Emil’s grip tightened on his spoon. No, no, no.
“Olive, kära barn.” His mother’s voice was gentle. “The Swedish word for cat is…katt.”
Olive stilled, then let out a self-conscious trill of laughter. “Oh my, what a silly misunderstanding.”
Everyone nodded, but no one spoke. They waited, glancing at him. His mother narrowed her eyes at him, as if prompting him to speak. To tell Olive what it really meant. But if he admitted it, it would be real. There would be no turning back. It would be out in the open, where everyone knew how he felt.
Olive gazed around the table uneasily. “Then what does min käraste mean?”
Goddammit, he would not be the reason for her self-consciousness. For her unease at his house. The longer the silence, the more time she had to conjure up all kinds of fears. He couldn’t do that to her. Not when the truth was far from awful. It was uncomfortable, but not awful.
Maybe he was courting her. That didn’t mean he was ready to give up everything. Not his independence, not the parts of himself that still felt half-wild. It certainly didn’t mean he was rushing off to buy a ring. Plenty of courtships fizzled before they made it to the altar. And if this one somehow didn’t—if it carried him all the way there—well, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst fate. God forbid he change his entire life just to have it explode in his face. He could take this one step at a time, on his terms. Just...seeing where it went.
It could be rather wonderful, if he let it.
“It means my beloved,” he ground out.
Olive’s face flooded crimson, her gaze dropping to the table. “Oh.”
Oh, was right. He ignored everyone else at the table, concentrating only on her reaction. Did she find the endearment overwhelming? Too strong? What if she didn’t like it? He was tense, ready to spring from the table and pretend the whole thing had never happened, when she peeked up at him. Her doe eyes punched the air out of him all over again. And then she smiled.
A strange relief settled in. The secret was out. No more hiding. No more pretending. His family knew, and that was that. Perhaps it wasn’t so awful, after all. Perhaps tying himself to someone might not be the doom he’d always imagined. He turned to meet his father’s gaze.
“You were right.”
His father sat back in his chair with a smug nod. No one else moved.
“About what?” Olive asked, raising her teacup to her mouth with trembling fingers.
“I’m courting you.”
She spluttered mid-sip, and the cat launched itself off her lap with a cranky yowl. Emil simply leaned over and gently patted her on the back.
“She’s overwhelmed with delight,” he said dryly.
“You do have that effect on women,” Astrid quipped.
He shot her a warning look—God forbid she bring up his damn code—but she only grinned. So did his mother.
Olive finally wrestled her breathing under control, though her face remained the color of ripe tomatoes. She stayed in her seat, but she eyed the door longingly. Emil had no doubt she was seconds away from bolting. He didn’t blame her. It was overwhelming. But by now, he knew Olive well enough to trust she’d resurface. She always did. She just needed a moment, a little space, and maybe a closed door between her and the spotlight.
He leaned in, voice low. “Would you like?—”
“I think it’s time for my lesson, don’t you?” Olof interrupted, startling them both.
“Absolutely,” Olive blurted, springing to her feet.
His father stood and led her from the room like nothing at all had just exploded over the family’s kaffekalas. Astrid and Mor exchanged another of their looks that made him want to leave his own body, but to his surprise, they didn’t say a word.
Until Mor smiled softly. “She’s wonderful, son.”
Astrid and Pete nodded in agreement.
For once, he had nothing to argue with.
Chapter 20
Not even the cold could diminish the joy of being courted.
