Gunnar leaned over the screen, his forehead furrowing. “Not much out there. A geothermal swimming pool and a couple of guesthouses. There’s also an old village, but that was abandoned decades ago.”
And a lighthouse, I waited for him to say. I mean, it was there—on the map. But oddly, he didn’t mention it.
Suspicion picked at my insides like a crow gnawing on carrion. “Are there any buses that go out there?”
Gunnar blinked. A few times. I swore he was studying me closer.
“If you think that’s where you’ll find your aunt… let me tell you, there are no people out there. Just a lot of wind. And ice. And puffins.” He said it so casually—too casually—as if it were the least important place in the world.
It only made me more skeptical. But before I was able bring up the watchtower, Freyja reappeared.
She untied her apron, plopping it in front of us. “What are we up to today?”
“Sleeping,” Gunnar replied with no hesitation. “And it sounds like River might be trying to catch a ride to Dyrhólaey. Vitavellir.”
Didn’t know where that was, but assuming it was the location on the map, I went along with it.
“Ah,” she said, her voice pitching up. “What for?”
“Family,” he responded smoothly. “A great aunt.”
“Interesting.” A look passed between the two of them. It was subtle, but I didn’t miss it. They were scrutinizing me just as much as I was them. What for, I didn’t know, yet. “Not many people out there,” Freyja said, like she and Gunnar were reading from the same script.
When I didn’t acknowledge that, his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm across the bar top. “Not many at all.”
My eyes narrowed. Were they speaking in code or something? How many times did they need to say that?
“Well…” Cheeks raising in a close-lipped smile, she twisted out from behind the counter. “I’m off. There’s a south swell coming in.”
My breath caught in my throat, my heart fluttering. If there was one thing that could get me to ignore their questionable comments, ignore all my responsibilities, it was the opportunity to catch a wave.
“You surf?” The excitement in my voice was tangible; I cringed.
“I do,” she said with a laugh. “You?”
I nodded. God, I was practically salivating.
“Want to join me?” Her gray eyes burned brighter, as if they were crafted from the arctic sea themselves. “We can try to find your cousin’s house after.”
“Aunt—”
“Right, right.” She swatted the air, silver rings glinting on her golden-brown fingers.
Trapping the air in my chest, I took a beat to decide, while Gunnar texted someone and Freyja grabbed her bag. Part of me was still a little weirded out. I was probably just jet-lagged. It was just my sleep-deprived brain tricking me into thinking the world was against me—that they were against me—and I had nothing to worry about. Gunnar and Freyja had been nothing but kind and welcoming.
“Let’s do it.” The rest of my words tumbled out in one, quick, excited string. “I hoped to fit in a surf sesh, but I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance. I packed my thickest wetsuits just in case!”
“One can never have too many,” Gunnar quipped, stashing his phone in his jacket pocket. “Fair warning: I’m sleeping on the way. Night shift.”
“You get your beauty rest. It’ll take us a little over an hour.” Freyja playfully cupped his cheek before turning to me. “Grab your stuff, River. We’re going surfing.”
Chapter 12
Heavy waves pummeled the shoreline—not exactly what I’d call inviting. The frothy edge of the tide rushed up the beach, drenching my surf booties, the pair I’d been this close to leaving at home. I wriggled my suddenly damp toes back and forth, the arctic chill radiating down to my bones.
A blur of black streaked through my peripheral as Freyja slipped into the water. Sliding onto her board, not a hint of fear in her determined strokes—even as the break crashed around her, on top of her—she seamlessly glided under, popping out on the other side of the whitewater.
Strands of her sopping pink hair stuck out from her neoprene hood. Soon, she was so far out it was like the ocean had swallowed her whole.
