at his cabin. All I’ve been told is to pack warm, comfy clothes and a pair of skates.

When Rasmus pulls up to my place, I whistle appreciating his car. It’s a sleek, black Range Rover that’s good for both cruising through Brooklyn and powering through snow-covered backroads.

Wearing a heavy-knit olive green sweater matching his parka, a pair of nicely fitting jeans, and a gray beanie covering most of his hair, Rasmus steps out and smiles.

“Hey,” he says, making his way up the steps. His brown eyes flick over my overnight bag before meeting mine. “That everything?”

I point at my skates. “And those.”

He takes them and my bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Walking to the passenger side of his car, he opens the door. “In, you go.”

I slide into the seat, the interior as nice as the exterior.

Heated seats and enough space to move will make the drive more comfortable.

As Rasmus shuts the door and rounds the front of the car, I follow his every movement.

A strange warmth spreads through my chest, but I push it deep back where it came from.

Oh boy, he still looks as attractive as he did that first night. Well, actually, even more so now that I can see him fully. And that damn beard. Why does a trimmed, well-kept beard make any man hotter? So unfair.

By the time he gets in after tossing my stuff to the backseat, I’m trying to look anywhere but at him. I don’t want to have him catch me staring. That would be awkward.

Still, I can’t ignore how good he smells.

His signature scent is all warm and inviting.

It wraps around me whenever he’s near, making it impossible to ignore his presence.

And now I’m stuck in a confined space with him for hours.

There’s no escape from the way my pulse falters every time he moves even slightly closer.

Rasmus reaches behind my seat and pulls out a tote bag overflowing with snacks. “This will hopefully keep you happy during the ride.”

I peek inside, and my jaw nearly drops. He’s thought every single detail through, clearly taking notes from my texts. Because nearly all of my favorites are right there.

There are sour gummy bears and dark chocolate-covered almonds from my favorite store, cheddar popcorn, a couple of protein bars, PB I added timeless alternative, indie rock songs, and your favorites from fifteen to twenty years ago. I call it The Compromise Playlist . Look it up on my Spotify.”

I grab his phone and see it’s locked. “What’s your passcode?”

Rasmus hesitates and mumbles. “1701.”

I spot the green icon and find the playlist at the top. Pressing shuffle, the opening notes of one of my favorite early 2000s pop songs spill through the speakers, and I burst out laughing. “Rasmus?— ”

“Compromises,” he says, completely unbothered. “I added one of your favorites to every one of mine. That’s fair, right?”

I can’t believe this man. “It’s more than fair. I love it. I can see plenty of ABBA, too.”

“There’s always time to listen to the greatest band in Swedish history.”

“Are you sure they aren’t the greatest in the world?” I tease him about his not-so-secret love for the group.

“I can’t pick between them and other incredible bands including Fleetwood Mac, The Cranberries, The Cure, and Arctic Monkeys. Don’t make me choose.”

I laugh and scroll through the rest of the playlist.

We’re about halfway through our five-hour drive when I need a restroom break. I’m not even halfway through this pregnancy, and my bladder has already shrunk to half of its size. At least it feels that way.

“I really need to pee,” I groan.

“The next exit has a gas station,” Rasmus says, his voice calm. He’s been driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. “Think you can hold it in for five more minutes?”

“Barely,” I admit, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “If I sneeze, all bets are off.”

His mouth twitches, holding back a smile. “No sneezing, then. Got it. ”

The highway stretches out in front of us, the winter landscape blurring past the window. The more we travel up north, the more snow we see. The ride itself has been quiet and uneventful until Rasmus pulls into the rest stop, and my bladder decides to kick into overdrive.

The second he parks, I fumble with the seatbelt, already halfway out the door before he has even turned off the engine.

“Should I be timing you?” he calls after me, his amusement unmistakable. I don’t even dignify that with a response.

When I return to the car five minutes later, Rasmus is leaning against the driver’s side door, a bottle of water in one hand and a gas station hot dog in the other.

I stop, holding a hand over my nose. “Tell me you’re not bringing that smelly thing to the car.”

He shrugs and takes a big bite. Huffing, I cross my arms. “C’mon, you can’t tease the woman who’s carrying your kid with something that nasty. That’s unfair and mean.”

“Who said we need to play fair?” he says with a wink and tosses the empty hot dog wrapper into the trash.

We get back in the car, and I shift in my seat, trying to find a position that doesn’t make any part of me hurt.

“Everything okay?” he asks as he starts driving.

“Yeah, I’m learning to accept the changes in my body. It’s wild how fast everything started hurting and feeling uncomfortable.”

He winces. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault that evolution made women carry the babies.” That makes him chuckle. “Now that we’re stuck together for another two and half hours, we might as well make the most of it.”

“That sounds like a weirdly worded threat.”

“Not a threat. I see it more as an opportunity for forced bonding,” I say with a laugh.

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

I drum my fingers against the center console, trying to think of what I want to know. There’s so much I don’t know about him, even if we’ve talked quite a bit lately. But I definitely don’t know enough about his childhood.

“What was your favorite color as a kid?” I finally ask.

He frowns, not expecting me to ask something so basic. “Um, blue, I think?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“I didn’t care about colors that much, I guess. But I had this blue hockey stick when I was little, and I remember thinking it was the coolest thing in the world.” He adjusts his grip on the wheel. “So my answer is blue.”

“Mine was purple. Still is.”

“Purple,” he repeats. “That tracks, even if I first thought it would be red.”

The heat rises up my neck when I realize he’s referencing what I was wearing the night we met. I shift to face him. “Okay, childhood pets. Did you happen to have any?”

“My grandparents had a dog. His name was Hans. I always thought it was a weird name for a dog. ”

I laugh. “Hans? That’s so formal.”

“Right? He was a scruffy little mutt, but my grandpa insisted on calling him Hans after his friend who died young.”

“That’s kind of sweet, though.”

Rasmus exhales, a hint of wistfulness flashing in his expression. “Yeah. He was a good dog.”

“I had a dog, too. Biscuits.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Biscuits?”

“Yeah. He was a golden retriever, and I named him when I was three. I was obsessed with biscuits and gravy at the time.”

He chuckles at that. “That also tracks.”

I poke him playfully. His lips twitch, holding back another laugh. There’s something about the shared moment between us that pulls me in, and I admire him. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that appreciates this easy back-and-forth we have going on.

“What about books?” I ask. “Were you a reader, or did you rather spend all your time on the ice?”

“Yeah, I enjoyed reading.”

My smile grows a little. “Same. People are often surprised when someone athletic or outgoing says that, as if the two can’t exist together. But there’s something nice about disappearing into a story, you know?” I glance at him. “Especially when real life feels a little too hectic.”

Tapping absently against the steering wheel, he shares, “We didn’t have a lot growing up, but I could get books from the library for free. I used to spend most of my time reading outside school and hockey practices. ”

Something about his truth makes my chest ache. I grew up the total opposite, owning more books than I could ever read.

“Did you have a favorite?”

He’s quiet, as if he’s trying to find the memory from some long-forgotten corner of his mind. “That’s easy. The Little Prince. ”

I blink once. Twice. Three times. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He glances at me, a little defensive. “Why?”

“I’m pleasantly surprised by your answer as I loved that book growing up, too.”

“What was your number one favorite then?” he asks, his expression softening.

The answer is as clear as day. “ Matilda .”

“Figures,” he comments teasingly. “Purple, biscuits with gravy, and Matilda. All three things I can see you loving with your full heart.”

I shake my head, trying to suppress my smile. “What about childhood memories? What’s your favorite one?”

Rasmus turns quiet, his fingers tightening around the wheel. I wonder if I should’ve kept the conversation light. But then he exhales, a reminiscing tone in his voice when he speaks.

“The first time I skated. I was five. My grandparents took me to this outdoor rink in Uppsala. It was winter, and it was freezing. I didn’t have proper skates, only these old, secondhand ones that didn’t fit right.

But the moment I stepped on that ice…” He gets lost in the memory, a small smile playing on his lips.

“It was like nothing else mattered. Like I was meant to be there. I didn’t care that those skates hurt or that I fell five times that day. I still loved it with my full heart. ”

I watch him, the quiet awe in his voice making my eyes water.

“That was the moment,” he whispers. “The moment I knew.”

“That you loved being on ice?” I ask softly.

“Yeah. My entire life and future changed that day.”

I don’t say anything, letting his words settle between us.

“Tell me about your favorite memory growing up,” he asks after a while.

“Probably my summer holidays in Spain.”

“With your mother’s side of the family?”

“Yeah.” I smile at the memories that flood my mind. Hot, endless days in the sun, the scent of citrus in the garden, saltwater in my hair, my abuela’s voice calling me and my cousins in for dinner every evening.

“I’d spend a month with them every summer.

My abuela often took me to the market in the mornings, letting me use my Spanish with the locals, discussing ordinary things such as the weather and dinner plans.

I played soccer with the neighborhood kids until I was all sweaty and gross before taking a dip in the water.

Their summer house is right by the Mediterranean Sea, so it was easy.

I remember thinking those days felt endless and how summer would last forever…

” I trail off, getting emotional all of a sudden.

Rasmus notices and sets his free hand on mine. “Sounds nice,” he says reassuringly.

“It really was.”

We fall into silence. We’re lost in our pasts, which are made up of these tiny fragments in time.

We come from such different worlds and childhoods, but somehow, sitting in this car with him, trading memories in the middle of the state of New York, it doesn’t feel so impossible to see us finding the middle ground.