In hopes of delaying the inevitable, Peter had suggested flying into O’Hare and driving to his hometown instead of catching a commuter flight from Chicago to the small Madison airport. But the trip couldn’t last forever, and with each mile of interstate guiding them closer and closer to his childhood home and his sole remaining family member, his hands clenched a bit tighter on the steering wheel. Even Maria’s cheerful, provoking conversation from the passenger seat of the rental could no longer entirely distract him from the amorphous dread pounding at his temples.
“So you don’t think the Amerikansk section in ICA was a fair representation of your nation’s cuisine?” Reaching down for the controls, she sent her seat sliding back even farther and stretched out her legs with a relieved sigh. “Because it seemed pretty accurate to me.”
He slanted her a look, one that told her without words: He knew she was pulling his chain, and he was allowing it only out of extreme benevolence. Or at least, that was what he meant to convey. Hopefully his growing anxiety hadn’t ruined his ability to emote, because he was going to need that again when he—no, he was going to think positively; whenthey—booked new roles back in Hollywood.
His response was as dry as LA in August. “Maria, that wasteland of an aisle contained nothing but off-brand faux-maple syrup, beef jerky, ramen, and shelf after shelf of candy, much of which I’d never actually seen before.”
“You forgot the Marshmallow Fluff.”
The traffic had grown heavier, so he couldn’t glance at her again. But a smile he couldn’t see warmed her voice. That too-innocent, smug voice.
“As if that disproves my point,” he told her witheringly.
“You didn’t have a point, as far as I could tell.” She patted her mouth over a loud, fake little yawn, an annoyingly adorable gesture he caught from the corner of his eye. “Merely a list of foodstuffs. One of which, despite all your patriotic protests, you actually purchased.”
Gladly. Also repeatedly, because candy deprivation could happen to anyone at any time.
He sniffed, nose high in the air as he smothered his grin. “My duty as an American forces me to buy Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups wherever I may find them. It’s a lesser-known part of the Pledge of Allegiance, and doesn’t invalidate my argument in the slightest.”
“Fine, then. If the Amerikansk section was both inaccurate and inadequate, what wouldyouadd to it?” She sounded genuinely curious.
“Nonperishable items?” He thought for a moment. “Grits. Granola and cereal bars. Graham crackers. Cranberry sauce. Stuffing mixes. Canned pumpkin. Not to mention pumpkin pie spice and—”
Her snort cracked his stone face, and he smiled at the windshield.
“Now you’re just naming Thanksgiving ingredients,” she told him.
“I didn’t hear you complaining about Fionn’s turkey feasts whenever we filmed on the island in late November.”
In fact, she’d pretty much licked the sweet potato casserole dish clean each time. One year, the crew briefly, hilariously nicknamed her There’s Something About Maria because of the orange goop she’d unknowingly gotten in her hair and allowed to harden.
“I had no choice but to eat a lot.” She poked his arm. “I didn’t want to insult either your culture or Fionn’s cooking.”
“Bullshit. More like you didn’t want to put down your herb-rubbed turkey drumstick, you Swedish ingrate.”
Her laughter filled the car, and he couldn’t help laughing too. When they quieted again, his knuckles no longer ached as they gripped the wheel, and his shoulders had loosened.
After so many years, he still didn’t know whether she did that on purpose. At first, he’d thought not. He’d figured all that charm, all that humor, had to be effortless, because why would she exert herself to make him, of all people, more comfortable?
But now...
He claimed her hand from the SUV’s console and brought it to his lips. Kissed her palm. Interlaced their fingers and placed them on his thigh.
Everything would be okay. So what if the Reedtons weren’t exactly the Ivarssons? So what if Dad didn’t know how to talk to him? So what if Peter had never figured out how to make himself understood to his father?
His awkwardness around his dad wouldn’t come as a shock to her, not after she’d had to work for months to bridge the gap between him and their crew, him and their castmates. That awkwardness also wouldn’t tip the balance and drive her away if she was still considering whether she should return to Sweden for good.
Or so he hoped.
He hadn’t raised the issue directly, especially not after she’d just spent quality time with her adoring parents and siblings. Right now, if he told her she should stay with him, she could easily marshal so many arguments about why he was wrong, why she needed her family more than she needed him, and Maria’s arguments were always, always devastating and convincing.
She played to win. She played for keeps.
And once she made up her mind, she didn’t change it.
So no, he wasn’t asking whether she’d stay with him, because he was scared to find out what she might say, what she might do, and she’d already left him once. He couldn’t fathom how he’d survive a repeat now that he actuallyknewher. Knew her and—
Well, that didn’t matter. What mattered was convincing her—without words—that she belonged withhim. Wantedhim. Couldn’t imagine a life withouthim.