Page 183 of These Tears

He bends slowly, giving me every second to turn away.

A choice.

The terrible thing, though?

There’s but one.

He stops a breath before our lips meet.

And I close the remaining distance.

My mouth touches his. The barest press of warmth against the cold – so careful that the tenderness of it is nearly unbearable.

The chanting is gone. The music. The fire. People. It all hangs in a silence too complete to belong to reality.

My hands flex and tighten at his hip to remind me I haven’t floated away.

When he draws back, I am not sure where we are.

In the next blink, the world rushes back in a symphony of voices, the crackle of fire and boots on snow. I realise Siv is no longer standing in front of us. No one is watching any more.

Except Inga and Sunna. While they’ve settled back into a seemingly easy conversation, neither has taken her eyes off Elias.

His face changes as our gazes collide.

The softness goes first.

Then the colour.

His fingers loosen and he moves out of my hold. His eyes find my mouth, then turn away as if the kiss has cut open a wound inside him.

He angles his head towards the night beyond the fire.

It’s enough for the worry to stab clean through my chest.

Once the family begins to depart and the snow starts falling in thicker layers, Marét and her little family are bundled into the night beneath a mound of blankets, gifts and advice.

Anders and Sunna move the rest of us indoors just as the wind picks up, and I’m grateful to lose the outdoor layers. My cheeks sting as they thaw when I settle into a couch too soft to hold me. My fingers ache around the strap of my camera, and I – reluctantly – abandon it on the side table next to my elbow.

Elias chooses a spot close to me, and I somehow hate the way my body naturally leans towards him even though unease at his proximity still grips me. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but he keeps up the pretence until the sight of it ferments and starts eating at me from the inside out.

Mid-conversation, an ominous whistle rattles the windows.

‘Shit!’ Elias growls, cutting through Inga’s warm recount of her new animal-shelter initiative.

All heads turn. He is already at the window, both hands on the sill, face all but stuck against the glass.

The wind has changed direction – I can see it even from halfway across the room. Snow is no longer falling; it is driving sideways, hard enough to erase the black line of trees beyond the yard.

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Anders mutters with a lazy grin, pushing his chair back. ‘You know weather turns fast here. We’ve got spare rooms.’

I nearly choke on my own damned spit.

‘Why would we need one?’ The words leave my mouth too fast, slightly too shrill.

‘Perhaps the Old Ones – as my grandmother called them – want to keep you under this roof tonight,’ Sunna says gently, peering out the window with that serene smile she seems to always wear. Then her eyes slide to Elias, teasing. ‘Or maybe they might be angry with you.’

They’re angry all right.