Although I could see that Christian liked me, he was always a perfect gentleman. I felt safe in his company—partly because of how tall he was.
One day, I was putting the abstract-patterned bedspread on Christian’s bed after changing the sheets and opening the blue curtains to let the sunshine in. He’d be back from work soon.
We looked forward to our talks at the end of the day. The bulk of the daytime was kind of boring with him at work and me doing housework or odds and ends online, though I made sure to take regular walks to get fresh air and exercise. Because the days tended to pass slowly, our evenings together became something to genuinely look forward to.
I trudged into the living room and walked up to the bay window. Someone rode by on a bike below, and I wondered how I’d manage to keep walking once winter arrived.
I gazed down at the cute, fenced-in little green lawn below, speckled with blooming flowers—mostly tulips, daffodils, and roses. Then I pictured the same yard covered in snow and cringed. Just the thought sent a shiver through me.
The slow, often boring weeks made the weekends all the more fun. We usually went out together—whether to visit someone Christian knew, run errands, or just cruise around. We’d hit the beaches, and we even went to the fair once or twice. Because I’d arrived in the country with so little, Christian helped me get some warmer clothes, new shoes, and even a few things I didn’t really need, like nail polish.
Little by little, we learned more about each other during our evening chats. Christian told me his parents had split when he was young, and he hadn’t seen his father since he was barely old enough to remember him. I’d met his mother a few times—she seemed okay. Not someone who left a strong impression, but not someone who made you uncomfortable either.
Christian wouldn’t say much about past relationships, and I didn’t press. Whenever I steered the conversation in that direction, he would quickly deflect, so I assumed he’d been unlucky in love.
As much as I liked Christian and enjoyed hanging out with him—sometimes even lying next to him in his bed while we chatted—I wasn’t sure I could imagine us together. I had a feeling he’d be open to the idea if I ever expressed a desire for a real relationship, but I wasn’t sure I ever would. Was it him? Or was it me? I wasn’t sure. But I had a feeling it was probably me. I’d had first best—so why replace it with second?
Sometimes, when I was alone during the day, I’d find myself thinking of Greg. Missing him to the point of tears.
But what mattered in the here and now was that Christian and I got along well, despite our differences. Maybe being so different was what kept things interesting. He’d laugh like a maniac when he cranked up those god-awful heavy metal and hard rock bands he loved, and I’d run out of the room with my hands over my ears.
Then he’d play dead whenever I put on something more mellow.
With so few things in common, we got to introduce each other to things we wouldn’t have otherwise experienced. I even learned some things from Guinevere, the landlady, who insisted I visit her a few times a week. One thing she said that stuck with me was a vague reference to Christian having a “dodgy record” as a youngster. That piqued my curiosity, but Guinevere wouldn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press. I also didn’t bring it up with Christian—I didn’t want to come off as a gossip, and I had no idea how he’d react. The last thing I wanted to do was create tension between them.
For now, he treated me well, we got along, and I was content to leave it at that—despite my curiosity. I had no immediate plans to venture out on my own, in or out of Norway, since we helped each other out financially, with the housework, and most importantly, with companionship.
I heard him blast in on the motorcycle—which I still wouldn’t dare ride, no matter how many times he offered with that impish grin of his. Moving toward the stairwell, I looked down at the door, waiting for his approach. I could see clearly through the glass since there were no curtains or blinds—not that they were needed. Anyone looking through it would only see the wall at the top of the stairs. No view into any rooms. Even at night, with the bay window open, all someone could see from below was the ceiling of the living room.
Finally, the door flung open and Christian charged up the stairs two at a time, a grin spread wide across his face.
“Get packing,” he said happily. “We’re heading to Thailand first thing in the morning.”
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