Page 26 of From Helsinki with Love
I snort at her comment. “Sure, but with those headlines, it doesn’t help much.”
“What are they saying?”
“The one on the left translates to something likeÅkerman’s team management in a bind,and then one next to it readsÅkerman at the bottom of his career.”
“Didn’t you just win Olympic Gold and the Stanley Cup this year? That last headline surely doesn’t match those achievements.”
I never told her that. “Did you google me, Vivian Powers?”
Her guilty expression says it all. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Relax. Nothing wrong with being curious. But for future reference, just ask me whatever you want to know. Okay?”
She nods and puts our items on the conveyor belt without saying a word. I stand beside her, whispering in her ear, “You see—I'd rather tell you the truth than you think I’m someone I’m not based on what you read online.”
Vivian waits until we are back outside to respond. “After spending the day with you, I already know you are someone other than what the media portrays.”
And those are the words that keep me smiling for the rest of the evening.
LOOK AT YOU, PUFFING OUT YOUR CHEST LIKE A PROUD PAPA
JASPER
The next morning, I wake up after ten instead of my normal seven a.m., jet lag kicking my ass, before I spend thirty minutes unpacking my bags. It’s a personal habit of mine to unpack as soon as possible, but I had no energy yesterday.
After organizing everything in my walk-in closet, I put on comfy gray slippers and make my way to the kitchen, liking the feeling of being home again. I bought the three-bedroom apartment after my first season in the NHL and enjoy that I have a place where I can stay when I come home.
Turning the coffee machine on, I wait until it makes me a pot of coffee. Sure, I also have a fancy single-portion capsule machine, but nothing beats the basics. And now that I’m back in Finland, I know the coffee tastes divine. It ain’t a wonder that the Finns are at the top of the world in coffee consumption.
When I have a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, I grab my iPad and turn it on to read the latest hockey news before making breakfast. Taking a comfortable seat at the kitchen island, I start reading.
It looks like nothing major has happened since my fight with Westerholm, as it’s still one of the top news on the site. That isn’t a great look for me. And it doesn’t help that my team lost last night.Fucking great.
Switching over to the site of one of the two main tabloid newspapers in Finland, I wish I didn’t. There are photos of me arriving in Helsinki taken when I stopped to talk with fans. But none of the photos include Vivian, so that’s reassuring.
I keep scrolling through other news before turning on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and making another coffee. I move to sit on the oversized navy blue couch when I hear faint footsteps from the hallway. Looking up, I’m unprepared for the sight that greets me.
Jet-lagged Vivian without makeup and hair in a messy bun is so damn stunning. I still don’t know what it is about her, but I find her so damn attractive no matter what she does. And this look right here is my favorite so far because it’s so domestic.
Wow, slow down, buddy. What was that about?
Trying to get rid of my alarming thoughts, I get up and ask, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Vivian gets out between her yawns.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Just make it like you take yours.”
“So one sugar with a splash of milk…coming right up.”
Vivian puts her delicate hands around the mug as I hand it to her a moment later and takes a sip. Her features relax, and she sighs. “That’s exactly what I needed, thanks. Jet lag is no joke.”
“I know the feeling. Did you sleep well?”
“I did! That bed in your guest room is so comfy. It was like sleeping on a cloud.”
“I agree. I have the same mattress in my room.”
