Page 163 of These Tears

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Our first stop is a lonely roadside building with a sign that reads Bensinstasjon. It might as well be written in Martian. A row of fuel pumps comes into view beneath a low canopy, their hoses sitting stiff in the cold. And I realise what it is.

Bensinstasjon. Petrol station.

I whisper the word to myself, hoping the translation will stick.

It’s tucked between pine trees and frostbitten ditches at the entrance of the town.

And whatever lingers around it turns me into Jakob Halvorsen’s fiancée again.

As soon as we step inside, the woman behind the till lets out a gasp of utter delight.

She is small but solid, wrapped in a heavy woollen skirt that falls to her boots in deep, practical folds. Her grey hair is braided thickly down one shoulder, like silver threaded through frost, while fine lines crease her face as a testament to time. Light blue eyes miss nothing, even as her mouth spreads into a smile warm enough to make the little shop seem like the only fragment of the world that hasn’t turned hostile.

‘Jakob!’ she cries in a lilting northern accent. Her arms fling wide as if he were her own blood returned from war.

He bends into her embrace with surprising gentleness. The contrast is so jarring, my entire body slows for two beats.

Beside her, Elias seems even larger. His broad back swallows the aisle behind him; white snowsuit, black beard, that permanent downward curve at his mouth. But in her arms, his shoulders ease and his head bows. Then his eyes close. And he is suddenly human.

He murmurs something low and fluid in Norwegian. She looks towards me with a smile that feels warmer than the radiator near the back wall.

‘God ettermiddag! I’m Sunna,’ she greets brightly. Her voice sounds like it should come with warm coffee and gingerbread cookies.

‘Leandra Nottingham. Pleased to meet you,’ I reply, offering my hand.

‘Oh, don’t be so formal with me, girl.’

She takes it, only to pull me forward into a hug that smells like laundry detergent and lingonberry preserve.

The sweetness hits the back of my throat before the memory does – jam on his fingers. On my tongue. Mixed with something warmer, saltier… far more damning. My stomach clenches so hard I nearly wrench away from her.

My eyes slide towards Elias. And I freeze.

The usual tension has vanished from his face. No scowl, no glare. Just a crease at the corner of his mouth that threatens to become a smile.

‘Sunna is Anders’ wife,’ he says warmly as he lowers his gaze towards the small woman.

I blink. ‘Oh! Right!’

‘Inga was out the back!’ Sunna calls, turning towards him. ‘But I think she might have left already.’

The name lances cold through me.

Inga.

Yay.

‘We weren’t expecting you so soon!’ she chirps, her boots tapping lightly over the floorboards as she rounds the counter and slips back behind the till.

‘We came early to run some errands,’ Elias replies, polite but suddenly distant again.

‘Ah, good. I was about to panic.’ An honest, muffled laugh bubbles out from her. ‘No one wants to be short-handed today.’

‘No need to make a fuss around us,’ I say. ‘We’ve come to help.’

Sunna waves a hand. ‘No, no. Let Jakob show you the town a little. We’re preparing for the herding, so it’s going to be busy – especially with the unexpected weather that set us back.’