Else added a book to the stack in her arms. “I think he drives off the younger physicists because he’s afraid of competition. Which is silly. He’s brilliant. And at the institute we don’t compete. We work together.”
Henrik’s mouth tightened. “He should not be mean.”
Else swung a smile his way, and a blond lock curled aroundher chin. “No, he shouldn’t. But now he knows that if he bites, I’ll yelp.”
“Good. You were brave.”
“I was, but...” Her face fell. “It shouldn’t have required so much courage to do such a little thing.”
He fixed a firm gaze on her. “Next time you will be brave earlier.”
Her mouth softened and opened. “I think you’re right. Every step of courage makes the next step easier, don’t you think?”
He did, and his heart felt fuller, watching her add courage to kindness.
A flicker of a smile, and she turned back to the bookshelf and removed another volume.
“What are you buying?” he asked.
“Kierkegaard.”
“Kier—ke—”
Else gave him an apologetic look. “Søren Kierkegaard. He’s Denmark’s most famous philosopher. He and Andersen were contempo—they knew each other.” She nodded to the book of fairy tales.
“Oh.” Henrik had read his share of Kierkegaard in Latin school and found his ideas both uplifting and challenging. But he hadn’t read his writings since.
“Niels Bohr doesn’t like Kierkegaard.” Else pulled another book from the shelf. “But he loves a debate. I seem to remember something Kierkegaard wrote that reminds me of complementarity—one of Bohr’s ideas. I want to brush up.”
What a discussion that would be. “That is a lot of brushing up.”
“It is.” Else discarded one book, added another. “When I came to Denmark, my trunk was full of necessities and physics books, which are necessities to me. My other books are in California.”
She adjusted her grip around the tall stack.
“That looks heavy.” He reached for the books with a questioning look.
“Thank you.”
Henrik put the fairy tales on top of her books, then took them all into his arms, brushing her small, warm fingers.
“Thank you.” She squinted at the bookshelf, and her cheeks turned bright pink.
Warm fingers. Warm cheeks. And his chest warmed. Despite their differences, he had some effect on her.
His arms tightened around the books. This wasn’t a socialite to conquer. This was Dr. Else Jensen, a treasure of a woman and not to be trifled with.
By moving into friendship with her, he’d accepted the risk of becoming more attracted to her. Never had he dreamed she’d become attracted to him—a risk he didn’t dare take.
She plucked one more book from the shelf. “I’ve reached my limit. Let’s make our purchases.” She tipped a smile to him, her cheeks faded to their usual shade.
Friendship was worth it. The risk of attraction. The risk of revelation. Since the gulf between them loomed wide, neither of them would try to bridge it.
He’d accept the gift of friendship, and he smiled at her.
And they each bought their books. And Else loaded them into her briefcase, even Henrik’s, because they lived in the same house. And Henrik carried the suitcase, because it was heavy. And they caught the same tram, because to take separate trams would have been silly.
And Henrik cherished the gift.
