Must Be Love
Almost four weeks later
The plane touched down on the tarmac, and Arve released his grip on her hand.
“I don’t enjoy flying, Fiona, mine, but spending time alone with you was worth every second of this torture.”
“That’s so sweet.” She grinned and flexed her hand. “I must return to Florida now and then.”
Arve stood to grab their hand luggage from the overhead locker. “I’ll let one of the others escort you,” he said. “That’s only fair. They should get to see your house and try out the pool. They can go shopping and dancing and to the beach.”
Fiona contained her grin with difficulty. “I won’t need to go back for six months.”
They deplaned and hustled across the tarmac to enter the airport terminal.
“Arve! Fiona!”
“Stig and Kirk are over there,” Arve said, having better visibility from his height. “You say hello, and I’ll collect our luggage.”
“Stig. Kirk.” She pushed past passengers carrying bulky day packs, heavy coats and big boots. Finally, her path cleared, and she leapt at Stig. “I missed you.”
Stig grabbed her in a hard hug before he drew back and kissed her.
“My turn,” Kirk said with a trace of impatience.
She found herself in Kirk’s arms and wrapped her forearms around his neck to kiss him too. Quick and passionate with a hint of desperation on both sides.
“Oh, my goodness,” a woman whispered. “She kissed both men as if they were lovers. Surely she’s not sleeping with both of them?”
Fiona pulled away from Kirk and blushed when he winked at her.
“I don’t blame her,” the woman’s friend said and flapped her hand in front of her face. “They’re smokin’ hot. Oh, maybe you could introduce me to him,” she gushed on seeing Arve with their luggage. His muscles bulged as he wheeled a trolley piled high with bags.
“Sharon!” the first woman whisper-shouted.
“Are you ready, Fiona, mine?” Arve asked, beaming in eagerness.
“Wow, she’s not playing fair,” Sharon complained. As her friend dragged her away, she continued to peer over her shoulder.
“We missed you,” Stig said. “How was it, Arve? Did you have trouble with the relatives?”
“Hot,” their burly brother said. “I liked it best in Fiona’s air-conditioned bedroom. No trouble. My size made their eyes pop and they ran away quick.”
“I bet you enjoyed Fiona’s bedroom,” Kirk said drily. “Which is why you’re on kitchen duty tonight. I don’t care if dinner is burnt. We deserve time with Fiona.”
“Okay,” Arve agreed. “I’ll cook pasta, and that French onion soup stuff to start.”
Stig and Kirk exchanged a perplexed glance.
Kirk pinched Arve’s arm. “What did you do with our big brother?”
“Fiona, mine, taught me to cook. We had fun,” Arve said. “Ma never showed us this stuff. We went dancing.”
Kirk gawked at him. “Dancing? You can dance?”
“He can,” Fiona said. “He’s got rhythm. He’s a great cook too.”
“Seeing is believing.” Stig displayed clear doubt.
