Viggo’s nose brushed mine as he stared into my eyes. “I can carry your heavy baggage. And mine. But…maybe we could leave the past behind and start over—just me and you…and the baby—and we can be something new.”
“A family.”
“Ja, a family,” he repeated.
“I want that. I really fucking want that.”
Viggo flashed an epic grin and crashed his mouth on mine.
I was vaguely aware of catcalls and applause in thebackground, but there was no one else in the world. Just me and my lumberjack—the kindest, coolest, best man I’d ever met.
I had the strangest sensation at that moment that I’d finally found what I’d been looking for—family, home, and that sweet something poets wrote about. This was love, and this was where it began.
With us.
EPILOGUE
“Wherever you are is my home—my only home.”— Charlotte Brontë,Jane Eyre
Two years later
Viggo
Six-year-olds were wacky. Literally.
They ran around like wild monkeys, pausing to roll on the grass or do cartwheels. They passed the ball in the wrong direction and purposely didn’t pull their friend’s flags. I was the first to admit that I still didn’t know much about coaching, but basic flag football rules couldn’t be ignored.
“If you pull Derek’s flag, he’ll have one less flag, which means you have a better chance to win, yes?” I explained to Caleb, a skinny kid with knobby knees and dark bangs that hung over his eyes.
“But he’ll be sad. Our moms are taking us out for pizza and ice cream after practice today.He won’t be hungry.”
“If someone else takes his flags, will he feel better?” I asked, legitimately confused by first grade logic.
“Yep, I think so.”
There was a lesson here about sportsmanship or maybe leaving personal feelings out of the equation in the spirit of the game, but the kid’s earnest expression gave me pause.
“I’m going to tell you something in Swedish. Repeat after me:Ingen ko på isen.”
“In-gen koo pen?”
“Close enough. Translation: There’s no cow on the ice.”
Caleb burst into laughter. “What doesthatmean?”
“It means don’t worry. It’s only a game. But if that doesn’t help and you feel too worried, maybe you can concentrate on taking someone else’s flag for now,” I suggested.
“Like Tommy’s?”
“Sure, but…Tommy’s very quick.”
“I’m quicker!” Caleb boasted. “I’ll show you!”
He raced off with renewed vigor, pleased that the alternate solution wouldn’t ruin his pizza.
I scanned the field of minions practicing karate moves, tying their flags into bows, or just chattering away. There wasn’t a serious athlete in the bunch, but they seemed to be having a good time, and according to my husband, that was what mattered.
I chuckled softly as I jogged to rejoin the group, then stopped in my tracks at the sound of a tiny voice calling my name.
