This was a step too far for both of them, and yet not nearly far enough at the same time. They both pretended to be absorbed in eating the triple-decker toasted sandwiches, so crisp and gooey, and watching the flames, feeling thankful for the Christmas music pouring from Magnús’s phone speaker.
Magnús handed Alex her milkshake and lifted his own. ‘So this is your mamma’s famous milkshake?’
‘It is. Go on, try it,’ she urged, before taking a long drink from her straw, her eyes falling to his lips as they pursed softly and he sucked up the pale pink drink. His eyes widened as he drank, not stopping for a comically long time. Half the glass was gone when his lips released the straw and he exclaimed, ‘Ljúffengur!’
‘Loo fenger?’ Alex echoed.
‘Delicious.’
‘Ah!’ Alex took another drink and they let the fire crackle between them and the music fill the room.
Yes, everything about this evening was delicious, and neither of them was going to let it end too soon.
When the crispy squares had been eaten and Magnús had winced at the sweetness before concluding it was something you got more accustomed to with every bite and he’d licked his sticky fingers clean and hoped there was more left for later, he poured the ruby wine into glasses and shoved the tray stacked with dishes away from them with his boot. The last thing he wanted was Alex springing up and offering to wash plates.
Alex stretched out her legs in front of her, leaning her back on the armchair, signalling to Magnús there was enough room for him to lean too.
There wasn’t. Both of them could see it, but he still plucked a book from one of the baskets below the staircase and settled himself beside Alex, his boots close to the fire.
Shifting awkwardly so their shoulders didn’t clash, Magnús soon gave up trying to fit and lifted his arm instead. ‘Can I?’ He reached out across her back.
‘You can,’ Alex told him, already leaning into the nook under his arm and slipping her hand around his back so her fingertips came to rest on his belt loop while her other hand clasped the stem of her glass in front of her.
‘You’re not worried about this storm coming in, are you?’ Alex asked after a while spent watching the flames dance and pretending being close like this wasn’t sending fireworks crackling throughout her nervous system.
‘Nei,Þetta reddast,’ Magnús said, feeling very much like his level-headed, pragmatic old man back in Iceland. ‘It’ll all be OK. You’ll see.’
Curling their bodies closer to one another like foxes deep in their winter den, Magnús opened the book and read. ‘T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house…’
Alex closed her eyes and enjoyed his voice rumbling in his chest against her ear. His body was soft on the surface and hard underneath and he easily supported her as she let her weight sink against him.
When he finished the story and closed the book against his stomach, Alex heard herself talking.
‘My name’s Alex Robinson. I’m from Port Kernou. I had a ferry there; that’s the boat I rammed into the Clove Lore harbour wall.’ She rolled her eyes but he couldn’t see her face to know. ‘And now I’m here. I’ve got no job to go back to. I do have a house, though. My parents are both dead, years ago, and I miss them so much andumm, that’s me.’
She waited, her head still leaning on his chest, listening to him breathing.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Alex Robinson. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.’
It was enough to make her laugh and lift her head.
‘Anything else to tell?’ Magnús asked, holding her gaze. ‘These were the secrets you couldn’t mention?’ He tipped his head. He knew there must be more to her running away than that.
Alex’s mind raced. Was there anything else left to tell? Perhaps, but nothing she felt like saying right this second. She thought of Ben and Eve, Mr and Mrs Thomas and the family she’d come to think of as her own. Yes, losing them hurt; it ached in fact, but with this new distance between them and the fresh clarity she’d found about Ben and her so-called best friend, it was a little more bearable. And yes, she had been embarrassed about running away and worrying everyone, but there was no need to let it eat her up now; she’d dealt with that by messaging Bryony.
‘There are still some practical matters to deal with,’ she told him. ‘But it’s OK.’
She knew she was making light of her dad’s wrecked boat, and the fact she still had to make a living somehow – the little money in her bank account wasn’t going to last forever – but in Magnús’s embrace it didn’t seem so pressing. And wasn’t she allowed to take some time off, after all these years? Couldn’t she just enjoy Christmas, and this man’s company? He’d be leaving for Iceland soon enough. She’d face the real world then.
With her eyes locked on Magnús’s soft gaze, she found there was nothing else she wanted to say.
‘Can I ask something?’ he said.
‘OK,’ she replied, a little too cautiously.
‘How old are you?’
‘Oh,’ she let out a laugh. ‘I’m twenty-six.’
