Page 60 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
“Sure. But the hot tub was fun, no? And that involved both those things.”
It had, to be fair. And so far, he’s been very good at both picking things to do and as a companion.
“I don’t think I’m up to harbour swimming,” she says. In the summer it’s fun, dropping off the baking quayside into the frigid water, but she’s never quite been up for the winter swimming.
“Might clear the hangover,” he suggests.
“Might kill me, too.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a harbour dip.” Thank fuck for that. She’s wracking her pathetic brain for what it could be.
“If you’d told me, I would’ve bought a new swimsuit. Something more sensible.”
“Maybe I like that bikini.” He doesn’t turn around to face her, which is good because her face is heating up. She’s not sure she’ll be able to stand in front of him in the itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny bikini now without it feeling charged in some way. He’s made his thoughts clear.
“If you’d been sober last night, your feet wouldn’t have touched the ground.”It’s still buzzing around her ear. She’s trying to parse it. Is last night the key bit and the moment is gone? Or is it just the sober bit, in which case she’d like to state for the record that she is most definitely sober now. She does however consider she might not look her best. Or even smell her best. She is in need of a shower. Quite why she hadn’t had this thought before she came downstairs and let his eyes behold her, she is ashamed to say she has no idea. She is clearly very comfortable around him, which feels at odds with her current bashfulness. How does this make sense when she simultaneously has an underlying urge to climb him like a tree, too?
“Go get dressed, Anna. Dig out that bikini, and be back down here in,” he checks his watch, his back to her still, “twenty minutes. I’m finishing up here and then we’ll go. I’ll drive.”
Cycling herself will do her good, the physical motion helping to clear the cobwebs, but then she thinks of sitting like a princess on the front of the bike again. She’s not going to turn down the treat of being ferried in style. Who knows when she’ll ever have an offer like that again? The wind in her face can do the head-clearing.
“On it,” she says, trying to sound upbeat, but it’s hard. It feels like one of her smarter decisions of the last twenty-four hours to refill her cup on her way.
* * *
As it turns out, it is as far from harbour swimming as possible. Jamie has got them into the spa for the afternoon at Manon les Suites. “Called a friend,” is all he’ll say, as she questions him walking into the swanky hotel.
And as it also turns out, floating in the indoor pool amid hanging vines, feeling like you are truly in “a slice of Bali” as they advertise it, is both an excellent way to clear a hangover, but also a fun step away from the reality of living in a snowscape.
“Not that I don’t think it’s beautiful outside,” Jamie says, as they float around each other, Anna doing her best not to stare at his chest, “but I thought this might mix things up a bit.”
Mixing things up a bit sounds good. With him, specifically. Since Katrine gave her the push, and set the Once-and-Done thought racing in her head for real, she’s been on the brink of simply saying, “Please can we do this?” He’d recognise the addition of “please”, from a Dane, makes this a serious request. Once-and-Done sounds like the most sensible approach to this… this desperate but doomed yearning she apparently has for him.
And it feels like this is back in her court. He’s making her take the first step. Which she technically did last night, but she gets why he didn’t take it further. Sober Anna making the first move is what he wants. Sober Anna isn’t quite so sure. Sober Anna still holds various reasons front of mind as to why this is a folly.
For now, though, and the following hours, she parks the overthinking and the worry. They float and they flirt. They laugh and lounge. They move around each other, eyes roving over each other, sometimes subtly and sometimes absolutely not, bare-skinned but for the bikini and his shorts, but there is absolutely no touching. Not once.
It almost kills her.
* * *
“Best hangover cure ever,” she says, getting out of the cargo bike. It’s dark again, and the fairy lights in the trees make the street look magical.
“And unlikely to appear on social media tomorrow,” he adds.
“Well, I was hatless, so they’d never have suspected.”
“That bikini, though,” he says, sounding doubtful. She can see he’s grinning in the glow of the streetlight.
Instinctively, she scoops up a handful of snow and flings it at him. Her aim is good and it hits him square in the chest.
There’s a silence as they both realise what she’s done. Jamie’s eyebrows slowly rise. A laugh escapes her, at his face and also at the trouble she is now in.
“Oh dear, Anna,” Jamie growls dangerously, “you had to go there…”
With a small squeal, she ducks behind the crate of the bike, grabbing more soft snow in her gloved hands as she goes, but not fast enough to avoid a snowball catching her shoulder. It makes her laugh harder. She hasn’t done this in years. She sends one flying at Jamie, who is trying to hide on the other side of the low fence, but she’s lobbed it in a high arch and it lands on his head. The groan from the fence makes her howl with laughter. In doing so, Jamie is awarded his chance and lands a slushy one right in her face.
“Gotcha!” he shouts and performs a victory dance, which in spite of her giggling, she brings to a halt by pelting him with three in a row.
