Page 25 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
“Outside of this house.”
He slow blinked at her. “Well, obviously. Fake-dating inside isn’t really going to have the desired effect.” No, she could see that. “Look, you’ve already been outed. People will know you’re here, and maybe it can work in your favour, too, with regards to your ex. If he thinks you’ve moved on, with me, then he might leave you alone.”
That sounded far more positive.
“And you’ll be gone soon,” he’d added, “so no harm done.”
There was that, too. She’d just walk away from it.
Jamie had watched for her answer.
Could she fake being his girlfriend and loved-up? Gazing at him, his jawline, his rumpled hair, his forearms, she’d suspected this would not be too much of a hardship. They’d already got a trial kiss out of the way, and boy-howdy, what a kiss that had been. They were clearly attuned in that department.
Amid her gazing and contemplating, he’d still said nothing. He’d explained and she felt it wasn’t the hugest of asks, considering he’d let her stay. Refusing felt mean in light of his generosity. And he hadn’t kicked off about her using him, and his face, outside Tivoli. Aaand she appreciated him not pressing her to agree, and that’s what had convinced her to croak out an “OK, then.” Like he said, what harm could it do?
Then he’d said, “Great. Dig out some swim kit from upstairs. We’re going out later.”
* * *
Which is why she now finds herself swaddled in the bike crate, heading back towards Nyhavn and the bicycle bridge that will take them to Refshaleøen, or Reffen as the island’s known, where they’re meeting some of his workmates. The bottles of beer sticking out of the bag, previously hidden by the blanket, are a welcome sight. She suspects she’s going to need a little Dutch courage.
“They’re nice guys,” Jamie says, perhaps sensing she needs reassuring.
“I’ve told you, Jamie, it’s a small city, I probably know them already. We might even be related.” This most likely isn’t true– her family is small– but in a city of six-hundred-thousand, who knows.
Jamie scoffs. “I think you exaggerate the danger there.”
She turns to shoot him an admonishing look. “Need I remind you that twice yesterday, I was forced to dodge people I know.” She doesn’t mention the kiss, although she’s suddenly replaying it in her head. Again. “This city is exactly as small as I say.”
Jamie pedals on, over the slim bridge, furiously ringing his bell like a native at pedestrians who’ve strayed onto the cycle path, until they reach Little Siberia, thus known for being the coldest part of this island, previously home to shipbuilding. Night is setting in and the lights of shipping and wind turbines glow in the Øresund sound. Jamie parks the bike and offers Anna a hand out of the crate. In front of them is Copenhot, a complex of outdoor hot tubs and rows of saunas, positioned to look out over the water.
Jamie slings the bag over his shoulder and gives her a “Ready?” as they walk towards the hot tubs and his friends. Coming into view, Jamie sweeps his arm around her. His hand on the curve of her waist would be warm, if she could feel it through her multiple layers, but just knowing that makes her self-conscious. She’s been aware of his scent around the house, but now, this close, against the clear, cold night air, it’s more potent, its masculine notes dancing around her nose.
“Anna?” she hears him ask through the smile he’s sending his waving friends. Her brain catches up; she has a role to play. She knows these moves, she’s been a girlfriend before, after all. Awkwardly, she slides her hand around his waist and leans into him as they walk on. Anna thinks she must be better than this. Looking up at him, she supplies him a wide smile, like they know each other well, like they have just come from home, where they live, laugh and make love. Nonstop.
“On it.”
She notices his pupils widen as he catches on to her role-playing and then he plants a kiss on her temple. The deal is sealed.
* * *
“Unbelievable!” says Jamie, with a shake of his head.
“I told you so,” Anna says, feeling smug. Which is daft, as it’s exactly what she’s been worrying about.
There are six of them in the wooden tub, the wood-burner heating it just by their side. The water is gloriously hot, in beautiful contrast to the frigid air and also the cold beers they are holding at the tub’s edge.
Jamie’s colleagues, three men and a woman, had already been submerged when they arrived and introductions were swift, to get them into the water without freezing to death in the interim. The others are Danes, and all of the men Copenhageners like Anna. It only takes a couple of questions of where they live, work or went to school to shock Jamie. As it turns out, Stefan is a grandson of Anna’s erstwhile and retiring vet; she’s worked with Anders’ photographer brother, and to top it all, Emil’s mother taught her at high school. Anna and the three men clink their bottles in an alliance of linked Danes.
Smilla, who Jamie says joined the company at the same time as him, is apparently from Jutland, the mainland, but has come to Sjælland, or as she calls it the “Devil’s Island”, to experience the bright lights of the big city. Really, she’s well aware Copenhagen is far from being a big city as capitals go and they all share stories of crossing the city several times in one night for parties, bars or clubs.
They’re a welcoming bunch, although she suspects that’s down to the way Jamie’s behaving around her. He offered her his hand to get up the steps into the hot tub and sinking in beside her, draped a relaxed arm around her immediately. If the others spotted her immediate blush Anna thinks they’ll have put it down to the heat of the water shocking her skin after their cold ride in. Fingers crossed.
After that, there’s a couple of minutes where Anna is uber-conscious of sitting close to Jamie, him in just his swim shorts and her in, well, not a lot.
Having been sent to the wardrobe to find some swimwear, Anna had been pleased to find a black one-piece she’d obviously chosen not to take with her to London. Changing into it before they left, planning to don her clothes straight back over it, she had the dismay of discovering the elastic at the leg holes had given up the ghost and now flapped around her bum-cheeks. Not the look she was going for. Jamie had given her a shout and she’d had no choice but to panic rummage through the drawer to find the only other swimwear present. An itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny red polka-dot bikini; perfect for sunbathing at Nordhavn quayside, or in her own back yard, not so much for meeting colleagues of one’s fake boyfriend for the first time. Or sitting in such close proximity to said fake boyfriend himself, as it turns out.
The tub is small, and they have the maximum number of people in it, which means every time one of them turns to grab another beer, or wants a change of view, everyone shuffles and Anna finds herself sliding skin-on-skin with Jamie. Her bare thigh is constantly slipping against his equally bare thigh. When he speaks and she turns to listen, she’s gazing straight up into his face from her position tucked under his arm. His bicep makes for a comfortable pillow when she’s looking the other way, too. Had she been with Carl she would have landed a small kiss on his pec. So that’s what she does now. She feels him tense for a fraction of a second, all hidden under the steaming water, then the light squeeze of his hand on the curve of her exposed shoulder. It is all so very different from the way they have navigated around each other in the house; both at home, but as individuals. And it puts her in a strange position; she’s hyper aware that that’s what’s happening, then she remembers they’re supposedly a couple, so it isn’t weird, and then she recalls they’re only temporary housemates– virtually strangers– whichdoesmake it weird, but then she also can’t deny that she kind of likes it. It’s very, very confusing. Plus, she notices Jamie doesn’t budge. At all. Which can only mean he doesn’t find it awful. In fact, as they get more into the chat with the others, he runs his thumb up and down the top of her arm. It gives her goosebumps. It has nothing to do with the cold.
