Careful not to hit anyone with my outrageously big and overfull backpack, I shimmied between the long communal tables, still managing to graze the backs of heads.
Every hunger pang tempted me to drop my stuff on the floor, right then and there, and head to the spread of cheeses, meats, and scones.
A more informal seating area lined with warped bookcases and antique lamps that gave off the coziest vibe led me to the check-in area. I wove through the aged chairs and clunky side tables. My foot hooked on a leg—not a furniture leg, a human leg, I realized—but it was too late, I was already falling into their lap.
“Oh my God.” I shot up, but my backpack pulled me down, and I scrambled like an overturned turtle. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Beneath a long set of lashes, he glanced down at his stained linen shirt, the material damp against his dark brown skin.
“It’s… fine.” His voice was warm but cautious. Slowly, he stood, holding an empty paper cup and a sticky baked good. “But can you get me a napkin?”
“Of course.” I scurried to a table, my gigantic bag almost knocking out someone else, and grabbed an entire stack. “Here.”
Placing his breakfast on the armrest, he lightly dabbed at his shirt. A smirk spread over his lips. “Be careful where you fling that thing.” He nodded to my backpack. “You could really take somebody out.”
My face burned. “Sorry. I might have packed an extra wetsuit. Or two.”
“Diver?” He raised a thick brow.
I shook my head. “Surfer.”
Curiosity lit his face. “Have you been in Iceland for long, or are you just getting in?”
“I got here this morning. From California.” My jaw clicked as I held back a yawn. “I’m beat. I’m also uncoordinated. Doesn’t make the best combination.”
He chuckled lightly, the twists of his hair sweeping out from his beanie to skim the tops of his shoulders. “Me too. I mean, I’m tired—I have a little more swag.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with the trace of a smile. “I just got off the night shift.” He held out his free hand. “I’m Gunnar.”
“River.” I met his firm grip, his skin soft and delightfully warm, thawing me from far too long out in the uninviting chill I’d been wandering around in all morning. “Nice to meet you— although…” I bit my lip as I sought the words, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes twinkled down at me as I quickly added, “I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Laughter shook his chest—his sopping-wet chest. I cringed, embarrassed all over again.
“So, what do you do for work?” I asked, changing the subject before the flush returned to my cheeks.
“Security... of sorts.” Eyes narrowing, he tilted his head, as if realizing something I didn’t. “I’ll save you the trouble of going to reception. Check-in isn’t until four.” He strode to the bar, leaning against the counter. “You can place your bag behind here if you don’t want to lug it around until then.”
“Are you… sure?” I asked, already slipping off the thick straps.
“Yep. My friend works here—she won’t care.” He curled his fingers to gesture for me to hand it over. “Bring it here.”
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, as the weight left my shoulders for good. I stretched my arms overhead, relishing the lightness. “That feels so much better.”
“Ekkert að þakka.”
My brows dipped inward. Huh?
“It means ‘no problem’.” A breeziness draped his tone. “You don’t need to thank me.”
He turned to leave.
“Well, at least let me buy you a coffee.” It came off a little desperate but, honestly, the last thing I wanted to do was be alone. And Gunnar was nice. And a local. Maybe he could fill me in on the lighthouse. “I owe you one,” I added, forcing a coolness I didn’t possess. “Literally, since I’m the reason you’re wearing yours.”
Not a single part of him moved. Not a blink, not a breath. It was supernatural, really. He was thinking. The gears were turning, intrigue and suspicion flashing across his umber eyes like lightning on a dark, stormy night.
Maybe he was just being nice, and I had overstepped. Maybe I did just need to go my own way. Or maybe that fringe group had in fact reached Iceland and he was realizing who I was…
Sweat dotted my upper lip.
“Alright.” He returned a full smile, brighter than the anemic sun outside. It melted some of the anxiety away. “But in order to function like an actual person right now I’m going to need something stronger than drip coffee. Cappuccino?”
