Page 93 of Beloved Beauty

Alex points to my face. “You’ve got sugar on your lip, babe.”

I go to wipe it, but he leans in and kisses it away instead. And in a snap, I realize I’m falling deeper in love with my husband… and his Swedish side.

Britta returns to the table and exchanges a few words with Alex in Swedish. I can’t follow a single word, but the exchange resembles a goodbye. As she leans in, he wraps her in a tight hug, and she pats his back.

She turns to me, pulling me into a soft, grandmotherly embrace. She presses a gentle kiss to each of my cheeks and says, “Adjö, min älskling. Jag hoppas att en dag se dina barn springa runt här med dig.”

I look to Alex for translation. “She says ‘Goodbye, my darling. I hope that one day I’ll see your children running around here with you.’”

My heart squeezes at her tender words. I nod, emotion thick in my throat. “I hope so as well.”

One day, I want to bring our children here to this village. I want them to know where they come from. To hear the lilt of this language, taste these meals, and experience the place that holds so much of their story.

Alex slips his fingers through mine and gives a gentle tug. “There’s one more place I want you to see.”

We trudge up a narrow, unshoveled path between heavy snowbanks. The trees crowd close, the sky a pale gray wash above. When the little house comes into view—stone-walled, sloped roof covered in snow—Alex stops.

“This is my grandparents’ first home. My grandfather built it with his own hands. And my dad was born here.”

The house is small and weather-worn. A shutter hangs slightly crooked. It’s nothing flashy. Nothing grand. But its realness and rich history make it beautiful in a way nothing polished ever could be.

He brushes snow off the wooden nameplate near the front door. “Here.”

I lean in and see it—faint but still there. A name carved into the wood.

Sebring.

My breath catches. I take off my glove and press my fingers over it, tracing each letter. “This is special, Alex.”

The pride I see in his eyes guts me a little. “You carry so much legacy. And you carry it all so well.”

“I wish I had learned more about this side of my family.”

“It’s not too late. You still have your dad. Come back here with him someday. Let him tell you the stories only he can. I want you to know them so you can pass them down to our babies.”

His smile spreads slow and tender. “Our babies. Hearing you say that… you have no idea what that does to me.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea.”

His eyes drift over my face, full of something soft and simmering. “You wanna head back to the cabin… keep practicing?”

A laugh slips out as I lean in. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The sauna smells of cedar. Heat clings to my skin when we step in, wrapping around me like an embrace.

Alex pours water over the stones and the room hisses to life. Steam rises between us, and I sink onto the wooden bench, my legs stretched out, towel wrapped around me. My skin glows pink from the heat, and my hair clings to the back of my neck.

He sits across from me, sweat glistening at his temples, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

“I’m being roasted alive,” I say, half-laughing, wiping the sheen from my brow.

He grins. “But it’s a good kind of roasted, right?”

I act as though I’m dying, but the truth is I like this and the simplicity of it, the way everything is stripped down to the essential. No distractions. Just heat, skin, relaxation, and the man across from me, looking way too smug for someone who’s about to ask me to do something insane.

“We’re going to roll in the snow next,” he says.

“No, we’re not.”

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