Page 2 of Valhalla is Full of Hunks
To illustrate, I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder, toward the meeting room Ancient Olive had rented for today’s meeting with our cloudberry farmers, but my new friend’s gaze never left my face.
“A pity,” he murmured, adjusting his hold on the stack of books—making his biceps flex enticingly beneath his long-sleeved shirt. “You Americans are always rushing around like the world will end if you don’t accomplish everything on your list before the sun sets each day.”
Accurate.
Huffing a laugh, I raised my fresh 20-ounce cup in a mock salute. “Guilty… but at least I’m caffeinated!”
His baby blues flitted to my reusable—I’m not that much of a monster—tumbler before returning to my face. “Ah, a coffee lover. But have you experienced the Swedish tradition offika?”
I cocked my head—intrigued. “Not yet, I haven’t.”
But if it’s a Swedish massage with an extra happy ending, count me in.
He smiled again—broader this time and revealing canines that looked a tad too sharp. Not that I was complaining. “You must allow me to educate you on howwedrink coffee here… as if we have all the time in the world.”
There was a strange edge to his voice, but dude was so good-looking, I let it slide. After all, I was a New Yorker. If this Scandinavian stud tried anything I hadn’t consented to, I’d rip off his nuts with my bare hands, no sweat.
“Sure, why not?” I replied nonchalantly, topping it off with a sweet little smile. “I could meet around 10 am tomorrow. Just tell me the name of the best coffee shop in Stockholm and I’ll be there.”
He arched an eyebrow as I took charge of what wasdefinitelya date, but I had plans. Though my meetings wrapped up today, I’d extended my stay in the country by two weeks—and I fully intended to make the most of this much-needed vacation. Stuffing my face with Swedish meatballs was fairly high on my Scandinavian vacation bucket list, but so was tripping and falling on some international dick.
And Sexy Sven here is going to be one of the first notches on my traveling bedpost.
“Mmm, I cannot divulge secrets like that out in the open.” His—very full and biteable—lips twisted in a smirk. “Not around such…thirstycollege students. Allow me to give you my phone number. If you text me, I’ll tell you where the bestkaffiis to be found.”
Oh, okay, I see you.
I was already a complete ho for banter, but it was the hard ‘t’ pronunciation on ‘thirsty’ that did me in.
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes good-naturedly, pulling my phone out of my purse and staunchly ignoring that I was officially late returning to my meeting. “Hand over the digits so I can save you in my contacts as ‘Scholarly Sven.’”
He threw back his head and laughed, and it was at this moment that I realized he wasn’t behaving like most of the Swedes I’d met. They weren'tcold,per se, but definitely reserved, and they usually saw small talk as futile. I’d already assumed I’d be doing the hunting when I hit up the Stockholm bar scene tonight, even if itwouldbe nice to be pursued for once.
I really got lucky with this guy.
“Not scholarly,” he replied, flashing that toothy grin again. “I’m simply doing some light research.”
This comment had me squinting at his stack, all of which looked like Norse mythology textbooks no human had touched in centuries.
“Poetic EddaandProse Edda,hmm?” I teased, reading off the spines of the dustiest-looking ones. “Sounds like thrilling reading material.”
“Quite,” he murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip in a way that immediately evaporated my panties. “I felt as if I were experiencing the historic events firsthand. Although both texts were written after Christianity infiltrated our society, so there’s quite a bit of… creative liberty being taken with the original myths.”
No surprise there.
Before I could continue flirting with the hot nerd, he rattled off his phone number—forcing me to concentrate on entering it correctly. Then he canted his chin toward the meeting room behind me. “I’ll let you return to your equally thrilling business, and look forward to sharing my culture with you tomorrow.”
With that, he brushed past me—close enough to make goosebumps appear on my skin—and I spun around to stare unapologetically at his ass as he walked away. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t gotten his name.
“So, you’re fine with being known as Scholarly Sven?” I called after him—blinded by hotness once again when he smiled at me over his shoulder.
“It’s Fen,” he replied. “But I think I’ll saveyouassötnos…for now.”
Like I’m not going to Google that immediately.
And Google it I did as soon as the lights dimmed for yetanotherPowerPoint presentation on how the extreme cold brought on by climate change was affecting the cloudberry harvest.
Aww, Sexy Sven thinks I’m a ‘cutie.’
