Page 129 of These Tears

Elias passes us without so much as a glance my way.

The socks are off within seconds. I fling them onto a chair near the fire, and the bastard cockerel hops up and immediately starts treading it.

‘Leandra—’ Anders starts merrily, picking up the bent pipe from the counter that makes something inside me fall straight through the floor again.

‘Leah, please,’ I say, brushing my sticky hands down my thighs.

He flashes me another smile. ‘Of course! Leah.’ He starts gathering tools with surprising grace. ‘I was just telling Jakob you should come for dinner tomorrow night!’

Jakob?

My gaze flicks to Elias at the range where he busies himself with the fire. The tendons in his neck strain as he clenches his jaw. The furrow between his brows could bloody well hold water.

This is the second time that name has come up.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say warily, glancing at the swamp I’ve made of the kitchen floor. ‘I seem to have… set us back a bit.’

‘Bah!’ Anders waves a hand as if swatting my concern away. ‘Wood will dry. The Cluckers will be in the shed soon. Besides—’ He turns slightly to face Elias, ‘—Inga’s arriving tonight! She’d love to see you! It’s been so long.’

The name does something to Elias’ face. His jaw loosens, the corner of his mouth lifts a fraction, and something warmer flashes in his eyes.

Whatever’s in my stomach curdles instantly.

Who the hell is Inga?

I blink slowly, then again.

What… the hell… was that?

‘My daughter!’ Anders says, turning to me again, beaming. ‘She runs an animal shelter in Oslo.’

I clear my throat – more to dislodge this ridiculousness that came over me, because, obviously, the past few days have already begun eating away what little sanity I had left. I’m twitchy, restless in my own skin, unwilling to stay still for too long in one place with him in it.

And now I’m fucking jealous, too?

Not trusting myself, I drift towards the rack where several dusty bottles lie nestled in their wooden cradle.

‘How about something with a bit of a bite to finish off the evening?’ I murmur, fingers closing around a white-labelled bottle with severe black lettering.

Anders’ grin spreads wider, his beard twitching with amusement as he glances at Elias – who glares daggers at me, his shoulders taut as if they’re restraining something worse than the Crane temper.

‘I’d like some,’ I add. A momentary truce with fate, if nothing else.

Elias stares at my side a heartbeat too long as I fumble with the bottles. Something simmers behind the frost, but he only turns back to the range and feeds more logs into the fire. The glow blooms warmer across the timber walls, but it doesn’t quite reach the shadows in his face.

‘If you keep feeding the fire, you’ll turn the room into a sauna.’ Anders steps closer to the man of the hour, giving him a rough but genial pat on the back. ‘Stop brooding, will you? The girl doesn’t know her way around here yet. And if I recall correctly, I’ve had to come up here more than once because of a burst pipe.’

A twitch at Elias’ mouth. Not really a smile, but close.

If only poor Anders knew what was really brewing behind his friend Jakob’s eyes.

‘Communication is important in a relationship. Take it from a man married for forty years and counting,’ Anders continues as he lowers himself carefully into a creaking chair, his voice adopting the calm authority of a man who has survived both blizzards – and women.

I set the bottle on the table, moving to the cabinet to get the tumblers, while the chickens rustle softly around my feet.

‘If you’re having trouble resolving things now,’ Anders puts in as I pluck the first tumbler, ‘then when you get married, it’ll only get worse.’

The glass slips from my hand and hits the floor, shattering.