Page 36 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
And then, fingertips at her chin, he settles his lips on hers, and she’s right back to Tivoli again; the scent of his skin wrapping around her own face, the soft notes of cedar, patchouli and leather; the warmth of his breath mingling with hers; the softness of his lips; the teasing of the tip of his tongue as he spreads her lips, and they begin a light but short dance. He pulls away far too soon, but it’s enough to leave her feeling quite heady and she has to tear her eyes away from his mouth.
“Anna?” he asks, under his breath, as he gives her hair a light stroke.
“Ooof” is all she can manage at first, then blushes for being such a doofus. She remembers they’re on show and leans her head onto his shoulder.
“Too much?” he asks, wary. Not enough, she thinks. “I decided there’s probably some café etiquette to follow,” he says into her hair, before giving the top of her head an additional kiss.
He probably has a point. If that had gone much further, she might have crawled into his lap and that would never do. She would hate to be blacklisted from La Glace, even if she doesn’t live here anymore. That would make her soul sad.
Not living here brings her thoughts back to that thing he said, about her being homesick. She doesn’t think that can be true. She’s engaging with London life. OK, so making new friends is tricky when you work by yourself, but that’s more loneliness than homesickness. No, she spends a lot of her week seeking out new spots in London to write about; sights, venues and places to eat. She has places who invite her to come now. She’s engaged withthem. She doesn’t think she was pining for Copenhagen. What would make him say that? So, maybe her shopping included a regular stop in at ScandiKitchen, the Scandinavian grocer, but that’s just including food she’s used to in her diet. And perhaps her apartment is decorated with Scandi things, things she’d scoured Etsy and second-hand stores for, but that’s simply about taste and it’s completely normal for hers to have been shaped by her years living in Denmark. She has plenty of other souvenirs from her travels about the apartment, perhaps just not as prominently on display. And the Danish news apps she has on her phone are just there to keep her informed if anything bad happens in the city, so she can check her friends are OK. Everyone does that, she’s sure. Jamie most likely has a Scottish news app or maybe even the shipping forecast on his phone for exactly the same reason. She’ll ask him at some point, but for now she’s quite sure he’s off the point with that observation.
Their drinks and cakes arrive, and Jamie lets out a deep groan of pleasure. That, in and of itself, does things to her. It’s such an intimate sound, and she knows exactly what he’ll sound like in bed. His serving of Sports Cake is a big slice of white decadence, with the whipped cream covering layers of crushed nougat and caramel choux buns to garnish. In stark contrast, Anna switched at the last second to a Lucky You cake. It’s a base of pumpkin meringue, mascarpone, caramelised and salted pumpkin seeds with a chocolate mousse on top, filled with raspberries, covered with chocolate ganache, decorated with more pumpkin seeds, which, frankly she’d like to plant her face in, it looks so good. Instead, and keen to take some lead in their ruse for Rasmus and Mette, she scoops a forkful and feeds it to Jamie. He gets no say in this, but he’s invested in the game– or simply the cake– so doesn’t protest.
“’S’amazing,” he groans again, savouring his mouthful. “You’re not hoping for me to share mine, are you?”
Anna pouts. “Not even for our audience?”
Jamie pouts right back and they both laugh.
“I could do theWhen Harry Met Sallyreaction,” she suggests.
Jamie’s eyes bug a little at that, which makes her laugh more.
“Tempting to watch, but maybe too much,” he replies, but he does feed her some. A smaller morsel than she fed him, and not as willingly. It’s the first time he’s been anything less than generous, and Anna feels she’s learned something about Jamie and his catnip.
The hot chocolate clearly meets his approval, too, and Anna wonders whether La Glace have really thought carefully about their free refills policy. He finishes his cupful quickly and Anna’s delighted to see the chocolate moustache it’s left. Emboldened, she reaches a hand to his face, cups his jaw and then wipes the chocolate away with her thumb. Jamie’s eyes glaze as she does so, and then in a move that seems to come from nowhere, she draws her hand back and gives the tip of her thumb a slow suck.
She gives him a loud, long, “Mmmm,” for good measure.
Jamie is still gazing at her, his mouth fractionally parted. She does believe she’s left him speechless.
“Vi ses, you two,” says a voice from behind them. Rasmus and Mette are leaving, and Anna watches as Mette gives Jamie a proper check-over, garnering as many facts as she can to make her report. Well, check away, Mette, love. Fill your boots.
“Hej igen,” says Anna, with the biggest smile she can fit on her face, “og God Jul.”
The couple depart and Anna feels both she and Jamie relax, though neither of them moves away. In fact, they stay close to each other for the rest of the cake and the four cups of hot chocolate Jamie manages through the next cosy hour, where they chat amiably about all and nothing, looking to all and sundry like a firmly established couple.
ChapterSixteen
Kongens Nytorv is buzzing. A large square, between the end of Strøget, the world’s longest shopping street and the top of Nyhavn, it’s surrounded by baroque-style embassies, hotels, a theatre and a department store. Currently, the square is filled with Krinsen, the enormous circular loop of an ice-rink, which Jamie and Anna have already passed a couple of times in their excursions. It’s milling with skaters and surrounded by Christmas market stalls. Not being tourists, they’re smart and buy theirgløggjust off the main drag; it’s better and it’s cheaper.
“You need to do agløggguide, Anna. Tourists need to know about spots like this,” he says, having taken a sip.
“Krinsen?” she asks, nodding at the ice-rink. “Pretty sure all tourists will know about that.”
“No, the secretgløggsellers, the top tips for not paying quite so much in an expensive city. An article on the website.” Maybe something for next winter, she thinks, then parks it. It’ll take far more in-situ research and she isn’t going to be here to do it.
“Right. Time for selfies,” Jamie says, turning 360 degrees to look about them and taking her with him. He comes to a stop with Hotel D’Angleterre behind them, which has been draped in a curtain of tiny white lights, above a Christmas tree of lights on its front balcony.
“Let’s cause a stir,” he says, that look of mischief back on his face. It’s like she’s seeing the younger Jamie. Of course, this mischief could also simply be him high on cake and chocolate. “Put your hat on,” he says.
“Stop it, MacDonald.”
“Get it on, Lundholm, let’s see if anyone notices.”
Anna is sure someone will.
“It’s good for tourism,” he tries.
