13
the help?
I rested my head on my hand, staring at the computer screen in front of me. The New Hampshire job was mine, and the guy I had talked to on the phone wanted me to start as soon as I could. This week, if possible. The decision I had hoped to avoid now stared me in the face: Did I take the perfect job for my budding career, or did I set it aside for the man I couldn’t bear to leave?
If I turned it down, I certainly wouldn’t get any jobs from them in the future. Nor could I ask Jess for any more leads. Besides, the assignment would only take a month or so. Was I so swept up in Niklas that I couldn’t stay away from him for a month? Maybe I was. Jobs like this didn’t come by often. But neither did relationships like this.
I sighed. Less than an hour ago, I had stood in the doorway to the garage, kissing Niklas like some desperate, heartsick teenager as the minutes before his practice ticked down. I didn’t want to let him go. On our trip we had spent hours apart—me, taking photos of a subject for my articles, and him, doing push-ups or… well, doing whatever hockey players did to stay in shape. I should probably ask him about that at some point.
But along the way, the question of our future hadn’t taken over every parting the way it seemed to now. I could feel the urgency of the coming decisions push into all of our conversations, into the way Niklas kissed me or the way I clung to his shirt and breathed in the scent of him before he walked out the door.
The one person who might actually understand all of this sat in an apartment halfway across the world. Veronica. Back in Stockholm, I had seen the way Veronica and Filip made each other happy. Despite the fact that Veronica lived an ocean away from her family and the place where she grew up, she had made a life for herself in Sweden. A good life. Just to be with Filip.
I looked at the time on the screen of my phone. Ten o’clock. Four in the afternoon in Sweden, if my math was correct. If I remembered right from this last summer, Veronica would be cleaning up from a day of painting. Soon, she’d start answering her phone again.
I stood up and stretched, heading for the kitchen. I rummaged around the refrigerator, looking for a snack. It was strange not to do my own grocery shopping, to simply open the door to a fridge full of surprises. But the mysterious housekeeper seemed to know Niklas’s tastes quite well; the freezer even held a bag of frozen Swedish meatballs from IKEA.
The front door slammed, jolting me out of my mental wanderings. Niklas wasn’t due back for hours—unless something had gone wrong. I closed the refrigerator door and headed for the front hall.
“Niklas?” I called. “Are—”
I stopped. In front of me stood a young woman, all blond hair and bare, tanned legs, surrounded by grocery bags.
The woman let out a little yelp, her arms instinctively covering the cleavage her low-cut tank-top revealed. She relaxed immediately at the sight of me.
“God, you scared me,” the woman said with a huff. “I didn’t realize Mr. Almquist had other help. You do speak English, don’t you?”
The woman’s question was breezy and dismissive, and I wasn’t sure where to start with being offended.
“My English is just fine, thanks,” I said. “I’m Mr. Almquist’s girlfriend, not the ‘help.’”
All the self-possession this woman presented disappeared for a beat as she gaped at me. I glanced down at myself as well. I was in leggings and a t-shirt, no bra. I might have brushed my hair that morning, but I wasn’t completely sure.
“Oh,” the woman finally said. She sized me up again.
Was it so hard for this woman to believe that I was with Niklas? It rubbed at every insecurity I had in this relationship. I steeled my expression and took a deep breath.
“Thanks for the groceries,” I said, my voice sounding stronger than I felt. “I’ll be working in the office, so you don’t need to clean in there today.”
This clearly wasn’t a woman used to taking orders, especially not from someone a few shades browner than her. But my words seemed to jolt this woman out of her stare. She busied herself with gathering the groceries, and I headed for the office. I closed the door behind me and leaned back on it, resting my head against the cool wood.
Who the hell had Niklas hired as his housekeeper? He had sounded so casual about the arrangement. Clearly, I had my own stereotypes, too, because whatever I was expecting from “housekeeper,” the woman currently stocking the fridge wasn’t it.
Don’t let your mind go there.
I took a deep breath. It was definitely time to call my best friend. Veronica picked up on the third ring.
“Hola, Carolita,” I said. “Found some time between all that great sex to give me a call?”
It had been weeks since we had spoken last, but the calls from our trip had been short, too.
“We’re in Michigan now,” I said. “I’m hiding out in the office from some hot young thing that Niklas has hired as his housekeeper.”
“Oh.”
“And she thought I was the help.”
“I see.”
