Nari peels her eyes from the miraculous wonders above to look at him inquisitively, striking Niilo almost breathless by the changing colours reflected in her irises.
‘A Sámi word for the Northern lights,’ he manages to explain, all the while gazing, awestruck at her face.
Overwhelmed by the need in his eyes, Nari makes the small step towards him and their lips meet in a kiss that Niilo feels all the way down.
If he could have thought clearly, he’d have joined up the fragmented ideas scattering in his brain. Yes, she was kissing him hungrily, passionately, but it didn’t feel like the others; the girlfriends of his youth, or those few visitors to the resort he’d let himself kiss. As he enfolded Nari in his arms, he recognised a different kind of intensity, a deep, overwhelming connectedness. She was taking his hand now, and they break into a run for the cottage door.
Inside, they fumble with snowsuit zips and peel off layers, and they laugh, throwing off their boots.
He had been right all along. Nari was exactly the person he’d been waiting for. But none of these thoughts materialise clearly in his mind, only a feeling of light-headedness washing over him again and his muscles melting at her touch as their bodies meet for the first time. Niilo inhales sharply through gritted teeth at the sensation of her skin touching his and her long hair against his chest.
Nari pulls back, looking at him levelly. ‘Where do you sleep?’
Wordlessly, Niilo looks to the low door leading from the kitchen. He grasps her hand and walks her from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When I wake, the room at the top of Stellan’s lake house is warm and silent. It takes a few moments of blinking into the darkness to work out that I’m not imagining the rippling green fluorescence above me. Through the glass I see it; the aurora borealis, lighting the sky, shimmering and changing, disappearing suddenly then recovering itself in a flash of brilliant colour. How long has it been shining above me? I try to remember if it had been there all along, the whole time Stellan and I have been wrapped up in each other in bed, too focussed on each other to notice the magic in the sky. I look around, amazed, wanting to tell Stellan, but he isn’t here.
A fluttering panic fills my chest, and I scrabble around looking for clothes that, it suddenly hits me, are still at the sauna. So I haul a sheet off the bed, wrap it around me and go in search of Stellan.
He can’t have left me here, can he? No. He’d never do that. But if he’s sitting by the front door, full of regret and ready to take me back to the resort as soon as morning comes… No. Not after last night. It was perfect.
Perfect doesn’t even do it justice, Stellan and me. It was as sublime and ecstatic and magical as the first sip of Friday night prosecco after the longest week; like fresh bedclothes on a Sunday afternoon; like Johnny Marr expertly slipping between chords; like the scratch card that reveals a million; like the unexpected concert hall encore when you think the band has left the building; like Idina Menzel’s highest note on her very best day.
Long story short: It. Was. So. Good.
I float downstairs and I see him, his back to me, in a white robe, busy working in the gleaming, elegant open-plan kitchen by the immaculate white lounge where there’s a crackling log fire. He’s lit candles all around and the whole impression is blissful, and I can smell sweet foody scents in the air.
‘Is it still Christmas Day?’ I say, as I approach him, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades and letting my hands explore his chest.
Turning with a grin and pulling me to him, he tells me it is, but only just, and asks if I’m hungry. I get a kiss on the forehead and a glimpse at the tray behind him on the counter.
‘Oh wow. Another of Rasmus’s surprises?’
There sits a dish of marshmallows, little gingerbread men cookies, segments of freshly peeled mandarins and black cherries on stalks beside a steamy bowl of thick, melted dark chocolate.
‘Let’s eat,’ he says.
We wander to the hearth where I find an open bottle of red wine and glasses. And there’s a fresh dry robe on the sofa for me.
I see Stellan glance towards it as he settles himself on the rug. I know he’s wondering what I’m going to do. Feeling no hint of my former shyness, I let the bed sheet fall to the floor and Stellan watches me slip into the cosy dressing gown.
We eat our Christmas night meal in the flickering light, and it barely enters my head that in a matter of hours I’ll be flying home to England. Instead, I dip a shiny cherry into the liquid chocolate and let it knock messily against Stellan’s smiling lips.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Niilo climbs back into bed, avoiding the clothes strewn over the bedroom floor. He passes the mug of milky tea to Nari, who had been dozing under the covers.
‘It’s midnight, Christmas is over,’ he says.
‘That’s a shame. I don’t want it to be,’ Nari replies sleepily, leaning back into his arms as they settle themselves comfortably and she sips from the mug. Niilo’s fingertips brush Nari’s forehead, pushing away her hair so he can kiss a soft, smooth spot.
‘I forgot to give you your Christmas gift,’ he says, reaching for the bundle by the bed; it’s wrapped in brown paper and tied with embroidered ribbon, like the colourful decorative bands she’d seen on hisgáktijacket.
‘What? But I didn’t give you anything!’
A breathy laugh escapes Niilo’s smiling lips, thinking how only an hour ago he had held his breath, lifting his hips and arching his spine beneath her, their fingers interlocked and heads thrown back. A shudder ripples his nerves at the remembrance of it. ‘On the contrary…’ he started to say, only to be met by a gentle dig in his stomach from Nari’s elbow.
