As he watched, she closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.
Bente had hoped that Didrik would understand—this had been a huge step for her to take.
She made her way to the greenroom while he remained on set, talking about the new season ofThe Expertsthat was to be filmed after the summer.
She could see him on the big screen in the greenroom. The show was live, and he was laughing and joking, being completely himself. He was always like that. His authentic self. But the fact that he had shared his innermost thoughts with her meant that he had been more than just genuine with Bente; he had made himself vulnerable too.
She thought about Henrik; she had always kept him at arm’s length. And before him she’d done the same with Frederic, who in turn had always kept his own innermost feelings a very long way from Bente. This had suited her very well because it meant their relationship made no demands on her.
Didrik, on the other hand, had expected her to open up, exactly as he had done. Maybe doing so was worth it. Maybe she needed to do that in order to give him—to givethem—an honest chance?
When he emerged from the studio, she was waiting. She looked him in the eye.
“Running a restaurant,” she said, because she didn’t know how else to start.
“Sorry?”
“Running a restaurant. Or a wine bar.”
He raised his eyebrows. Apparently she needed to explain why she was standing here spitting out alternative careers.
“That’s what I dreamed of when I was a child—running a restaurant.”
“Okay?”
“And that’s what I’d choose to do today, if I were to do something else. A wine bar rather than a restaurant, though. But I have to explain why. Everything kind of hangs together.”
He nodded.
“Do you want to talk?”
He gazed into her eyes.
“I’d love to.”
They wandered through Gärdet. Today Stockholm was offering its entire repertoire of spring weather. A storm had just passed, and now the steel-gray bank of clouds was resting on the horizon, appearing to swallow the setting sun, which was staining the sky the color of a blood orange. The air was heavy with rain and dampness.
“First of all, I want to say that I really do want to share more,” she began. “I want us to get to know each other, it’s just that I’m not sure ... what this is, what we have. I mean, you’re Didrik Holgersson. One of Sweden’s most likable personalities. You can have anyone you want.” She laughed. “I guess this is my way of telling you I’m insecure.” She stopped, smiled.
He smiled back. “Anyone I want? I want you.” Those dark eyes twinkled.
His words made her heart pound.
I want you.
He gave a little laugh, sounding almost embarrassed. “I like you very much.” He kept his gaze fixed on her and she had to look away, but she was still smiling. They set off again and she continued to talk.
“My parents were accountants, but Dad’s passions were cooking and wine. He often talked about running a restaurant, something of his own. Nothing major, just a modest local eatery in the suburb where we lived. He had big dreams, and in the end his dreams became my dreams too. And somehow they have lived on.”
She realized how stupid it must seem to him: her not being able to tell him about a simple childhood dream. It was just that if she started to talk about that kind of thing, about herself, her goals and her dreams, it seemed like she wouldn’t be able to avoid digging up everything else. One question would lead to an answer that would lead to another question, and suddenly, she would find herself back at her father’s death.
But she had to let Didrik in. If she wanted to hold on to him.
“That’s very interesting,” he said.
“It’s hard to tell the story because it’s all connected to my dad. I find it so difficult ...” She fell silent.
“But you still dream of running your own restaurant?”
