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Damon burst out laughing as I shook my head. They had such a weird friendship, always threatening each other with bodily harm when one of them showed concern. And that was exactly what it was—deep concern.
The twins would die for Kristoff just as he would for them. They wouldn’t admit it because, well, they were men, but also because they may not have recognized the feelings for what they were.
The three of them weren’t bound by blood and had become a family out of their own choosing. A bond like that could only be forged and cemented because of love. Part of me envied the twins for receiving Kristoff’s love. I knew he would give up hisright arm for them. And here I sat, wondering if he would ever choose me over his revenge.
I was tired of losing people I loved. Fatigued from loving a man who could possibly never love me back. Being in love shouldn’t hurt this much, should it? If I went by every tragic romance I’d read in English lit, the answer would be yes. All I could do was hope that real life would turn out to be better than a novel.
I finished my breakfast and went up to my bedroom to grab my laptop. It was the week before Halloween, and I looked for costumes online. It was Tess and Tommie’s favorite holiday and this year we had planned to go to some party in a haunted mansion near campus.
I wondered if Evie would be interested in joining us. I decided to ask. I knocked on her door and found the room empty. When I went back downstairs, I had another surprise waiting for me. Evie stood in the kitchen in front of the stove, stirring something in a pot. A delicious scent had filled the room.
“How did you get Olga to allow you in her kitchen?”
She smiled, though there were still shadows in her eyes. “I threatened to have her deported.” When my mouth dropped, she laughed. “I begged and pleaded, of course.”
“You have a wicked sense of humor.” I sat in a chair at the island. “Not much unlike your brother.” A brother who would have her head should she have anything to do with Olga leaving the country, but I kept that tidbit to myself.
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m making him chicken soup.”
I grinned. “Are you now?”
She shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “I overheard one of the men mentioning Kristoff has the flu.”
I groaned. “Word travels fast around here.”
A crease of concern appeared on Evie’s face. “He seemed to think today was a bad day to spar with his boss. Which seemsweird to me. I mean, if Kristoff’s feeling under the weather, that would be an excellent time to spar with him, since he should be easily beaten. However, this guy sounded slightly terrified.”
Her unspoken question lingered in the air. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she shouldn’t hold Kristoff to normal, human standards. Or that he, apparently, was an absolute nightmare when feeling sick, as the general consensus seemed to be.
“Chicken soup sounds amazing.”
Her eyes narrowed at my obvious change in subject, but she didn’t press on.
I found Kristoff in the least likely place: outside in the shed, chopping wood. It was his mountain man version of using his punching bag in the gym.
He wore jeans and a black, tank top undershirt. It seemed as if the back of his shirt was plastered to his back. Was it because of the hard work, or a fever?
As usual, he turned around when I neared. I swore that sometimes he had eyes in the back of his head.
He put down the ax. I put the tray containing hot soup on the table in the corner.
“I brought you soup.” He looked a bit funny, and I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t make it.”
He couldn’t hide his relief. I waited until he sat down and took his first sip.
Then I added, “Evie made it.”
His face immediately soured, and I laughed.
I sat next to him and kissed his cheek. “Why the sour face? I thought you said you were getting along.” As if I had believed that for a second, the way he’d described his encounter with his sister. By now I had learned to decipher ‘Kristoff speak.’ He wasn’t a man of many words when I asked him a question. Sowhen he didn’t answer with a simple “yes” or “no,” I knew he was being evasive.
When I tilted my head, he knew he was busted. “I’m learning to tolerate her,” he said tightly.
I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. When I opened my mouth to insist he should go to a doctor, he pushed away his soup, got up and scooped me off my feet.
I yelped when I was suddenly airborne. I clasped my arms around his neck.
“You feel hot,” I started.
