Bright Midnight, Halle, Karina [romantic story to read .TXT] 📗

eyes meeting mine. I swear our pupils must be magnetized because when he holds me in his stare, I’m powerless to look away.

My heart jumps as he walks forward with his large frame, moving between the tables with ease, and I’m reminded of a time in Capri, climbing to the top of a bunch of smooth, high rocks and balancing for a heady moment, just me and the air and the sea, before diving straight down.

It’s that feeling of the unknown.

The freedom.

Then the fall.

Oh my god. This man is going to break me all over again.

But I can’t run. I want to, more than anything. I can’t run from my past any more than I can run to it. Because my past is coming to me.

“Hi there,” he says to me, voice like cream. That accent is always icing on the cake.

“Hi,” I say, staring up at him. I smile.

He smiles back. Close-lipped and just a bit wicked. It’s almost a relief to see after the confused and brooding way he was last night.

“I was thinking,” I tell him as I get to my feet, pressing my hands down on the table. “That maybe we ought to start over.”

He cocks his head and a lock of his tousled hair falls across his forehead. “Start over?”

“Pretend we are meeting for the first time. Today. Right now.”

He frowns, shoving his hands into the pockets of his deep green rain jacket. “Erase the past.”

I shrug. “Maybe not erase it. Just…forget it, for now.” I rub my lips together, wincing slightly. “Please. I think it will help.”

Please don’t make me explain why. You should know why.

He nods, looking away for a moment before looking back and holding out his hand. “Anders Johansen. I’m your driver today, taking you to the long-forgotten town of Todalen. We are famous for hiking and our potato dumplings.”

I place my hand in his and just like last night, that hot thrill runs from my palm and through the rest of my body. “Shay Lavji. Brooklyn, New York. Famous for our beer and irony.”

“Nice you meet you, Shay.”

“Nice to meet you, Anders,” I tell him. I can’t help but smile at him all and when I do, something in his eyes lights up. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Anytime,” he says, letting go and picking up my backpack, swinging it over his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

I tell him yes and am about to grab my duffel bag when he grabs that too. I thank him as he strides away, and I follow him out of the café. My view of him from behind isn’t too bad—blue jeans and work boots—though I find myself wishing that his rain jacket didn’t cover his ass the way it is. I need a good look at that thing. You know, for comparison’s sake.

Today it’s overcast, with a light wind that jostles the branches of budding trees, but at least it’s not raining. To my surprise, he leads me to a vintage red sportscar.

“Is this yours?” I ask, staring at the gorgeous car.

“It is,” he says proudly, opening the hatch and throwing my bags in. “The VW belongs to my uncle, but this baby is all mine.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“A Datsun. Only the best for these roads. You can’t really fit more than two people in it, so I hope you don’t mind a tight squeeze.” Mind? My stomach gets all frothy thinking about being alone with him in the car for what seems to be a long drive.

He opens the passenger door for me. “After you,” he says.

Even as a teenager, at the heart of all that rebellion, he still had manners.

Stop that, I chide myself. Start over.

“Thank you,” I tell him, getting in.

“So what did you do last night after the bar?” he asks as he brings the car down the road, the wheels bouncing over the cobblestones.

“Stayed in my room,” I tell him, staring out the window and watching all the people going to and fro this afternoon. Normally I would be marveling at it all, the foreignness, the newness, and start wondering what it would be like to live in this city. But Anders beside me, those large hands on the steering wheel, our close proximity, is beyond distracting. Instead of being a real traveler and concentrating on the world around me, my mind keeps swinging back to the world within the car, like a pendulum.

“You didn’t even go back out?” he asks incredulously. “What did you do for dinner?”

I give him a sheepish look. “I ate all the candy your sisters got me.”

He rolls his eyes and smirks. “Well, I’ll tell you what, as soon as we get into Todalen I’ll take you to the one and only restaurant. I hope you like potato dumplings, because that’s all they have.”

“One thing on the menu? How modern.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

I have to admit, my stomach is rumbling at the thought.

“As long as it’s not covered in herring, I’ll be okay,” I tell him. Half-joking, because ew.

“What happened to the adventurous eater who liked to try everything?” he asks, chuckling softly. “Remember that time we went out for sushi and you ate the…what was it, sea urchin?”

I smile at him tightly.

“Oh sorry,” he says, dark brows drawn together. “I forgot. Don’t mention the past.” His knuckles clench the wheel for a moment before relaxing. “Anyway, I guess I should show you the Trondheim cathedral while we’re here.”

He takes me down a narrow street lined with trees and cafes where people are trying to soak up the weak sunshine. Across from the street is a giant, gothic, almost frightening looking cathedral that dwarfs the picnickers relaxing on the expansive lawn below.

“Our most famous medieval church, the Nidaros Cathedral,” he explains as he pulls into a parking space. “Oldest one in Scandinavia, too.”

We get out of the car and walk around, peering up at the copper-roofed spires, now a milky green, feeling the watch of gargoyles