The café had round metal tables outside, with floral-patterned chairs. They looked new, which suggested that Eklunds was doing well. All the tables were full, so they went inside. Tuula took in the checked tile flooring, square tables, well-upholstered chairs, and bare white walls.
She was headed toward an empty table in the far corner when she spotted Nils standing behind the counter. His face lit up when he saw her. He raised his hand to greet her, but then one of the staff asked him a question and he turned away. She headed for the empty table.
Two couples were seated at the next table, but were using the empty one for their coats and the women’s purses. One of the women smiled apologetically and was about to move her purse when Matias inhaled sharply. He had noticed the display shelves, and pointed to them.
“Look, Ritva, they’ve got buns!” he said excitedly in Finnish. The woman stopped, her expression darkened, and she left her purse where it was. She looked Tuula up and down, then turned away, nose in the air.
“Excuse me, is this table free?” Tuula asked anyway, thinking they couldn’t deny her if she asked them directly.
The group didn’t even glance up at her. She stood there at a loss, feeling the eyes of other customers on her. Some of them looked uncomfortable, and she wanted the checked floor to open up and swallow her.
“FruAnttila, may I take your order?” Nils was suddenly right behind her. “Please sit down.” As he gestured toward the table, the others obediently moved their things. Nils demonstratively pushed the table farther away and adjusted the chairs. “There you go. Everyone is welcome here, and if anyone has a problem with that, they can go elsewhere.” He spoke loudly, staring at the group seated at the other table. None of them met his gaze, but Tuula looked at him gratefully. She wanted to hug him and cry at the same time. It was extraordinary after all this time—after the flight from Finland, after living in the camp in Sweden—to have someone stand up for her and her children.
Nils went back to the counter, beckoning Tuula and the children to follow him. The hum of conversation in the café resumed, and from the corner of her eye Tuula saw the group at the neighboring table preparing to leave.
“So who do we have here?” Nils crouched down so that he was the same height as the children.
“Matias.” The boy straightened his shoulders and held out his hand, while Ritva clutched Tuula’s hand tightly and seemed to want to disappear behind her.
“And this is Ritva,” Tuula said. “Children, this isherrEklund, the owner of the bakery where I work,” she went on in Finnish. “Their Swedish isn’t very good yet,” she explained to Nils.
“I can understand that—you haven’t been here long, have you?”
“We’ve been in Sweden since the beginning of the year, but we started practicing our Swedish during the journey, so they know a little bit.”
“And how come you speak Swedish so well?” His warm gaze was as soft as a pat of butter melting in the sunshine.
“My mother spoke Swedish with me when I was a child.”
Nils smiled. “Like I said, you’re very impressive.” He went behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
“I thought I’d let the children try your cinnamon buns—two of those, please. A bottle of soda with two glasses, and a coffee for me.”
“You don’t want a cinnamon bun?”
“No thank you—I’ll finish off theirs.” Tuula knew that the children would eat up every crumb, but the fact was that she couldn’t afford any more. She had spent her first week’s wages on food, and one or two other things they needed for the apartment.
“You have to try one as well,” Nils insisted, putting three buns on three plates. “My treat, of course.”
“There’s really no need . . . ,” Tuula protested.
“I disagree—there have to be some perks to working at the bakery. And I noticed a young gentleman looking at the cookies.” He smiledat Matias. “Which ones do you want to try? Choose whatever you like.”
Tuula looked down at the children. “Two each,” she said quickly in Finnish. They obediently went over to the glass display case and pointed at what they wanted. Nils added a chocolate slice and a jitterbug.They’ll have a stomachache at this rate,Tuula thought, but she couldn’t help smiling.
“If you go and sit down, Anna will bring your coffee,” Nils said, nodding to a tall, dark-haired woman who smiled at Tuula.
They sat down at their table, and Tuula watched the children tuck in to their treats. A moment later Anna came over with a pot of coffee and a cup. Tuula nodded her thanks. She added a drop of milk, then tasted the hot coffee. It was rich and mellow, without a trace of bitterness. And then she took a bite of the cinnamon bun. She closed her eyes. It was heavenly. Crisp and sweet, but also soft and buttery, with the perfect touch of cinnamon.
“Do you like it?”
She looked straight up into Nils’s brown eyes. “It’s fantastic.”
He pulled out the chair opposite. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.”
“So how are you settling into the village?”
