Anders takes us over a bridge, past the town, then past the dumpling hotel, which feels so long ago now, until the houses get further apart and the road turns to gravel. I keep a tight hold on him as the road gets rougher and narrower, a river on one side of us, a forest of birch on the other. You can’t hear over the roar of the motor, so we ride in a silence that’s feeling more and more comfortable by the second. It feels right to be back here, my arms wrapped around his firm stomach, my body pressed against his. A little too right.
Eventually the valley opens up, wide, like it’s yawning. A couple of farms and red houses dot the green expanse that stretches between the mountains, the river running through it.
Anders takes us over another bridge and then we start heading along the river on the other side, the road turning to a path until eventually it peters out into a grassy area and we come to a stop in front of a small waterfall.
“Here we are,” he says, turning off the bike. Birdsong and the roar of the waterfall fill my ears.
I’m looking around in awe as he helps me off the bike.
“Is this your secret spot? Because it’s beautiful.”
He takes off his backpack and brings it over to the water’s edge, setting it down and unzipping the top. “It’s not exactly a secret. Long time ago the furniture factory used the hydro from the waterfalls on this river to power their machines. If you walk upstream for a bit, you’ll find what’s left. Someone went and put picnic tables there for the hikers in the area, but this spot is a little more private.”
I watch as he brings out a wool blanket, cornflower blue with white designs, very Scandinavian looking. “Is that your grandmother’s?” I ask him.
He shrugs, adjusting the ends. “Probably.” He gives me a quick smile. “It was my mother’s.” He nods at the blanket. “Here. Sit. I’ll be your server tonight.”
I let out a small laugh and get down on the blanket, sitting cross-legged, watching as he removes a bottle of hard liquor. “To start our night off, we’ll be having some aquavit. Have you had this yet?” He gets down on his knees, holding it out.
I shake my head, eying the bottle. It looks like strong booze, has a ship on the bottle.
“I thought Astrid would have made you drink this at some point,” he comments, bringing out a couple of shot glasses and pouring the booze in it. He hands one to me then raises the one in his hand. “Skal.”
I sniff it first. My eyes water already. It’s like turpentine and something familiar yet strange. “What the hell is in this?”
“It’s surprisingly smooth,” he says, taking a shot back, though he does wince a little. “Might put a little hair on your chest. It’s why Norwegians are so hairy.”
I laugh and then take back the shot. God. It burns like hell.
“Not sure smooth is the right adjective,” I tell him, and I swear I already feel the effects of it as it warms my chest. “Why do I taste dill?”
“It’s made from caraway seeds,” he says. “It’s a right of passage here in Norway. I promise you the second shot will taste better.”
I smirk at him. “You’re trying to get me drunk.” I hold out my glass.
“You’re not saying no,” he says, pouring us both another round.
I keep my eyes on the glass, avoiding in the intensity in his gaze. Because he’s right. I want to get drunk. And I don’t want to say no. Not anymore. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol already coursing through my veins, if it’s the scenic location by the small waterfall, if it’s the fact that in this golden late evening light Anders looks hotter than ever, or if it’s the kiss from earlier, still imprinted on my lips, but I want to throw all caution to the wind.
And it still scares me.
I raise the glass, meeting his eyes for a moment, and I swear they hold me hostage for eons. Then the corner of his mouth tilts into a half-smile and he takes the shot back. I do the same.
He was right. It is better the second time around.
Maybe it will be the same for us.
I swallow it down and cough a little, enjoying the buzz. I lean back on my elbows and tilt my head to the sun, which is disappearing behind faraway mountains. It makes me want to see what’s behind those mountains, to see where the wild Norwegian Sea meets the coast. It makes me want to take Anders up on his offer.
But that’s drunk Shay talking. “So how is your mother?” I ask Anders.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Well, I guess.”