Chapter 4

He picked up the oar and started rowing again. The bow turned, heading back toward the dock from which they had come.

The water made a steady sound beneath the oar. She thought he might say something comforting. But he didn’t.

It wasn’t until they were about to dock that he spoke.

“That vine you mentioned.” He stowed the oar and let the boat glide toward the dock on its own. “Does it still hurt?”

She checked. Her back, her bones, her lungs—those were the signals she’d grown accustomed to ignoring.

“Lately, it seems—it doesn’t hurt as much.”

"Since when?"

She wanted to say she didn’t know. But she did know. Since the second day of the hike.

Since the wild berries, since the running, and since she could fall asleep the moment she lay down every night.

From the moment a man with gray hair and glacier-blue eyes appeared in her life.

She didn’t say it, though.

The boat bumped against the dock with a dull thud.

He began taking her up the mountain.

Not the gravel path from the first day, but the steep slopes that required the use of both hands and feet.

The rock surface had been smoothed by glaciers, leaving only a few cracks in which to place her feet.

He led the way, glancing back at her with every step to show her where to put her feet and where to grip with her hands.

His voice was different in these moments—shorter and clearer, without a single superfluous word.

"Left foot, the crack."

"Right hand, the ledge."

"Don't look down."

She did as he said, not out of trust, but because she didn’t have the strength to be afraid.

Each time she reached up, her arms trembled and her knees scraped, yet she managed to hold on.

It was a strange sensation—her body had clearly reached its limit, yet beyond that limit lay another layer of something she didn’t understand.

When they reached the summit, she collapsed onto the rocks, gasping for breath. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, her palms were raw, and her knees were bruised.

Erik sat beside her. His breathing hadn’t even quickened.

“Are you human?” she asked.

He glanced at her. The look in his eyes was strange. It wasn’t offense nor amusement. It was something deeper—a fleeting glimpse.

"Most of the time."

She thought he was joking, but she would later recall those words.

Looking down from the mountaintop, the entire fjord resembled a blue-green ribbon winding its way inland.

Layers of mountains stretched out on either side—the nearby ones deep green, the more distant ones gray-blue, and the farthest ones barely distinguishable from the sky.

Even farther away lay the glaciers—white, blue, and still, as if time itself had frozen there.

“You’re right,” she said.

“About what?”

“The best part is yet to come.”

He stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff.

The wind lifted the hem of his sweater and ruffled his tundra-colored hair.

He stood there as if he belonged to this place. As if he had grown out of these rocks, wind, and glaciers.

She watched his back and a strange thought suddenly welled up in her heart—she wanted to keep watching him forever.

By evening, they returned to his log cabin.

It was slightly larger than hers. Behind the house, a pile of split firewood sat neatly stacked, every log cut to the same length.

The thatch on the roof was thicker than that of any of the surrounding houses and was dotted with tiny yellow flowers she’d never seen before. The stone chimney was half blackened by smoke.

He lit a fire outside. A black iron kettle hung from an iron stand, boiling hot spiced wine inside.

It smelled of cinnamon, cardamom, and some kind of herb she couldn’t name. As the wine heated, some of the alcohol evaporated, leaving behind only the warmth of the spices. He poured a cup and handed it to her.

She cupped the cup to warm her hands. The thick ceramic cup radiated heat, which seeped into her palm and crept up her wrist. She recalled the first day he helped her up and that brief moment when his fingertips lingered on the inside of her wrist.

"I learned a new word today," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Koselig."

He paused. "Who taught you that?"

"The restaurant owner. She said it's hard to translate."

"Yes, it is."

"It roughly means warm, cozy, and lovely—that feeling of having everything you need when you’re with someone you love. Right?”

He didn’t answer right away. The firelight danced across his face, casting his features in shifting shadows. His cheekbones. His jawline. His lips.

“Pretty much,” he said. "But it's missing a layer."

"What?"

"It doesn't mean you possess these things right now. It means you feel them in this moment. Not possession, but feeling.”

She cradled her cup and watched the firelight and him. Steam rose from the rim of her cup, blurring her view of him.

"Koselig," she said again. This time, not for his ears.

He raised his cup. "Skål."

She raised hers, too. "Skål."

Their ceramic cups clinked together, making a soft sound.

Later, she ate. A sweet porridge with jam and dark bread spread with butter. She ate every last bite, even picking up the crumbs from the edge of the plate. When she was finished, she placed her knife and fork side by side on the plate and said a phrase she had practiced many times.

"Takk for maten."

He was adding wood to the fire. Hearing this, his hand paused. Then, he turned to look at her.

"Vær så god."

But he spoke slowly and softly. His voice caught in his throat as if he were about to say something else.

That night, Maya lay in her bed. Outside her window, the sky was still gray-blue, never quite growing dark. She pressed her hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was steady.

She remembered panting on the rocks that first day and the wild berries he’d placed on a stone. She remembered the cold when she dipped her hand into the glacial water while rowing and the warmth that followed, the wind on the mountaintop, and mulled wine by the fire. She remembered the tone in his voice when he said, "That’s missing a layer."

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. It smelled of pine and sunlight. She whispered the word into the darkness:

Koselig.

Then, she fell asleep and had a beautiful dream.