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“I bet you were adorable. Little Oliver hopping along in a potato sack.”
He gave in to a delighted grin. “I might’ve won once or twice. My one and only sporting accomplishment, if I’m honest.”
She smiled back. “And what foods fuelled these displays of physical prowess?”
“A bit of everything. New potatoes with dill and butter, cured and smoked salmon, rye bread, pickled herring, cheese, meatballs, salads. And dessert was always something with strawberries. Could be tarts or strawberry and cream cake, berries with whipped cream. Everything served is easy to make and doesn’t require lengthy prep time.”
“My kind of cooking,” said Georgie. “The simpler, the better.”
“You don’t enjoy it?”
Straightening up, her fingers traced the base of her wine glass. “I find cooking stressful. I always worry it won’t turn out.”
“Well, you’d enjoy Midsummer celebrations then,” said Oliver. “The goal is to get out of the kitchen and head outdoors with friends and family.”
“The perfect day. No wonder your mum loved it.” Georgie tucked her hair behind her ear as Oliver grinned sheepishly.
“She also loved a glass or two of snaps.” A flicker of bemusement in Georgie’s eyes prompted Oliver to explain. “It’s a distilled spirit. You might know it as aquavit?”
She shook her head.
“It’s quite strong, has a prominent caraway and dill flavour and gets everyone rat-arsed and singing.” Oliver chuckled. “Us Swedes love our drinking songs. More than ten thousand exist.”
Georgie gawped. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope! There’s a museum that keeps track.”
“What? How many do you know?” A laugh quivered her question.
“Only a handful, but the more we drink, the more lyrics we make up.”
“Sounds like a real boozy do!” said Georgie.
Oliver nodded. “Just say, it’s a good thing there’s a late-night barbecue to sober everyone up.” He paused, memories rolling through his head of drunken singalongs with old school friends, his mother playing games with neighbours, and stuffing his face with färskpotatis smothered in butter and sour cream. “It’s so much fun. Talking about it makes me nostalgic and…slightly homesick.”
Georgie blinked into a small smile. “I can see why. Family, friends, good food. So much to love.”
The waitress approached with a pair of rectangular platters. “Two orders of nam jeun.” She placed the crispy vegetarian spring rolls, three per plate, in front of them. Decorative carrot and cucumber slices and a small bowl of peanut sauce for dipping accompanied the appetizers. “Careful, they’re hot.”
Oliver smiled tightly, hoping he wouldn’t come off as a finicky bore.
Georgie, meanwhile, grinned like a birthday girl receiving a candle-covered cake. “Thank you!” She bounced in her chair, barely keeping her excitement in check. “You’re gonna love these, Ollie. They’re like a party on your tongue, and the peanut sauce is addictive as anything.”
Following her lead, Oliver blew on one of the spring rolls and dipped it in the sauce. He took a small, careful bite. The sweet spiciness teamed with the savoury crunch had him instantly hooked. His eyes widened. “Oh, wow.”
A smile crept across Georgie’s face as she chewed. “I know, right?” She swallowed. “Sometimes near the end of my meal, I order more to take home. I nuke ’em for lunch the next day.”
“Great idea.”
“So was buying a new answering machine,” said Georgie.
Oliver glanced up from his plate.
“No more frustrated friends. No more lost messages and crossed wires…” She pressed her lips. “I feel awful about my machine cutting you off. If the tape hadn’t become mangled…”
He nodded. “I know.”
“And if I hadn’t jumped to conclusions and called you back…”
