Page 41 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
Eventually, she admits defeat, dropping her cheek onto the rug, facing him.
“’S’gone.”
Jamie lowers his face to the floor, too, mirroring her. “Doesn’t matter, Anna.” And in their little den, under the sofa, on top of the shaggy rug, it does suddenly feel like nothing really matters. It’s safe and snug and perfect. They gaze at each other in agreement.
His eyes drop to her lips and she can’t help but follow suit. And from there, there is only a synchronised tilt of their bodies, for their faces to come even closer and their lips to touch.
It’s a light kiss– really just a long, slow touch, a sharing of breath almost, no parting of lips, no advancing, no exploring. A tentative trial, to connect, here in this hidden space, as the rest of the world continues turning, oblivious. The tenderness of it is exquisite, and when Jamie pulls back, it takes Anna a longer beat to open her eyes, hanging onto the moment.
Neither of them move, but their gazes hold.
“I—” he says, but stops.
“You…?” she prompts lightly.
“I’ve come to understand I can misread things. Not exterior things, those I’m quite good at, but internal things. Like thoughts, particularly other people’s.” He looks embarrassed and Anna wishes he didn’t because his misreading Lajla sounds like a mix of over-enthusiasm, lust and hope, which to her feels simply human. “So, I prefer people just to say what’s on their minds, blunt and to the point. It’s one of the things I love about being in Denmark, to be honest, there’s so much less pussyfooting about and softening truths when it’s the truths you need to hear.” She wonders if he felt the same way when Lajla turned him down flat, but opts not to ask.
“I know we’re fake-dating, but I find I’m wanting it to be real.” He’s looking her right in the eye with his declaration and she thinks he’s a braver soul than her. “Like right now,” he goes on, his voice low, making her want to lean closer in again, but resisting, “I want to touch your face and slide my hand into your hair as I kiss you. But there’s no one here to be faking for, it’s simply because I want to.
“But I won’t press it beyond the faking if you aren’t interested. I’m just putting it out there that I’d like to see if this might be something more, because my gut tells me it is.”
Anna says nothing. There are so many thoughts that come to her: that she wants to touch his face and thread her fingers through his hair too; that she finds his kisses intoxicating; that rolling into him, under him, would be so easy; that she’d be starting something she knows she can’t finish; that he’s had enough abrupt endings in his life already; that she’s absolutely not risking “something more” ever again… but she can’t work out which to put first.
“Ah,” he says, his tone somewhere between disappointment and understanding. “It’s OK. You don’t feel the same. I guess I got that wrong.”
“You’re not wrong,” she says low, but suddenly she can’t hold the gaze any longer and her eyes are wanting to look anywhere but at him.
“What?”
Anna shifts, to push herself up onto her knees, away from their cocoon. And still she won’t meet his gaze.
“I said, you aren’t wrong,” she says, feeling that having trusted her with his past, he deserves the truth, but her thoughts are ordering themselves now. She senses his relief, but knows it’s to no good. “But it’s not something I can pursue, Jamie.”
ChapterEighteen
“And then what happened?” asks an enthralled Katrine across her office desk. Work is soundly being ignored as they drink coffee and work their way through Anna’s gift of asmørstang, an oblong of yeast pastry, withremonce crèmeandvaniljecrème, and alternating circles of white and chocolate icing on top. Anna hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed yeast cakes. She pledges to make herself more cakes in the new year. She’ll just have to go running more, to compensate.
“Then we had a very awkward Sunday, pottering around the house, with this big awkward thing between us. Totally amicable, but treading on eggshells. He disappeared to the gym for some hours and I spent a lot of the time sorting my storage project.”
There had been far more to it. Of course there had.
She’d had to watch the disappointment on his face deepen, and then him rein it in, because he respected her choice and he wasn’t the kind of guy to push. Not when he’d fallen foul of that before. It hurt in her chest to watch it play out on his face and see his defences slide back up.
“Just to be clear,” he’d said, “you’re not interested in more, or it’s something else?”
“I’m leaving, Jamie. My staying here isn’t on the cards. I don’t want to mess with your feelings, so it seems better not to start.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one worrying about that?”
She shook her head, unwilling to explain further or be budged.
Jamie rolled onto his back with a sigh of resignation. Or frustration. She couldn’t quite tell.
“You definitely don’t want to?”
“No,” she said. It felt like glass shards in her mouth. She crawled back up onto the sofa and he followed.
“Is it going to be difficult between us, now?” she asked.
