They stopped by the entrance to her house, and Nils looked at her.
“Thank you for this evening, Tuula.”
“No, thank you. Thank you for dinner—I’ve really enjoyed myself.”
“Me too. It’s ...” Nils broke off, gazed up at the sky and the stars as if he were hoping to find the words written there. “It’s so easy to talk to you, to spend time with you. You make me feel good.”
Tuula smiled. She felt exactly the same way about him.
He bent down and kissed her with those soft, warm lips. Yes, he definitely made her feel alive.
22
Henrik brought both sourdough loaves over to his father’s house the following morning. His father wasn’t impressed.
“Are you still using that old starter?” he asked, distaste written all over his face.
“Indeed I am. It makes the most delicious bread.”
“I love sourdough!” Anita said. “I’ve never understood what you’ve got against it, Hasse.”
Hasse shrugged. “I just think it’s overrated.” He turned his head away. “That starter and the whole history behind it almost cost your grandfather the business,” he muttered.
“That smells delicious—can I have some?” Elnaz asked as she entered the kitchen. Henrik smiled as she cut herself a slice of bread and spread it generously with butter. She smiled back. “I love your sourdough.” Hasse scowled at them.
“So it’s time to trim the tree,” Elnaz informed them through a mouthful of bread.
They had their makeup done in Hasse’s study. Ellen showed up just in time, and smiled stiffly when Tom gave her a rather clumsy kiss on the cheek. Then they all took up their positions around the tree, surrounded by boxes of tinsel, fairy lights, and ornaments. Then they set to work decorating the tree, listening to Christmas music and enjoying Christmas treats as they did so. The children had fun, and Henrik foundhe was able to relax as he stepped into his role as the cheerful son of Hasse Eklund.
Then it was time for Henrik and his father to bake their saffron buns. Before the cameras, they got along just fine, agreeing on the elasticity of the dough, the amount of saffron to include, and the fact that the milk shouldn’t be too hot. Hasse came up with an anecdote about when Henrik was a little boy and didn’t have the patience to wait for the dough to proof. Henrik listened with half an ear, but smiled anyway. He knew most of it wasn’t true; Hasse had no special memories of his children, because he had never spent any time with them.
Hasse patted Henrik on the shoulder as he told his stories, gazing at him as if his son was very special. Love in front of the cameras was so unconditional! The worst thing was that Henrik always treasured those brief moments when his father was like this. He was doing it even now, but then he reminded himself that this was the same person who’d decided to compete with his own son’s TV show just because Henrik had stood up to him.
They paused for a coffee break in the middle of the scene.
Hasse stared at Henrik as they helped themselves to the refreshments provided by the production team. “So have you found something else to do?”
“Sorry?”
“In the fall.” The loving expression was completely gone.
“There are no plans to cancelLet’s Get Baking.” Henrik sat down at the table and sipped his coffee. He hoped his father would go and sit in the armchair by the bay window as far from him as possible.
“No?” Hasse narrowed his eyes and took the chair opposite Henrik.
Tom joined them, but Hasse didn’t care. Maybe he wanted Tom to hear this.
“This is what I was afraid of,” he went on. “You don’t have enough backbone.”
Henrik looked wearily at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve had everything served up to you on a silver platter. A job, a business. Fame. All I’ve ever wanted from my children is for them to put in a little effort, and it’s a great disappointment to me that you can’t come up with something to do on your own terms.” He got to his feet, picked up his empty plate, and left the room.
Henrik couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother and instead focused on his meatball sandwich. But he had lost his appetite.
When filming resumed, they took out the dough that had been prepared the previous day and checked its elasticity.
“Perfect!” Hasse exclaimed, laughing heartily. “No one makes better saffron dough than you, Henrik.” He smiled warmly and leaned closer. “Don’t tell Tom,” he added quietly, but loudly enough for sound to pick it up. Henrik grinned, even though he felt nauseated. How long could he put up with this nonsense?
