Bright Midnight: A Second-Chance Romance Page 4

  This time, I booked a private room at a small hotel in Trondheim’s “old town,” and while it looked like a short walk on the map, now that the rain is falling, and my phone’s GPS is telling me it’s more like 30 minutes, I decide to stay put in the train station and hopefully wait it out. There are cabs outside, and I can’t figure out if Uber operates here, but I’ve put my mind to saving money wherever I can. Plus, it can’t rain forever and the walk will do me good to burn off those waffles with the strange brown cheese.

  But when one hour turns into two and I’m getting bored and anxious waiting in the station, drinking bottles of Brus—some fizzy apple juice that’s to die for—I decide to hoof it. It’s colder up here than it was in Oslo and it really cuts through you, even in the train station.

  I stand on the steps watching for cabs or cars with an Uber sign, but see nothing until a dark grey VW station wagon pulls into a parking space and a girl my age with wild red hair comes out, wrapping a mustard yellow scarf around the neck of her leather jacket and lighting up a cigarette. I can see there’s a couple of people still in the car, but they’re not getting out.

  She comes up the steps until she’s beside me under the shelter of the overhang and peeks in the glass windows to the station before giving me a quick smile and saying something to me in Norwegian.

  “Sorry…,” I start to say, not understanding her.

  “Oh, you don’t speak Norwegian,” the girl says quickly, taking a drag of her cigarette. Like most people I’ve met here, her accent is softened when she speaks English and she speaks it perfectly. “That’s fine. I was just wondering if the train had come in.”

  “I was on the one from Oslo, got in a few hours ago but that’s it.”

  She frowns at me and I count a smattering of freckles across her nose. “You’ve been hanging out at the train station for hours? I’m telling you, it’s not the best that Trondheim has to offer.”

  “I was waiting for the rain to let up and then walk to town, then I figured I would get a cab, but I don’t see any anymore.”

  She looks up at the sky. “It isn’t letting up. There hasn’t been a lot of rain here this spring so it’s really letting loose.” She glances at me. “Where are you from? Canada?”

  “New York,” I tell her.

  “Cool,” she says with a nod. “My mother lives there, but I’ve never been. It’s on my bucket list, though.”

  “You live in Trondheim?”

  She shakes her head. “Actually, I live in Paris. I’m just visiting family, friends.” She sighs and gives me a goofy smile. “I come here a few times a year, it’s so easy with the flights. But even so, each time I come I have to do the rounds and visit everyone I ever knew. I’m picking up my friend today, then I’m heading back to see my family, and then back to Paris. One day I’ll go on vacation to actually relax.”

  “Sounds busy,” I comment, grateful that this girl is so open and talkative. “I loved Paris, wish I could have stayed longer. Too expensive.”

  “And yet, here you are in Norway.”

  I laugh, brushing my bangs off my face and leaning further back out of the rain. “I know. The prices are killing me so far. I only got to Oslo the other day, but I already feel my bank account draining. But it’s been my dream to come here and some things are worth it, you know?”

  “Totally,” she says, blowing a puff of smoke over her shoulder and away from me. “That was it for me and Paris. I work there. But it’s so easy here in the EU to do that. Are you just traveling? Wandering? Working?”

  “A little of all that,” I tell her.

  She nods and makes a little noise in agreement, the tone rising up at the end. “Well where are you going now? Do you want a ride?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” I tell her. Though I’m touched that she offered, the last thing I want is to put this stranger out.

  She gives me a dismissive way. “Come on. It’s no problem. Where are you staying?”

  “The Gustav Hotel. I think it’s in old town.”

  “It’s across the river. Right beside an amazing pub. Soon as Roar gets out of the train, we’ll take you there. Have a drink. He lives in that direction anyway and he’s visiting family too, so I don’t think he’s in any hurry to get home.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on your time with your friend…”

  She faces me squarely, the wind blowing a curly piece of auburn across her face. “Listen. It’s fine. It’s settled. I’ve got my brother and sister in the car anyway.” She jerks her head toward the station wagon, then sticks out her hand. “I’m Astrid, by the way.”

  “Shay,” I tell her, and I’m surprised by the strength of her handshake. Her name makes my head jog ahead. It’s familiar somehow.

  She jerks her head toward the parking lot. “Come on, I’ll get your stuff in the car before he comes. Who knows how much stuff he’s bringing.”

  Astrid grabs my duffel bag and heads toward the car. I’m still taken aback by her friendliness and generosity, and there’s this weird feeling in my gut that’s building and building. Like déjà vu, but not quite. Like something is happening, that the cogs in the machine that is my life are turning, wheels in motion, causing things to turn a corner.

  I start down the steps after her, when suddenly everything goes in slow motion.

  As she throws my bag in the trunk, the passenger side door opens and a tall man steps out, shoulders like mountains.

  He faces me, stares at me.

  Stares in me.

  As if he can see my heart starting to jerk around in my chest.

  No. No. No.

  It can’t be.

  I blink because there’s something wrong with my eyes. The rain is clouding them.

  I swear I’m looking at a man who looks exactly what Anders would look like now.

  The beard.

  That messy, shaggy hair.

  Those cheekbones.

  Sure, most of the good-looking men I’ve seen in Norway so far look exactly like this, but still.

  “Shay?” he asks incredulously. His voice is so much deeper now, and yet it sounds like yesterday, even as it echoes across this parking lot.

  I’m sixteen again.

  And that’s when I nearly drop my backpack.

  This can’t be happening.

  He can’t have called my name.

  That seriously cannot be him.

  Anders Johansen.

  I want to tell him I don’t know him. That my name isn’t Shay. That he’s made some mistake.

  But I can’t. I can only stare, just as he can only stare. There’s buckets of rain and our past between us.

  “Do you two know each other?” Astrid asks, looking between the both of us. Then something dawns on her face. “Oh…Anders. Is this…is this the girl?”

  Am I the girl?

  “Shay,” Anders says again, as if he didn’t hear her, voice softer now. “I can’t believe…” he blinks a few times, shakes his head and a piece of wet, black hair sticks to his forehead. “Please, come in the car. We’ll take you where you need to go.”

  Where I need to go is suddenly thousands of miles away from here. I’m so tempted to just walk past them or to turn around and go back in the train station. Feign ignorance. Pretend. Save face and heart and soul.

  But I can’t. There’s no point. Because after everything that came between us, here we are again. How can you not believe in fate when we’re staring at each other after all these years, rain in my eyes, fear in my heart?

  Shit. My pulse is beating so fast, I’m afraid it will burst through my skin.

  I nod. “Okay,” I say, my voice shaking.

  My legs in slow motion, I go down the last step and he walks around the hood of the car, his hand out to take my backpack from my shoulders. As he comes closer, I see him now in frightening detail.

  The rain streaming down his furrowed brow. His grey-blue eyes, like the deepest, darkest sea. His Roman nose, slightly crooked at the center, like he
’s been punched by a few people (other than me).

  He isn’t smiling at me, just watching, perhaps curiously, maybe fearfully.

  Because I remember everything like it was yesterday.

  The anger, shame, and regret haven’t gone away.

  He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat and once again I’m struck by how much bigger he is now, all man and brawn. The tattoos on his knuckles peek out as he reaches for my backpack, which I’ve taken off my shoulders without even realizing it. The sparrow. That was his tattoo for me. I was the bird in the cage, the one he wanted to set free.

  “It is you,” he whispers, his voice gruff, like it’s caught somewhere in his throat. He peers at me intently, searching for reality.

  Why has time been so kind to him?

  But there is something burning in his eyes, the way he holds himself, the slight clench to his jaw, that tells me maybe time hasn’t been so kind after all.

  Before I can move or do anything, the door next to me opens and a girl, maybe around twenty, with deep sea eyes just like him and a dark pixie haircut sticks her head out.

  “Are you guys going to soak up all the rain or what?”

  Anders just brushes past me, close enough for me to catch a faint smell of something herbal, like dill, and throws my backpack in the trunk.

  Astrid gives him a bemused glance for a moment before she looks at the station where the train is pulling in.

  “I’ll be right back!” she says. “Don’t discuss anything. I want to know all the details about whatever the hell this is.” She wiggles her fingers at us then runs off to the train station, puddles splashing.

  Somehow my feet move without me telling them to and I go toward the back of the car where Anders holds the door open for me. “You still up for a ride?” he asks, and in his eyes I can see he wants me to say yes. He’s welcoming me, this chance encounter.

  But I’m starting to wonder how much of this is chance.

  And how much of this was me coming here, hoping this would happen.

  I find myself nodding, still feeling like I’m in some surreal dream, then I slide into the backseat. I give a grateful, albeit awkward, smile to the girl next to me, knowing she has to be one of Anders’ sisters, their eyes are the same, just as he gets in the car beside me. It isn’t until he shut’s the door that I realize just how wet I am. The car is engulfed with the musty dampness of rain, the windshield wipers going a mile a minute.

  And I’m pressed right up against Anders.

  Holy fuck.

  He twists in his seat to face me, that piece of hair still stuck to his forehead, and asks, “Where were you headed?”

  I swallow. “The…” And just like that I’ve forgotten the name of the hotel, even though I had just told Astrid. I fish my cell out of my jacket pocket, fingers trembling as I try and slide it open.

  “So, I’m sorry,” the girl next to me says. “But who are you? I mean, how do you know my brother?”

  “Long story,” I tell her with a quick smile, before trying to open my GPS. My fingers are wet, making it impossible, and having Anders’ shoulder right up against mine isn’t making things any easier.

  “I went to school with her in America,” Anders says, offering more about our past than I was willing to give up.

  “Oh,” the girl says with a frown. Then her brows raise. “Oh.”

  Wait. What did that second oh mean? Does she know about us? Because Astrid gave nearly the same reaction.

  The girl…

  “What are you doing in Norway?” she goes on.

  “Maybe we should get her to her hotel,” Anders says, and something about that boils my blood, as if he’s trying to get rid of me so fast. Again.

  “Hold on, hold on.” The girl is raising her hands and shaking her head. “None of this makes much sense.” She takes in a deep breath. “Okay. Shay…that’s your name, right?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, Shay. You and Anders know each other from high school. You haven’t seen each other since then, am I right? So, this is a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? You both meeting again like this. And now Anders, you want to take her to her hotel and just drop her off and that’s it?” She looks at him, eyes narrowing briefly. “No. I’m sorry. No to both of you. Shay, my name is Lise. You’ve met Astrid. Anders is our brother. Our brother isn’t to be listened to, he’s just gotten off a ship after being at sea for three weeks and his brain isn’t working properly. You know how people get sea legs? He gets sea brain. Please forgive him. And forgive my English too.”

  I’m about to tell her that her English is fine when she powers on.

  “What I think we need to do, unless you happen to have a business meeting in the next hour or so, is head to the bar in the old town, have a few drinks, and discuss what a crazy thing this is, yes?”

  Suddenly the back hatch pops open and luggage is thrown in, shaking the car. Then Astrid climbs into the driver’s seat while the passenger side opens and a tall, lanky guy with a beard gets in. It must always be lumberjack season in Norway.

  “Okay!” Astrid says, clapping her hands together. “We have a full car today! Roar, this is Shay. It’s Shay, right?”

  I nod. “Nice to meet you Roar.”

  Roar turns in his seat and smiles at me. He’s got a goofy face that balances the beard. “Same to you. Astrid says you’re a friend of Anders.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Lise says from beside me. “He wants to drop her off at her hotel.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Anders protests gruffly.

  “Ha!” Astrid says, starting the car. “You’re coming with us to the bar first. Then we’ll take you to your hotel. You’re our hostage now.”

  Lise pipes up beside me, says something else in Norwegian.

  Anders looks at me. I can’t read him. I’m not sure if I want to.

  Being dropped off at my hotel probably would be for the best though, but then what? I would spend the rest of the night, the rest of my days here, maybe even the rest of my life, wondering just what the hell happened.

  I can’t pretend I didn’t come to this country hoping this would happen.

  Hoping, secretly, without my heart knowing it.

  But I know it now.

  And this shouldn’t have been possible.

  So I think I owe it at least that.

  Even though I don’t owe him a thing.

  Everyone is staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  “I’d love to have a drink,” I say, as Astrid pulls out of the parking lot. Not sure I had much choice in that anyway.

  I can see Anders frowning out of the corner of my vision. He turns around and nods. “A drink it is.”

  “Good,” Astrid says, stepping on the gas so hard my head goes flying back against the headrest. “Sorry!” she says, winking at me in the mirror.

  “Is this your first time in Trondheim?” Lise asks me, as we cruise down cobblestone streets, past brightly colored shops and people huddled under umbrellas.

  I can barely take it all in. All I can keep thinking is:

  Is this real, is this real, is this real?

  Is this really Anders sitting right beside me?

  My first love.

  Maybe my only love.

  And the first person who showed me what it’s like to break.

  5

  Shay

  Suffice to say, Lise asks me the most questions during the drive, all of which I answer on autopilot.

  First trip to Norway.

  Just arrived here.

  Was in Ireland before.

  No idea what’s next for me.

  No idea.

  “That must be nice,” Lise says, as we’re crossing over a bridge that spans the river and the banks are lined with old boathouses done up in a rich colors: golds and blues and reds that reflect onto the dark water.

  “Nice?” I repeat.

  “Yeah,” she says. “To do whatever you want, g
o where the wind takes you. To have no plans, no place to go.”

  Yeah, I think. But sometimes you want a place to go. A place to be.

  Astrid parks the car on narrow, hilly road and we all clamor out. I try not to look in Anders’ direction and as I pull my jacket over my cardigan, glancing down at the wet patches on my jeans, I wonder if my makeup is running down my face. Thankfully the rain has eased up to a drizzle.

  Even with the shitty weather, Trondheim looks and feels miles different than Oslo. The buildings are older, less modern and more quaint, the traffic is low, cobblestone streets filled with young, fresh-faced bikers, smiling through the rain, twisting off the main roads.

  “This is Trondheim’s Old Town,” Astrid announces as I walk beside her, staying ahead of Anders. When we cross the main road called Nedre Bakklandet, and nearly get run over by what seems to be an endless stream of young, beautiful people on bicycles (who bikes in this weather?) she points to a building by the bridge. “And that’s my favorite bar. The beer is cheap and good.”

  The bar is called Den Gode Nabo—I have no idea what that means, it sounds like a planet from Star Wars—and inside it’s deliciously warm and dark, like a Scandinavian dive bar, but clean and full of character. The tilting floors, the walls, even the low ceilings from which old, dusty chandeliers hang, are all knotty wood. There are long tables with benches piled with blankets and pillows and many booths and tables tucked into dark corners. I feel like I’m in an old traditional boathouse, which is probably the case. There’s even a section at the back that leads down a ramp to a floating patio on the river, though not even a Norwegian would brave a drink out there in this weather.

  “Here,” Astrid says, gesturing to a booth in the corner. “Roar and I will get the drinks. What do you want? Beer? Cider?”

  “Cider is fine,” I tell her, reaching for my wallet, but the two of them are already walking away to the long bar at the end. I expect Lise to stay with us, but she runs off after them.

  Leaving me and Anders alone.

  “It’s on her,” Anders says, taking a seat and gesturing to my wallet. “You’re going to need to save as much money as you can in this country.” He nods at the place across from him. “Please, sit.”