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

to take a swim, to drown in her. And she doesn’t even know it.

I swallow and attempt to eat the rest of my food. Moments ago it looked so appetizing, but now my body is hungry for something else. My chest lights up like a flare in the darkness. There’s no romantic way to describe my erection, which is pressing against my jeans and thankfully hidden by the table.

When we’re done with our meal and Shay is rubbing her stomach in an exaggerated way, I quickly settle up the bill with Hilde and we’re back on our way.

“Todalen is such a small town that most Norwegians don’t even know where it is,” I explain to Shay as she takes in the surroundings while seeming to slip into a food coma. “What it has going for it though is an unbelievable location, right at the end of the Vinjefjorden. Back in the old days you could take a steamship all the way up the fjord to Kristiansand and the sea, though now the town is pretty much a dead-end, save for hikers wanting to head into the surrounding mountain trails or the famous Trollheimen Park. We have a furniture factory that serves as the key employer, a primary school that keeps having the threat of being shut down, a church, the restaurant-slash-lodge that you were just in, and a general store. We don’t even have a bar, but that doesn’t matter much since everyone finds reasons to party. There are plenty of farms in this valley and not many neighbors to piss off with excessive noise. And believe me, we can get rowdy.”

A knowing smile tugs at her lips. She remembers. “You sound like you could write tourist brochures for this place.”

“If I ever need a third job, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The farm is located on the south side of the fjord, past a smattering of houses that line the shore. Shay stares out the window, oohing and ahhing over the things I take for granted every day: flower-filled window boxes, houses painted marigold and cherry, fragile attic windows tucked away under ornately carved archways. The houses then give way to forests with mossy floors, streams of gold light coming through the tops of the trees. For once I feel my surroundings, just by seeing it through her eyes. It seems like a land Tolkien would have dreamt up.

I also feel this strange surge of pride running through me, like I’d just slammed back a shot of it. I guess this is the first time I’ve shown my home to anyone, let alone anyone whose opinion I care about.

“Oh wow,” Shay says as we pass by a farm that slopes to the sea, tiny red huts with moss-covered roofs. I slow down so she can roll down the window and take a picture with the mountains reflecting on the fjord and cows at the water’s edge, even though I know she’ll have plenty of opportunity later to walk down this road and take a million photos to her heart’s content. I can’t wait to give her one of my cameras and see her really come alive with it.

“And here she is,” I tell her, parking the car alongside the fence. “Home.”

The farm is at the very end of the road, the house a giant two-story plus attic, painted white for as long as I can remember, with rust-red trim and an overgrown roof. If the whole mowing the roofs thing were true, our house could use a trim.

To one side of the house is the lawn sweeping to a small beach, bands of aqua and turquoise in the shallows before the sea floor drops off into murky dark depths. To the other side, the mountains rise up like soldiers on guard. When I was a kid, that’s what I always likened them to, like the earth was watching over me. Though I have to say that when times got tough, it wasn’t hard to imagine them as menacing giants, waiting to crush me in my sleep.

Finally, beyond the house are the barns where we keep the dairy cows and the sheep, not that there’s a lot of them. That’s primarily our source of income, farm-wise. There are a lot of sheep and dairy farms in the valley, but I guess because my family has had this farm for over a century, we’re still able to have some influence on the community. It doesn’t pay all the bills—hence my fishing boat—but for now we’re getting by.

“I can’t believe you live here,” Shay says, taking it all in as she steps out of the car. “This is like…something from make-believe. I expect a troll to pop up behind those rocks at any second.”

“Hey,” I say sternly, trying not to smile, “don’t say anything ill about the trolls. They can hear you.”

She sticks her tongue out at me playfully and laughs.

I’d forgotten what a gorgeous sound that was. It ruptures something hard and black and dark inside me.

“There you are!” Astrid says, running out of the house. Lise is behind her, throwing a scarf around her shoulders and sipping on a mug. “We thought you’d never come back.”

I jerk my head at Shay. “I took her to Hilde’s for early dinner.”

Astrid raises her brows, incredulous. “Hilde’s?” She shoots Shay an apologetic look. “How romantic, huh? He takes you to dinner at four with all the old farts. What did you have to drink? Coffee or water?” She giggles and comes over to Shay, pulling her into a quick hug. “Glad you have you here.”

“All right, Astrid,” I tell her, making a shooing gesture with my hands. “Go run along now.”

“I don’t think so,” she says, coming over to smack me on the arm. I can smell beer on her. She and Lise have probably cracked open a few bottles already. “She needs a tour. And not the Anders tour which is just grunting at objects and kicking stuff over.” I frown at her,