Page 13 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
Anna feels her head become hot and her heart’s beginning to race, too, but not in a good way. Alarm bells are ringing in her head.
Here it is. Exactly the reason she hadn’t wanted to come out. Still trying to hide amid the snacks in her trolley, she also pulls the hood back up over her head. Yes, she looks like a mad woman, but she has to get out of here ASAP, and unseen.
Turning away from the laughing woman, dreading she’ll be spotted, and more so that the woman isn’t alone, Anna sprints for the cashier, pausing only to pull a packet out of a freezer cupboard. There’s a queue, but Anna keeps her head down, loading the food onto the conveyor belt, and then bagging it all at the other end, making no eye contact with the spotty, teen cashier. Jamie will just have to work out she’s left. It’s either that or she had to abandon the trolley in the aisle, but she really wants to contribute to their food supply. Not that any of her things would particularly count as nutrition. But it’s been over eighteen months since she was faced with these treats, so sue her.
Bill paid, she’s out of the door into the snow and gone, not stopping until she’s back at the house, in the front door– a panicked struggle with her key– shrugging off her coat in a heap and leaning her forehead against the warm wall of the hall. This! This was why she didn’t want to come back. It’s played out precisely as she’s expected and dreaded, and it shows she’s been right all along to stay away.
ChapterSeven
When the door opens and closes Anna already has the kettle boiled, tea leaves in the strainer and the oven heating for theæbleskiver. Small round pancake dumplings, they’re some of her favourite things about Christmas. Perfect treats for a winter afternoon. She also has every candle in the living room switched on and music playing low, for maximumhygge.
She waits in the kitchen, opening the raspberry jam and some icing sugar to dip theæbleskiverinto. She hopes it’ll serve as an apology but knows there’ll be some explaining to do.
Jamie takes his time in the hall, which is little wonder with the number of layers everyone has on. Eventually he appears in the doorway, that stony expression back on his face as he gazes at her. Anna, in response, simply puts both hands on the top of the kitchen counter and gazes back.
He tilts his head at her, asking.
She’s not sure how to begin, not really wanting to at all. Had the tables been turned she would find his behaviour bizarre. He must, too.
“You vanished,” he says. The contrast to Supermarket Jamie is stark. His defences are back up, she can feel it.
“I did. I’m sorry.”
He looks at the countertop and the shopping, which she’s been sorting while waiting for the oven to heat.
“I bought everything in my basket,” she feels the need to say.
“Good job. That would have been one hell of a shoplift.”
He’s making light of it, but it’s clear he’s annoyed. He’s keeping a distance, too, like he can’t work out where he stands, but he could equally be thinking she’s deranged.
“I looked about for ages and then it dawned on me you’d gone.” She’s made him look silly and that makes her feel awful. “I asked the cashier, who said you’d paid and left. And I couldn’t work out why you’d do that, not let me know.”
The steeliness in his eyes has returned and she cannot bear it. It’s like they’re back to square one. No. Worse. He’s been letting his guard down little by little and now he thinks he’s misread her.
“Sit down,” she says, pointing to the bar stool. “I’ll explain.” Then she adds, “Please.” She’s got better at sayingpleasewhile living in London, the word not existing in Danish.
He does as he’s asked, but she can see he’s uneasy.
“I’m making someæbleskiver.”
He briefly flicks his eyes at the jam and the icing sugar on the two small plates, and the dumplings sitting ready to heat on a baking tray. He nods but waits for her to get to the point.
“It’s a small city. I saw someone I didn’t want to see. I panicked. I should have come to find you, to tell you I had to leave, but I just had to get away. I figured I’d call you when I got out onto the street, but I don’t actually have your number. I couldn’t go back in after that. So, I could only come home and wait. I am sorry, Jamie. It was rude and wrong.” The kettle boils and she pours the hot water ontothe tea leaves, before popping theæbleskiver into the heat of the oven, with the remaining hot water into a tray beneath for steam.
“They stay fluffier that way,” she explains, just trying to fill the silence, but Jamie doesn’t look like he currently gives a shit about dumpling fluffiness.
He evaluates her explanation.
“Why didn’t you want to see them?”
It’s a fair question, though not one she wants to answer, but she feels she owes him something.
“They’re part of the reason I moved away. I didn’t want to drag up those memories. I don’t want to now.” She tries to be as polite about it as she can, aware that Danes sometimes come across as brusque or rude, but she also wants to be clear about not talking about it.
Jamie’s lips purse in thought and the look makes her hope he can get past this.
Eventually, he reaches out and pushes her telephone across to her over the countertop. “Open your contacts,” he says.
