I wasn’t as familiar with this area, but the low-key, friendly vibe was the same everywhere in the UP. This was wilderness country, known for its dramatic shorelines along three Great Lakes. You could ski and snowmobile in the winter months, hike and fish in summertime.
It made sense that I’d settled in Wood Hollow. In a way it reminded me of the UP, albeit on a smaller scale—and minus the skiing. I’d always loved the rugged beauty and the sense of being at the fringe of civilization. It was peaceful.
Less so with my family in the vicinity, but I’d decided to take Viggo’s lead and stay in the moment.
I inhaled a lungful of lake air as I stepped out of the rented Explorer. “Smell that? Isn’t it glorious?”
Viggo grunted. “My stomach is grumbling too hard for me to smell anything. Let’s buy every bag of chips and every pint of ice cream in the store. Ready?”
I smiled as I followed him into the modest roadside market, brightening at the ample displays of fresh fruits and veggies. We each took a basket and filled them with basics like coffee, eggs, steak and potatoes for dinner, and snacks Viggo claimed he couldn’t live without.
“Now who’s dramatic?” I scoffed. “We’re here for less than forty-eight hours. Are you really going to eat that much ice cream?”
He studied a pint of cookies and cream. “Maybe. I don’t know. I like choices. Which one do you want? Don’t say nothing, ’cause you’ll change your mind later and I’ll be cranky about sharing if we don’t buy enough. You like chocolate.”
“Yes, and peanut butter. Oh, wait. Get the rocky road.”
“That’s the spirit.” Viggo pointed at the sign above the next aisle. “They have the carbonated water you like, too. Let’s buy that and wine and…”
I stared after him for a beat, butterflies fluttering in my chest. The big Viking knew I liked chocolate and remembered what brand of water I preferred. He’d talked me through a panic spiral on the flight and hadn’t seem bothered by me drooling on his chest in a small bed in a cabin that hadn’t been anyone’s idea of luxurious in fifty years.
Viggo was a good man and a good friend. But these butterflies were the kind that came with big, fat crushes. If I wasn’t careful, I’d do something regrettable, like…catch feelings. That couldn’t happen. No way.
We squabbled over who’d pay for the groceries. I won that round and Viggo rented the boat. He insisted on piloting the boat and docking it at the cabin.
“No, I should do it.”
Viggo crossed his arms. “Why?”
“I invited you, and I take hosting responsibilities seriously. If we’d stayed at my place, there would have been food in the fridge, more coffee than we’d need…and a lot of alcohol. The boat would have been waiting at the dock, the electric grill would have been ready to go—no need for charcoal, and…I have a king-sized bed.”
“Dexter?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re weird.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek and swiped the boat key out of my hand. “But I don’t mind. See you soon.”
“Your boyfriend is hot,” the twentysomething at the register commented as Viggo strode toward the small boat we’d rented.
I could have, should have told her that the big Swede wasn’t mine, but I was busy ogling his broad shoulders too and basking in his words.
You’re weird, but I don’t mind.
It was as if he saw through my smoke and mirror game. Behind my capable, accomplished, qualified veneer, I was a hot mess with a scrambled brain. He didn’t even know the whole story, and yet he knew enough.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
We grilled steaks, potatoes, and veggies and ate dinner on the screened porch overlooking the lake. The conversation was light and breezy. We discussed everything from the proper amount of char on corn, mosquito bites, and the best time of day to be on the water. He knew more than I did about fishing, sailing, and boating in general.
“I took sailing lessons because my mom insisted, but I preferred team sports,” I said around a mouthful.
“Opposite for me. I liked being alone, although you usually learn to sail with a partner for safety,ja?”
“Yeah, and I got stuck with Chip Cravens. He was a fucking dick. We were ten or eleven, and he thought he knew all there was to know about pulling the lines and tacking the sails. Our boat went horizontal whenever the wind blew and of course, he’d blame me. I hated that guy.”
Viggo snorted. “Chip? How is that a name?”
“It’s short for Christopher or something. Viggo is a unique name too, you know.”
