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~<>~
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CLUTCHING THE RING around her finger, Delaney woke up smiling Saturday morning. Varik had starred in her dreams. It was basically the same dream she’d had throughout the years but it seemed more tangible this time—so much so that she was sure the dream wouldn’t end before the good part. She was frustrated when, once again, it stopped abruptly, before reaching a satisfying conclusion.
Aside from no ending, the only other thing spoiling her dream was waking up in an empty bed when she’d much rather be cozying up to the arrogant Viking. That, of course, was impossible now. She could never face the man again.
While it wasn’t feasible for her to disappear into the night as she’d originally intended, she’d definitely have to put her townhouse up for sale as soon as possible and move. Far away. All the way to Oregon.
She smiled at the thought as she put on a pot of coffee. She could actually do it—move to Glassfloat Bay. Grandma Bekka had left her house and all of its contents for the family to share. Delaney’s siblings, who already had places to stay, encouraged her to move into the house.
The Pacific Northwest weather was mild compared to Chicago, and she’d be living in a house close to the ocean. The ocean!
“I could have the Pacific Ocean as my backyard,” she said with an easy smile. “Grandma’s seaside cottage is sitting there waiting for me, already furnished and filled with her keepsakes.”
Nope, she didn’t need Chicago...and she didn’t need her life cluttered up with any Vikings either.
Aside from what her family had told her and what she’d seen in movies, Delaney knew very little about Oregon. She’d have to Google it to prepare for her move.
“It’ll be fun hiking along the Oregon Trail searching for Sasquatch. I can follow in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark as they searched for the Northwest Passage. Maybe I’ll meet a handsome fur trapper wearing buckskins and a Davy Crockett coonskin cap who’ll teach me how to catch salmon with a sharp twig, fall madly in love with me, and make me his frontier bride.” The image triggered a dreamy sigh.
A moment later, her Wild West daydream was spoiled when the handsome trapper morphed into Varik. Delaney blinked away the intrusive image of her sexy new neighbor, momentarily reliving her humiliation.
After receiving Grandma Bekka’s letter, Delaney had planned to move to Oregon as soon as she could scrounge up enough money. Under the circumstances, it would have to be sooner rather than later. If she were smart she’d just leave all her possessions behind, get on a plane and never come back.
Her gaze fell on the soiled carpet. Sucking in a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself for the nasty task ahead. “Coffee first,” she muttered, pouring herself a mug.
Once she got down to the dirty business of scrubbing, Thursday was smart enough to steer clear. Everything would have cleaned up a lot easier if she’d taken care of it immediately after finding the mess last night, but unexpected hot Viking sex got in the way.
She winced as she scoured, hating to be reminded of how lamebrained she’d been. One big, sexy, bought and paid for Viking, courtesy of Grandma Bekka, indeed. The poor woman was probably rolling in her grave at the deplorable notion of her sending her granddaughter a male prostitute for her birthday. How could Delaney possibly allow herself to believe anything so preposterous?
“You big naive dope,” she reprimanded herself, working furiously to brush out an ochre stain. “It’s one thing to be lonely, but quite another to be lonely and pathetic.”
Still lost in thought when the doorbell rang, Delaney ignored it. “Ha! Fool me once...” she said, recalling how she’d gleefully yanked the half-naked stranger on her doorstep into her spare room and—
The doorbell rang again.
Nope. No way. She wasn’t in the mood for witty repartee with the Viking two doors down, no matter how irresistible or charming he was. It would be a long time before she could comfortably face him again, if ever.
Thoughts of a quick cross-country relocation were looking better and better.
Delaney listened as footsteps crunched on the icy walk leading away from her door. With visions of poor Varik slipping on the ice after she’d accidentally deliberately knocked him down, she vowed to remember to salt the sidewalk since the townhouse homeowners association kept neglecting to do it.
She peeked out the living room window in time to catch a glimpse of Varik, sans the sexy Viking getup and fully clothed, getting into his car and driving away. Once he was out of sight, she opened the door to find a box tied with red ribbon resting against it. A card with her name was taped to the box.
Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had given her a gift... except for the set of do-it-yourself handyman books Roger gave her once for no particular occasion other than their compact townhouse was falling apart.
He was thoughtful that way.
Peeling off her rubber gloves and tossing them aside, Delaney carried the box inside, setting it on the kitchen table. She poured another cup of coffee and studied the package for a while, savoring the moment, drawing out the anticipation. The length of the box seemed too short for flowers. But what else would a man be sending after an evening of...
Sipping her coffee she smiled, feeling all toasty inside.
By all rights, she should return the box and card unopened—on her way to the airport for her long distance move. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage a man who thought she was the neighborhood hooker.
She nibbled her knuckle while studying the box. “Oh hell, I’ve got to open it.” She felt like a kid at Christmas as she slid the ribbon down the box and removed the lid. Beneath the tissue, two ornate little figurines were huddled next to a handwritten letter.
“Ohhhh...” All it took was one glimpse of the letter’s three-word greeting for her to surrender to a breathy sigh. Before getting to the meat of the letter, her eyes brimmed with tears...
~ ~ ~
Dear Beauty Delaney,
I writing this with translate book of Norwegian-English phrase. Please to be patience. I do my best for you to understand my terrifying English.
I think about you and me and sharing of intimate. Was very nice. I fright you feel shame and you worry I not respecting you after we intimate. Not so. Never thinking you be prostitute, Delaney. I thinking you smart, pretty woman with heart of kindness. Woman who maybe need kindness of good man.
We not knowing each another so much. I like to changing this fact. Liking for us soon be good, friendly neighbors. Sex is big happiness. But thinking you not ready for more happy sex until you know me more greatly. Yes? I understanding this. Is okay.
I make mistake to put intimate hands on you in auto, and saying nature of dirty toilet words. I try making joke to make you feel joy and laughing after we sexing together. But this not happen. I see sad in your eyes. Not good. So sorry.
Start over. Okay? All new. Important word is “gentleman” that I promise to being. Yes? So I like you come my house eat supper tonight, after I be play. 9:00 is good? I make Norwegian food. Bring Thor’s Day. He good dog. I give meat bone for him.
In box is Mr. and Mrs. Julenissen ornaments I bring from Norway. For you fallen Christmas tree. You look at this and you think of Varik and you be smile again. Yes I hope?
You sincerely good friendship neighbor with much respecting you,
“Varik the Bold”
~ ~ ~
Delaney clutched Varik’s letter to her breast and cried. Buckets. It was her first love letter. Ever. Even if it wasn’t technically a love letter, it was close enough. She couldn’t help compare Varik’s heartfelt words to the cold, dry letter of intent she’d received from Roger a year ago. How lost and devastated she’d been then, wondering what her future held, worried she’d be alone and lonely for the rest of her life because she wasn’t “a woman of worth.”
Even through Varik’s broken English, Delaney felt the kind sincerity in his words. She imagined it must have taken the man a small eternity to write, striving to ensure she’d understand what he meant. The adorable ornaments were such a thoughtful addition. She’d seen similar Norwegian characters on Grandma Bekka’s Christmas tree.
The big, bold, masculine Viking wanted to cook her dinner? Wow...the only thing Roger ever made in the kitchen was a mess with his paperwork and dirty dishes.
“He says I should bring you,” she told Thursday. “He’ll have a bone for you.” The dog looked up at Delaney, licking his chops. “What do you think, Thursday? Should I tell him I’ll come for dinner?” He’d written his phone number at the bottom of the letter, asking her to text him.
“Will he think I’m too anxious, Thursday? Too forward? Do you think he really meant what he said about wanting to be good friends and neighbors?” Thursday angled his head and moaned.
“You’re right,” Delaney agreed with a resolute nod. “I should go. But no matter what happens, no matter how hot or sexy he is, I need to remain aloof. Well, not too aloof. I want him to think I’m a lady but not totally indifferent...or frigid, you know what I mean?”
Thursday rested his head in Delaney’s lap, looking up at her. She sensed he was telling her to send Varik a text accepting his invitation. So she did.
~<>~
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Delaney’s closet housed a sparse collection of matronly clothing befitting the wife of a stuffy English professor. Until now, there hadn’t been much reason to upgrade her drab wardrobe, plus she didn’t want to spend money frivolously since she was living on a shoestring after refusing alimony from Roger during their divorce settlement. Her mother told her she was foolish to turn down alimony but Delaney wanted absolutely nothing from the cheating louse, except her freedom.
The time had come to dip into the small savings she’d built for needed house improvements before she put her townhouse on the market. Delaney decided she deserved treating herself to that small luxury.
While she looked forward to shopping for clothes, the idea was intimidating. Dressed in baggy jeans, a bulky sweater, and a clunky pair of clogs, she picked up the bag of sadly outdated clothing she’d gathered for donation and headed for her car.
Living with the hypercritical Roger had chipped away at her self-esteem to such a degree that Delaney had all the self-confidence of a slab of tofu. She felt she had little to offer a man. She was too tall, neither fit nor slender enough, too clumsy, overly sentimental, she lacked polish and poise, preferred reading genre books over literary fiction, and she turned her nose up at nutritional gray-green smoothies.
Somewhere deep inside, the heart and soul of a graceful, confident, and probably even attractive, woman existed. But trying to excavate those attributes wasn’t easy. Growing up, she held her head high and felt good about herself, confident she was smart, artistic, had a good sense of humor and a big heart.
This was the happy, gregarious, optimistic package of traits she brought to her marriage. This was the Delaney Malone she offered to her new husband. She’d loved Roger Kullerton, accepting him for who and what he was, flaws and all. Guilelessly, she believed he felt the same about her. It was only after they said I do that she discovered Roger was resolved to transform her...just like in My Fair Lady.
The last thing Delaney ever expected was to become Eliza Doolittle to Roger’s Henry Higgins.
Outside the university, Roger preferred spending time alone, reading and doing research. He viewed other people, including Delaney, as intrusions upon his prized private time. He loathed eating in restaurants, going to movies, or anything involving social interaction, so their social life was a big black hole.
Sorely out of practice when it came to socializing, Delaney needed to get her mix-and-mingle mojo back.
As she’d expected, clothes shopping was murderous. After trying on dozens of outfits that didn’t work, she was about to give up when she found The Dress. It was a wrap dress in figure-slimming black that accentuated her curves without drawing negative attention to them. But with its low-cut vee neckline, the dress smacked of being too sexy for a casual dinner date with a friendly neighbor. She looked so good in it that she bought it anyway...just in case there was a second or third not-so-neighborly date in her future.
Another dress caught her attention. The long-sleeved tomato red jersey knit was simple yet stunning. It was so different from Delaney’s bland, wheat-colored wardrobe she barely recognized herself.
She was about to shrug out of it, worried the color might be too showy, when she looked at herself—really looked at herself—pausing long enough to study her reflection from all sides in the three-way mirror.
Hands planted at her hips, she smiled at her transformation. Her pale skin and black hair came alive against the red. She hadn’t worn a fashionable dress in so long she’d forgotten how attractive and feminine she could look and feel.
“Well what do you know?” she whispered with genuine amazement, a fresh injection of self-esteem coursing through her veins. “Delaney Malone, you’re one foxy lady.”
After shopping, she did some baking before spending time on her hair and makeup. Once she was all primped, she felt...hoped...she’d achieved just the right air of glamour and sophistication.
Even though there’d be no repeat of last night’s erotic activities, it made her feel pretty and feminine to wear her new black silk undies. It was nice to have something sexy on without fearing the ancient elastic might have her panties falling around her ankles.
~<>~
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Varik came to call for her at nine. Replying to her text, he’d told her a gentleman always picks up a lady, even if she lives just two doors away. She loved that he was a curious mix of old world values and modern day hunk.
“This is?” he asked, noting the foil-covered platter she carried as they walked.
“Dessert.” She offered a proud smile as she hefted the plate of homemade ginger cookies.
“No need. I cook tonight.”
Stopping in her tracks, she gave him a reproachful look. “I told you in my text that I’d come for dinner only if I could bring dessert, remember?”
“Okay ja, I forget.” Giving her one of his captivating smiles, he lifted the foil for a peek and sniffed. “Smell is like my favorite, pepperkaker. Is very good.”
She hoped he was right. Not much of a cook or baker unless she painstakingly followed recipes to a T, Delaney used Grandma Bekka’s treasured recipe for pepperkaker. Happily, they seemed to turn out perfect.
“That’s right. You’re very astute.”
His eyebrow hiked. “This means?”
“Perceptive.”
The expression he gave her was born of frustration.
“Wise,” she clarified. “You know, smart.”
“Ahhh, ja,” his head bobbed, “I very much wise. Very smart.”
“Mmm-hmm, and humble too,” Delaney teased, failing to elucidate when he gave her another of his befuddled looks.
“Still some boxes,” Varik apologized as he ushered Delaney and Thursday into his home. “Take time to settling new house.”
Delaney was impressed. By the same builder, the subdivision tract townhouse was a larger model than hers. Varik’s home was neat, clean and showed few signs of disarray from his recent move. He even had pictures on the walls already.
It was clear the previous owners had kept the house in excellent condition, while her place was a classic handyman special. Although she’d worked diligently on repairs over the years, fixing broken cabinets and drawers, replacing peeling floor tile, stripping atrocious wallpaper that defied removal, rewiring improperly installed lighting fixtures, and more, she didn’t have the time or finances to do all that was necessary.
After setting the platter of cookies on the kitchen counter, high enough to be out of Thursday’s greedy range, her gaze fell on the blond wood acoustic guitar leaning against a chair’s hassock.
“What a beautiful guitar.”
“Gift from bestefar...grandpa,” Varik said.
“You play?”
“Ja. Grandfather teach me. After salmon and potatoes I guitar for you.” He looked hesitant. “You liking music?”
“Very much. I’d love to hear you play.” She’d always had a thing for guitar players. And Vikings. This promised to be a most interesting evening.
She’d worried about bringing Thursday, considering his propensity for wreaking havoc, but Varik assured her the dog was welcome. He said he’d simply tell Thor’s Day to be good and behave.
Ha!
He did just that. In Norwegian. Amazingly, Thursday sat in rapt attention while Varik spoke, shifting his head from side to side as Varik alternated between patting the dog’s head and punctuating his words with a warning finger. She found it fascinating to watch her dog react as if he fully understood Varik’s firm but soft spoken instruction. If only she could get Thursday to listen half as well when she trained him in English.
As promised, Varik presented Thursday with a sizeable beef soup bone, setting it in a corner of the kitchen. Taking his appointed spot, the newly obedient dog’s eyes practically rolled up in his head as he gnawed on the treat.
“I take coat,” he motioned to her, holding an arm out.
“Thank you.” Delaney slipped out of her coat, growing nervous at the peculiar way he stared at her once she’d removed it and draped it over his waiting arm. He stood there for a full minute with that odd expression, not saying a damn word. It made her itchy all over, wondering what the heck was wrong. Had she forgotten to remove a tag? Was the hem hanging? Maybe there was a split in one of the seams.
Oh dear Lord, let it be something like that rather than Varik thinking she just looked plain awful in her nice new red dress.
“Is...um...is something wrong?” she finally got up the courage to ask when the man continued to stand statue-still, gawking at her, making her want to search his house for a full length mirror.
“Eh...no...no.” He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “I put coat closet.”
“Well,” she said beneath her breath when he left the room, “that went well.” She rolled her eyes, hoping the rest of the evening wouldn’t be as awkward. He was gone just long enough for her to do a quick self-check. Failing to find any tags or other problems with the dress, she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or concerned.
Returning to the living room, Varik gestured to the sofa for Delaney to take a seat. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed when he sat in an adjacent chair, which she realized was an absurd reaction. If their initial meeting had been normal and ordinary, without her surprising the hell out of her new neighbor by jumping his bones, she certainly wouldn’t expect him to cozy up to her on his couch.
It was strange and awkward to have your first official date with someone after you’ve already shared an orgasmic journey to Valhalla and back the night before.
Now as they sat, exchanging polite smiles, Delaney was painfully aware they knew next to nothing about each other. Suddenly panicked over that fact, as well as his weird reaction to her dress, she wished she hadn’t accepted his invitation. If she were smart, she would have gotten on that damn plane for Oregon.
On the positive side, Varik apparently found her to be a pleasing partner in bed, but as her romantic-as-a-rutabaga ex-husband was fond of saying, “Men aren’t particular. Put a paper bag over their heads and women are all the same.” She really wished she hadn’t thought of that just now.
Before Varik came to pick her up this evening, her confidence level was decent. Now it steadily declined, doing a slow glide the way her red velvet jingle bell panties with the ancient elastic did yesterday.
Folding her hands in her lap, she slumped down a little. As far as she knew the only thing they had in common was their shared Norwegian heritage. While Varik’s broken English was charming, it presented frequent opportunities for misunderstanding. It was difficult enough for her to come across as interesting and likeable without the additional challenge of a language barrier.
If only she’d paid more attention when her mother and grandmother tried teaching her Norwegian. Their attempts to convince her being bilingual was advantageous fell on deaf ears. She’d picked up a smidgen of the language, enough to understand some fundamental words, but not enough to hold a basic conversation.
“I liked your letter very much.” She wished she could aptly express how much she appreciated the kind sentiments in the sweet note he’d written. But nothing she’d say could adequately explain how he’d touched her heart. “And the ornaments are adorable. Perfect for my tree. Thank you, Varik.”
“Mine pleasure.” He leaned forward as he sat on the edge of his seat, resting his arms on his knees and twiddling his thumbs. Apparently she wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable.
“Understand words okay?”
“Yes, you did a fine job translating.”
“Good, good...” He nodded at her.
She nodded back.
He smiled.
She smiled back.
It was the epitome of awkward.
Doing her best to appear relaxed and casual, Delaney glanced around the room, studying anything and everything to avoid having to make eye contact or inane small talk. The more she looked, the less she saw as her nerves took over.
She’d read somewhere that asking people questions about themselves made them think you were a brilliant conversationalist. Sitting straighter in her seat, she cleared her throat. “Did you just move here from Norway? Or have you been in America for a while?”
“Just move but visit Tore, cousin, here many time.”
Though Varik seemed more at ease now with their silence broken, Delaney winced at the mention of his cousin, recalling how she thought the guy was tied to a family-run escort service.
“Tore teach me English so I speaking excellent like him. Good teacher. Learn much already.”
“Well you certainly know much more English than I do Norwegian. I think you’re doing a great job.” Feeling restored by their give and take conversation, Delaney let out the breath she was unaware she’d been holding.
“Delaney Norwegian?”
“Half. I’m Irish on my father’s side.”
“Speak Norwegian?” he looked hopeful.
“That would certainly make things a lot easier, wouldn’t it?” She screwed her expression. “I only know a few words and phrases.” She thought for a moment. “Jeg liker a hekle. Did I say that right? It means I like to crochet.” She made the motion with her fingers.
“Ja.” Varik nodded. “Excellent.”
“Aside from hekling, which means crocheting, strikking, which means knitting, and garn, which means yarn, I’m afraid most of the other Norwegian words I know have to do with food.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “What can I say? The women in my family like to bake a lot.”
“Is okay. Food is good. Tell me Norwegian words you know.”
By all the questions he asked, it seemed Varik already knew the secret of being a brilliant conversationalist.
“Let’s see...there’s julekake, the fruit studded bread Grandma Bekka made each Christmas.” Thinking of the yeast-raised holiday bread drizzled with icing made her miss the fun she and her grandmother had together in the kitchen. “And I loved Grandma’s pepperkaker.” She gestured toward the kitchen counter. “I used her recipe to make those.”
“Both be Varik favorite. I cook but no bake. Miss good pepperkaker.”
It was a plus that he appreciated baked goods. Roger hadn’t allowed treats into their home, even during the holidays, believing their sugar and white flour content made them the equivalent of rat poison. Each time Bekka sent Delaney a home baked food gift, she hid the tins behind the cleaning supplies in the linen closet where Roger would never find them. Munching on them when he was out of the house was a great guilty pleasure.
“Now that my grandma’s gone, my sister, Laila, is the star baker in the family.”
“Sister here?”
“No, she moved to Oregon several years ago. The rest of my family is there too, except for my mom. She still lives nearby. I really miss Laila,” her smile grew wide, “and all her baking.”
“You visit there?”
“Not yet but I...I’m thinking about moving there soon.”
Varik frowned. “Not happy news for Varik, new neighbor friend.”
Though they barely knew each other, other than carnally, she liked hearing that, whether he was sincere or not.
“As for the other Norwegian words I know,” she hurried along, changing the subject, “sometimes my grandma made pikekyss, which are meringue cook—”
“Kiss,” Varik said, throwing her off guard.
She blinked. “What?”
He puckered his lips and kissed the air between them. She felt her temperature rise.
“Pikekyss. Means girl’s kiss.” He sat back, crossing his ankle over his knee and spreading an arm across the back of his chair. It was the relaxed, open gesture of a confident man who felt at ease. She guessed it was because their conversation was proceeding easily, which helped her feel calmer too.
“I didn’t know that. I just knew they were meringue cookies.”
“Kiss nice. Like very much.” He had a certain look in his eye causing her to wonder if his comment was about the cookies or kissing her.
The cookies. Of course he was talking about the cookies. She had to stop reading something extra into his every little word or nuance.
Varik got up and left the room, gesturing with his finger that he’d be right back.
She heard him whistling in the kitchen and wondered how she should interpret that.
For God’s sake, stop over-thinking everything and get a grip!
“Gratulerer med dagen and Valentinsdag toast to Delaney,” he said, snapping her out of her reverie and handing her a mug of warm red liquid. Appreciating his thoughtful birthday Valentine toast, she was pretty sure his fingers lingered on hers a moment longer than necessary. His smile warmed her heart as the mug warmed her hand.
The spiced fragrance emanating from the mug was warm, welcoming and familiar. Sniffing the mug, she closed her eyes and smiled. “This smells heavenly.”
“Wassail,” he said.
“Grandma made hot mulled wine every Christmas. I felt very grown up as a kid when she’d give me my own small portion.” She took a sip. “Mmm, delicious. Sweet and spicy. Perfect for a cold February evening.”
“Good.” After sipping, Varik licked his lips. “Taste like Christmas. What more Norwegian you know? I like hear you say my language.”
The names of Norwegian foods flooded her brain. Even if she was somewhat obsessed with food, she didn’t have to advertise it. There must be something non-food related she could recall...
“Let’s see...of course! Grandma Bekka always signed each letter and ended each phone call with jeg elsker deg. It means—”
“I love you,” Varik said. He wasn’t smiling. He just said the words, gazing at her intently.
Delaney felt her cheeks flush under the force of his scrutiny. If he didn’t stop looking at her that way she’d melt into a puddle of goo and ruin his nice carpet.
After a small eternity, he lifted his mug in salute. “Jeg elsker deg...I love you. Good words in Norwegian and English, ja?”
Raising her mug, Delaney agreed, “Ja,” trying to affect a cheery, blasé expression while ignoring the carnal itch she longed for him to scratch. “Good words in any language.”
The night before, when Varik was garbed in reindeer pelts, she tried picturing him in street clothes without much luck. She couldn’t imagine him wearing anything but his Viking costume. Or nothing. It was amazing how delicious a modern day Viking could look wearing a crewneck sweater and butt-hugging jeans. He had an air of casual elegance, making him look as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ, while his wild, glorious mane was more apropos for the cover of a pirate or barbarian-themed romance novel.
Varik’s sandy sun-streaked hair perfectly enhanced his chiseled features. His blue eyes were so mesmerizing Delaney had a difficult time not fixing on them.
“Kveldsmat ready soon. Hope you liking salmon?”
His question snapped her out of her delectable daydreaming.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Supper soon. Delaney like salmon?”
“Mmm...love it,” she cooed, realizing her voice sounded far more sensual than your standard cooked fish commentary. Appalled, she wished she could blame her passionate response on a hearty enthusiasm for salmon but...
His lips curling into a half-smile, Varik’s spellbinding gaze grew heated.
“I mean salmon’s good,” Delaney backpedaled. “I like it. It’s a very likeable fish. And it’s full of omega-3 fatty acids, which makes it really healthy...and, you know, likeable.”
Clamping her jaw tight to keep from any further babbling, she vowed to avoid any variation of the word love for the rest of the evening. The absolute last thing she wanted Varik to think was that she was trying to come on to him the way she had last night.
His attentive expression grew curious. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” she asked, expecting a suggestive reply.
“Because, like salmon, you be very likeable.”
“Oh.” Delaney’s face fell. She’d never been compared to a fish before. “Well...thank you.”
His gaze swept her. “Nice eyes. Nice hair. Nice lips. Nice all over.”
She doubted he was still talking about salmon.
“Red,” he gestured to her dress, “excellent color for Delaney.” His tender smile becoming a grimace, he shook his head from side to side. “Sorry. Not neighbor friend talk, but cannot help say how very beauty you appearing tonight. When you take off coat, I breathe hard. But I worry to say how very excellent Delaney look in red dress.”
Wow...that was all way better than the fish analogy. Now she knew why he gave her that curious look when he took her coat. Whew!
“Thank you, Varik, but you don’t have to apologize for giving me such a lovely compliment. In fact, I was just thinking you look quite handsome in clothes.”
He blinked.
She blinked.
“That came out wrong. I mean—”
His robust laughter filled the room. “Not to make explain. Forsta...I understand. Mostly I wearing clothes.” He motioned to his sweater and jeans. “Only be Viking in plays.”
And in my dreams.
Striving to shift her dangerous train of thought, Delaney noticed his home was decorated with sleek, contemporary furniture and accessories, shades of black, gray, mushroom-brown and white being predominant. It was the same color scheme Roger preferred, although their tastes were worlds apart. Roger had zero aptitude for design while Varik had a propensity for style and ornamentation, with smart bold pops of color placement bringing life to what could otherwise be a monotonous room.
Making a few safe comments about his décor, Delaney asked about the grouping of striking black and white photos. He told her he’d taken them himself, in Norway. It was pleasant conversation. Thankfully, she avoided making a fool of herself for a good fifteen minutes.
When he led her into the dining room, she was captivated by his obvious effort to set a romantic table for the two of them. Four tall ivory candles sat in crystal cube holders placed around a bottle of red wine on a sleek stainless steel serving tray at the center of the table. White dinner plates, silverware, and wine and water glasses sat on sleek black placemats with paper towels for napkins. He apologized for not having unpacked the linen napkins and tablecloth yet.
His apology had her swallowing an inappropriate burst of laughter.
The only time Roger set the table for her was the day after Delaney had all four of her wisdom teeth pulled. She looked like a gluttonous squirrel with its cheeks full of nuts and felt like death warmed over. He’d set out a bowl, fork, can opener and a can of green beans, telling her they’d help her heal faster eaten without heating. She took a pass, making herself a cup of tea instead.
When she tried to help Varik, he insisted she stay put as he zipped back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, serving their dinner. Unaccustomed to having a man wait on her, she was filled with a curious mixture of guilt and pampered pleasure. He lit the candles, poured the wine and turned on soft music.
Wow...she could really get used to this.
The delicious meal began with agurksalat, a salad of thinly sliced cucumbers with vinegar, sugar, salt, pepper and onions. Wine-poached salmon was accompanied by Varik’s homemade potato dumplings sautéed in bacon fat. The dumplings were so damn good Delaney fought the urge to grab the serving dish, licking up every last remnant.
As they ate, Varik’s questions surprised her, making Delaney realize that some men do actually pay attention.
“Many time you say Bekka. Who this? And Roger...you face angry,” he demonstrated with a distinct frown, “when say his name. Be heartbreak man make Delaney lonely?”
She remembered mentioning Roger last night but didn’t realize she’d brought him up again. She hoped to hell she hadn’t been absently rattling on about her ex.
“My goodness.” She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s downright astonishing how perceptive your observations are.”
Looking mystified, he held his hands a foot apart, then brought them closer together. “Please smaller words or must look phrase book many time.” He punctuated his request with a wink.
“Sorry.” Delaney could only imagine how difficult deciphering conversation must be for someone learning to speak English. “I’ll try to remember. Just ask if there’s something you don’t understand, okay?”
“Okay.” He poured them another glass of rodvin, Norwegian red wine, and they clinked glasses. “Tell Varik about you life.”
This was virgin territory for Delaney. She wasn’t used to being catered to by a man, much less having him invite her to talk about herself.
“Nope, sorry, there’s no way I’m going to monopolize our conversation by blabbing all about me, myself and I. Let’s talk about you for a change.”
“Monopolize?” Varik enunciated slowly.
“Oops, small words...I forgot. Monopolize means to take over. Dominate. You’ve been a gracious host, asking me about myself but I don’t want to just talk about me. I want to hear about you too. Understand?”
“Except gracious host. Is good thing?”
“Very.” She offered a reassuring smile. “It means you’re a nice gentleman.”
“Ja. See?” He rapped the edge of the table with his fingers. “I promise Delaney I be good gentleman.” He lifted his wine glass. “We make toast to Varik be good gentleman, ja?”
He looked so endearing she was tempted to hop into his lap and hug him. Instead, she said, “Definitely.” Raising her glass, she clinked it against his and they sipped. “Tell me, Varik, why did you move to Chicago?”
“To go school like Tore. University. First Tore come Chicago. Now I come.”
“I think it’s wonderful that you and your cousin want to continue your education here.”
“Education good. For me,” he spread his fingers on his chest, “is very important.”
“I feel the same way. I’ve got a liberal arts degree that I haven’t put to much use. One day I’d like to go back and take a few writing courses. Maybe journalism.” Spotting his clueless expression resurfacing at the word, she continued, “That means writing for news media like newspapers, magazines or other news-related things.”
“All good,” he agreed.
She realized she’d fallen into the trap of chatting about herself again. “When did Tore move here from Norway?”
“Long time. Almost tjue ar.” Varik tsked. “Sorry. Forget. Twenty.”
“Years? That is a long time. So he’s been here since he was a child?”
“No, Tore older. Now he omtrent femti. Eh...about fifty,” he corrected. “Translate make talk much hard.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” she agreed through laughter. Whether they fully understood each other or not, it was still the most stimulating conversation she’d ever had with a man.