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The bar's loud chatter quiets behind me as I pull myself together and step outside. I stop, staring but not really seeing the harbor in the distance. I don’t want to return to my mother’s empty house to sit alone. I could call one of my friends, but there are only a couple who still live in Iceland and only one who is here in Reykjavik. He runs a bar and is working this weekend, so we plan on catching up later in the week.
I wonder what Rory is doing. It’s funny how my thoughts turn readily to the Scotsman I only met yesterday. Besides, he did suggest earlier that we meet again tonight, so I’m sure asking if he’s free now won’t be a problem. I pull my phone from the pocket of my favorite blue-denim jeans.
Me: Hi, I’ve had an idea of a place to visit that combines your love of buildings with my art.
Three little dots appear almost immediately, and I hold my breath, hoping my teasing text will tempt him to spend the afternoon with me.
Rory: Tell me where and when.
A megawatt smile stretches my cheeks wide at his response, but unfortunately, I look up at the wrong time. Some random guy passing by seems to think the smile belongs to him and slows, so I whip around and walk in the opposite direction. When I’m far enough away, I text Rory the address of Asmundarsafn. I don’t tell him that we are meeting at the Reykjavik Art Museum, leaving that as a surprise. The building that houses the museum is sure to already be on his places-to-visit list, and I’m hoping he doesn’t recognize the address.
It's about a twenty-minute walk, and with the early afternoon sun at its strongest, I set off. Summer in Iceland is short and never really gets too warm, even in July, the hottest month. With it being early August and the sky a crystal-clear blue, the sun barely has enough heat to not need a sweater. Living in Dublin has warmer temperatures, but my heart will always feel at home in this quirky city.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text when I’m about halfway.
Rory: I’m at Asmundarsafn. Did you know this was one of the buildings I wanted to see?
Me: I guessed.
I quicken my pace, eager to see him again, even though it’s only been a few hours. Things seemed to be heating up between us at Kjarvalsstadir, and I can’t wait to see where it goes.
What would it be like to be pressed close to his magnificently muscled body without the hindrance of clothing? He’s an alpha male in his prime, not like the guys my own age. I know how good he felt when he walked up behind me and our bodies came together with a magnetic force of attraction that was impossible to resist. I could pretend that he caught me in a weak, emotional moment, but the truth is, I wanted him to hold me. I wanted my body molded to his. And now, I want a whole lot more. Not only because it’s fun being able to share my city with someone who appreciates its unique beauty as much as me. But this connection I feel for Rory goes much deeper. It’s Rory, the man with his multilayered personality, that I want to know. I want to peel back each layer and inspect them one by one, learning what makes his mind and body tick.
The remaining distance flies by with thoughts of all the things I could do with him, most of them dirty, sexy thoughts. And by the time I see him standing near the entrance, I’m a seriously hot mess.
Even by Icelandic standards, Rory stands noticeably tall against the busload of visitors milling around him. His shoulders stretch the plain navy T-shirt wide, hugging the muscular, toned body underneath. I would love to run my hands down his chest. Not right now, but certainly later.
Our gazes find each other, and this time, the smile that stretches across my face finds the man it’s meant for. I don’t hesitate to greet him with a kiss on his cheek, and I like the way his arm winds around me, his palm resting possessively in the center of my back.
“Ceud mile failte,” he says in what I’m assuming is Scottish Gaelic, and with his accent, I melt a little closer against the curve of his arm.
“And what might that mean?”
He winks before whispering close to my ear. “A hundred thousand welcomes.”
I blink a couple of times, and when I lift my gaze back to his, our eyes meet and hold. In this moment, it feels like an invisible twine is wrapping around us, a bond to last a lifetime. We’re no longer two strangers thrown together by circumstance or new friends just hanging out. There’s something more going on between us, and if I’m being honest with myself, it was there from the very first time our gazes met.
“Takk fyrir sidast,” I reply, my voice dropping lower. “That means ‘thanks for the last time.’ We say that when we are meeting a friend again who we enjoyed spending time with.”
“You enjoyed spending time with me this morning?”
My only response is a soft laugh as I take a step back. His arm loosens before dropping to his side, and I reach to hold his hand. Instinctively, I know he doesn’t want to let go either. And when he squeezes my fingers gently, a self-satisfied grin stretches across my face. He feels this too.
I look up at the unusual form before us, two large sculptures seeming to stand guard on either side of the entrance. “Let’s walk around the outside to feed your passion. Then it’s inside to view the latest art exhibition for me.” We leave the people behind and stroll across the grass. “This building was designed by the sculptor Ásmundur Sveinsson as his studio.”
“Aye, he worked with an Icelandic architect, Einar Sveinsson. He was part of a movement in Iceland called functionalism. It started in the nineteen-thirties, and it was all about simplicity.”
We swap information back and forth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. A few more days together and we’d probably be finishing each other’s sentences.
About halfway around, we stop. It’s silent here except for the lonely squawks of a couple of gulls flying overhead, and there’s not another soul in sight. I squint up at the building. “The dome doesn’t seem very functional.”
“Aye, right,” Rory agrees, standing as still as one of the nearby abstract statues, his face a carved mask of concentration as he takes in every detail of the structure.
“Are you getting inspired to incorporate domes into your own Nordic designs?”
“Hmm. I can’t say it’s something I’ve considered.” He touches his finger to his chin like he is seriously contemplating the suggestion.
I bump my shoulder into his. “Maybe a dome on those ordinary houses would make them less boring.”
