Three Swedish Mountain Men: Chapter 10

The next day, Cole pulls into a small parking lot behind a garage. The roads down to Kiruna, where my Airbnb is, still aren’t clear yet, but he’s driven us down to a local Sami settlement, towing my poor beat-up car behind him.

I peer out of the window. “Are you sure I won’t be able to find someplace to stay here?”

“We don’t like tourists,” Cole grunts. “Don’t think anyone will have put their room to rent.”

“You’re stuck with us a bit longer, Tink,” Eli says, patting my knee. “Don’t worry. The roads to town should be cleared in a couple days.” His hand lingers a moment, heavy on my thigh, and I feel my stomach squeeze. I study him out of the corner of my eye, tracing his square jaw and unruly hair. I’m a bit taken aback by the strength of my crush on him. I don’t think I’ve ever connected with someone so quickly. We spent all of yesterday evening, and half the night, huddled together in my little bedroom, playing card games, drinking, and talking. And kissing. Just a bit. He only left after Cole barged in, with a wink and a slow, lingering brush of lips.

His green eyes catch mine, sparkling, and for a few seconds, I can’t look away.

Riven twists around in the front seat. “Daisy?”

I lean forward. “Yep!”

He holds up a shopping list. “When we do a supplies run like this in storm season, we always stock up on enough supplies to last at least a month, just in case we get stuck.”

My eyes widen.

“It’s incredibly unlikely to happen,” he assures me. “But better safe than sorry. Think forward. Is there anything you’ll need in the next month or so?”

“No. I don’t need anything special, I’ll just eat whatever you guys have.”

“Not just food. Toiletries, or anything from the pharmacy?”

“No. I’m good.”

Riven’s dark eyes don’t leave mine. “Are you sure?” He presses. “You’re good for over a month, if it comes to it?”

“Um. Yes?” I don’t know why he’s pushing this so hard.

“There’s nothing that you might need in the next month, or so?”

“… No?”

“He’s asking if you need tampons,” Cole intones from the driver’s seat.

A couple beats pass. Then I burst out laughing. “Yeah, but I can pick them up myself. Thanks, though.”

“Alright.” Riven twists back to face forward. I try to smother my laughter. “You’ve got all of our numbers. It’ll start getting dark around three, so we should try to leave before then. If you wander off alone and get lost, just ask someone where the main square is.”

“Got it.”

Everyone pops open their doors and gets out of the car. I look around. We’re in a small car park full of worn-looking cars. Across the road, I can see lanes of houses, and the spire of a church a few streets away. Frozen air fills my lungs, and I take a deep breath.

“Come on, Tink. Let’s go inside.” Eli takes my hand, tugging me across the car park to the little glass-walled office. A bell chimes as we step over the threshold. It’s clean and cosy; there’s a waiting area with plush leather seats, and a vending machine shoved in the corner. A man with silvery hair is sitting behind the counter, glaring at his computer like he wants to set it on fire. There’s a bowl of toffees by his hand. Eli saunters up and nabs a couple before the man yanks the bowl away, grumbling something.

“No, I didn’t break another snowmobile,” Eli says in English. “In fact, it wasn’t even me this time!” He unwraps a toffee and pops it in his mouth. “My friend Daisy wrecked her car. We had Cole drag it out back.”

Ulf drags his eyes from Eli to me. “Friend,” he grunts.

“She’s very friendly,” Eli grins, slipping the other sweet into my pocket.

I elbow him in the side. Ulf sighs, forcing himself up from his chair. “ID?”

Shit. I turn to Eli. “Um. If you’ve got somewhere else to be, I can handle this by myself.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind staying with you. I don’t have anything to do.”

I bite my lip, trying a different tack. “It’s just… I could use some time alone? You know—after being trapped inside the past few days. I’d like a bit of breathing room.”

I’m worried I’m being rude, but he just shrugs and wanders off. I guess after living cooped up together for so long, the guys understand the need for space.

I hand Ulf my ID and license, my heart thudding. He scans them, and my throat tightens as his frown deepens. His eyes flick between my face and the license. A few long seconds tick by. I brace myself, expecting him to say something—but he just types something into his computer, and then hands them back without comment. I heave a sigh of relief. He doesn’t recognise me.

God. I hate living like this.

“Right.” He heaves himself out of his desk chair. “Let’s see it.”

We head outside into the car park. He whistles when he sees the mess of my car. “The Hell did you do to it?”

“Moose.”

“Ah.” He tugs open the bonnet and examines the engine. I hang around awkwardly as he fiddles around inside, then moves to the boot. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, staring at the text flashing across my screen.

I delete it, then shove the phone back as Ulf straightens, dusting off his hands. “It will be a lot of work. I need to order some new parts. It will take at least two and a half weeks if the weather is good. Longer if there are more storms.”

I nod, my heart sinking. “How much do you think it’ll cost?”

He says a number that makes my jaw drop. That amount would wipe out my savings completely. There’d be no chance of me renting a room in Kiruna while I wait. Fuck. What the Hell am I going to do?

Eli flashes into my head. I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind me staying with the boys, but there’s no way the others will want me sticking around for a couple of weeks. I can’t just live on the streets until the car’s ready, but there’s no way I’m going home without it, either.

I’m screwed.

Sighing, I take the quote Ulf prints off for me, pay the deposit, then head back outside. I need to think. I start walking through the cobbled streets, my mind whirring.

The village is beautifully picturesque; an odd mix of modern and traditional. A bank with an illuminated sign is squashed between old-fashioned looking bars with lanterns hanging in the doorway. There are kids playing in the snow on the streets, zooming past on little sleds.

“Hey!” Someone calls. I turn around automatically. I’m walking past a little pub. The doors are shut against the cold, but clusters of people are sitting outside at small metal tables, wrapped up in blankets. Orange heaters glow down over their heads as they sip their beers and chat. A man stands up from one of the tables, staring at me. His cheeks are red, and he’s wheeling on his feet. He studies my face, then drops his eyes over my body, staring hard at my chest.

Shit.

I give him a weak smile and turn to walk away. He shouts something after me, and I increase my pace, my heart thudding in my throat. Footsteps ring behind me, getting faster, and I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder. Wincing inwardly, I turn to face him. He’s middle-aged, probably in his fifties. Greasy blonde hair clumps over his head, and his eyes are watery and bloodshot from drink. He mumbles something garbled and mean-sounding. I might not understand what he’s saying, but catcalling has a very specific tone to it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t speak Swedish,” I tell him. He shouts again. I see a few people around the square glancing over at us, wide-eyed, and cringe. Shit. This is the last thing I wanted when I came up here. Attention.

He paws at my coat. “I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back again. “I—I don’t know what you’re saying.”

My shoe catches on the icy cobbles, and I stagger backwards. He grabs my arm. His stubby fingers press painfully into my skin, even through my thick jacket.

Part of me is in shock. This can’t be happening. We’re in public. I’m not about to get assaulted in broad daylight in front of an entire square full of people. But no one seems to want to do anything. He tugs my arm, yanking me into him so I fall across his front. Hot, yeasty beer breath fans all over my face as he clasps me to him. I try to shove him off, but he’s twice my size, and it does nothing as he reaches for the zip to my coat. He tugs at it, like he wants to rip it right off me. Anger flashes through me, and I lift my heel, stamping hard on his foot.