Kristen Painter - All Fired Up

When he looked back at her, his eyes were cold and his voice exact. “I did not.”

Calleigh straightened as a sudden frost settled over her. “But that means…”

He shoved to his feet and walked to the front windows, staring out into the rainy afternoon. “Aye. It means what you think.”

The frost turned into a deep freeze. She had almost kissed a dead man. She shuddered. Things had just gone from weird to mental institution.

“You’re dead?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are…are you a ghost?” she stuttered.

He spoke without looking at her. “You have felt that I am flesh and blood, have you not?”

“Aye,” she whispered, thinking again of the kiss that almost was. “I mean, yes, you feel…alive.”

He turned, a soft smile lighting his face. “Would you like to feel me again?”

The glimmer in his eyes warmed her considerably, but she was not about to be almost kissed again. Change the subject. “Why did you ask me what year it was?”

“Because I did not know. My last summoning was in the year 1862. My charge was a soldier in your country’s clan war. He was killed before his three changes were granted and the talisman was stolen.” He leaned back against the window frame.

“So where have you been since then?”

The smile faded, and he turned away again. “I have been in Valhalla since then.” Bitterness laced his words.

The gruff tone of his voice surprised her. “I thought Valhalla was supposed to be paradise?”

“It is, for some. If that is what you seek.” He splayed his fingers on the glass and stared out at the rainy day, but she could see his reflection in the window. Distant and detached. The soft patter of rain and the whirr of the washer filled the space between them.

What did he seek? She was about to ask that and a few other questions when the washer buzzed. She got up and put his clothes in the dryer, throwing in a few extra fabric softener sheets to get his clothes as soft as possible. Whether he liked it or not, he was about to smell like a tropical breeze.

She peeked around the corner. He still stood at the window. The reflection of light on his face through the rain-streaked glass looked like tears running down his cheeks. Maybe she should just leave him alone.

In search of something to occupy herself with, she went into the kitchen and rummaged around for something to make for dinner. Great. A handful of ramen noodles packages, two boxes of mac-n-cheese, a can of black olives and some peanut butter. Old Mother Hubbard probably had a better-stocked pantry. She opened her drawer of take-out menus and grabbed the one from Thai’d Up. Did Vikings eat curry?

She glanced in his direction. What was he thinking about? “Alrik?”

He shifted to meet her gaze. The hard line of his mouth was softer now, his brows not so tightly drawn together. “Aye?”

“Excuse me for not knowing my Viking history, but what year did you come from?”

“I was born in 848, in Dublin.”

Puzzled, she put the menu down. “You were born in Ireland?”

“Aye. Does that surprise you?” His mouth softened further into an easy smile.

“Yes. I thought you were a Norseman. Or Viking, or whatever. How can you be Irish?”

“I am not Irish. I was only born there. My people came to conquer Eire as they had Northumbria and Brittany.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You’re almost twelve hundred years old?”

He nodded. “I was never quick with sums but that sounds correct.”

“Holy crap,” she said, her voice a squeak. “You’re really freakin’ old.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and mumbled “sorry” through her fingers.

His face split in a wide grin and laughter erupted from his throat. “Aye. I am freakin’ old.”

Relieved at his good humor, she laughed too. “You sure don’t look your age. You don’t act it either. How old were you when you were…transformed?”

He opened his mouth to reply, and the answering machine kicked on. She startled. The stupid ringer was still turned off. She grabbed the receiver.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Baby, it’s me—“

“I don’t want to talk to you.” She slammed the receiver down.

Alrik squinted at the phone. “What does that machine do?”

“The phone lets you talk to people anywhere in the world, as long as they have a phone, too.”

“This is a very wise age.” He nodded toward the windows. “I have been watching these machines that move people. They are faster than horses and there is no dung to clean up.”

She smiled. “Those are cars. There’s also lots of bigger public transportation, like trains. Do you know what a train is?”

“Aye. But I have not ridden inside one.”

The answering machine turned on again, but this time, she didn’t pick up the phone.

“Baby, it’s Brad. Pick up, please. I know you’re there. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Look, just meet me for brunch at eleven tomorrow at Patois. We can work this out. Please, Calleigh. I’ll be there. I hope you are, too. I love you.”

When he hung up, Calleigh sank into one of the pub chairs around the breakfast bar. She sat there, staring at the flecks of black and gold in the granite. How perfect. He’d proposed to her at Patois. Was that supposed to soften her up? What if it did?

“Who is this man that upset you?”

She glanced up. Alrik stood beside her.

She sniffed in a deep shuddering inhale she recognized as the precursor to a good cry. I will not be weak in front of this man. He’s a twelve-hundred-year-old Viking chieftain and I’m a modern, independent woman. Tears would not impress him.

“He’s no one. I’m okay,” she lied.

“I am not blind. You are upset. Who is this man?”

“He’s my ex.”

“Your X? What is X?”

“He’s the guy I’m— was supposed to marry.”

“Ahh.” He sat down in the chair next to her and swiveled around to face her. An expanse of smooth golden skin filled her field of vision. The aroma of cinnamon enveloped her with a spicy familiarity.

He continued. “Actually, I do not understand. Does he not want to marry you any longer?”

“Yes, he still wants marry me. I guess.”

“But you do not want to wed him?”

“I did, but not anymore. I guess. I don’t know. He wants me to forgive and forget and I don’t know if I can.”

“Forgive what?” He propped an elbow on the bar, rested his jaw on his hand and stared into her eyes.

She stared back, studying his sparkling blues and the locks of tawny-gold grazing his strong jaw. Saints in heaven, he was the most delicious hunk of man. She didn’t want to think about Brad.

“Do you want to take a shower while your clothes are drying?”

His brow crinkled. “Explain.”

“A shower is like a bath, but standing up. The water comes down like rain.”

“Aye.” His smile blinded her like sun on fresh snow. “I will shower with you, Calleigh lass.”

“Not with me!” she sputtered. “I meant you, by yourself.”

He frowned. “Why should I do this alone?”

“To get clean? Or don’t Vikings bathe more than once a year?”

“My people were not animals.” He drew himself up, his face taut with hurt, and crossed his arms. “Do not assume you know what my life was like.”

She leaned back in her chair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t have a clue what your life was like. My mouth has a tendency to get me into trouble. In case you haven’t noticed. Forgive me?”

“I accept your apology.” He uncrossed his arms and smiled. A hint of mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Perhaps your mouth could get you out of trouble also.”