Pernille Hughes - Probably the Best Kiss in the World

“Ha! No. No wife, no husband, no children,” he insisted, walking back out. She did her very best to keep her eyes on his face, not on his abs, but some things in life are tough. “I meant the architect and me. It’s tidy because I’m not here very often. I’ve left you a towel and some clothes. You can use the shower in there. The canal water isn’t the cleanest.”

The thought of a shower was highly appealing – until she realised she was going to be naked in a stranger’s home. She tried to suppress her eye goggle: the Scandies were so much more relaxed about their bodies and she didn’t want to come across as a prude.

“Great, thanks,” she managed, trying to sound as if she de-kitted in people’s houseboats all the time.

He handed her his phone. “Text your sister, let her know you’re safe.” Jen looked at her own phone, a small skirt of water surrounding it on the counter top. She appreciated his tact at this difficult time.

“Am I safe?” she asked, looking at him. Man , those eyes. She’d meant it to be jokey, but realised it came out slightly flirty and Jen did not generally deal in flirty.

A slow smile spread across Yakob’s face making her suddenly scuttle off into the bedroom, to send her short, but not remotely sweet thoughts to Lydia and to take that shower – in this case a cold one.

He wasn’t in the main room when she came out, damp clothes in hand. He’d found her a pair of drawstring shorts and a Kronegaard promotional t-shirt to wear, it’s huge logo now emblazoned right across her chest along with an image of the iconic green bottle uncapped and spraying foamy beer from the top. While advertising their wares was the last thing she wanted to do, requesting alternative clothing seemed rude and she already wasn’t feeling on her strongest footing.

Creaking from outside told her he’d headed back out on deck. Following him, she saw a drying rack was optimistically primed in the setting sunlight and at the end of the deck, feet dangling off the side above the water sat her host, a cooler box and a bottle opener at his side. He looked back and sent her a beaming smile. It completely took her mind off wearing his clothes. She’d kept her underwear, having hung them off the open porthole handle as she’d showered. Thank god for the minimal fabric in underwear. For once she didn’t curse the extortionate pennies to fabric ratio.

“Hello again,” she said, registering with a little dismay that he’d pulled on a short sleeved shirt in her absence.

“Hello again.” There was that smile as he looked her over, assessing her as she wore his clothes. She was just going to have to accept he was amused by her. Shuffling aside he made space for Jen to join him in his twilight sun spot. She noted that he hadn’t done the buttons on his shirt. Well, it was a warm evening, so totally understandable and Jen approved.

“Beer?” he asked, taking his phone back as she offered it to him.

“Love one,” she replied, following his nod to the cooler. There was a range of bottles inside, all Kronegaard she noticed, but then she supposed it was their home territory, so she could make allowances. She picked one in a brown bottle to match his. It wasn’t one she’d seen before. The only Kronegaard beers she knew came in their famous green bottles.

She settled into her spot next to him and at first sat in awkward silence. He didn’t appear to feel awkward however. He seemed completely relaxed, simply enjoying the setting sun and calm of the ending day. Gradually, she tried to follow his lead on the relaxation as they sank the first of their beers. A couple of kayakers paddled past them and a few more GoBoats, the passing picnic tables increasingly stocked with evening drinks. Finally, ready to talk again, she pointed to a Tupperware box at his side which he’d regularly move to be directly in the receding sunlight.

“What’s that?”

“Your phone,” he said. “I’ve switched it off, removed the SIM and put all of it in rice to draw out the water. Keeping it warm helps too. In a couple of days, you might get lucky and have it working again.”

“Really?” She’d been trying to hold onto her grief until she was back in her hotel room, her panic locked away in her head until then. “Does that work?”

“Did for me when I dropped mine in a toilet. Worth a try.”

Delighted there was a plan afoot she held up her bottle to clink it with him.

“Skaal,” he said. It sounded like Skorl , and she returned it to the best of her ability, which made him smile again. He obviously found her entertaining, and not generally having that role when in company, Jen didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“So Jen, is this your first time in Copenhagen?”

“It is,” she said with a nod, “it’s been on my wish list for years, but you know, ‘life gets in the way’.”

“And other than the underside of a GoBoat, what have you seen?”

“Well, I did have a to-see list on my …” she barely managed to point at the Tupperware box, feeling a lump beginning to form in her throat but reining it in so as not to completely overreach her prat quota for the day by crying in front of him, “however, as you’ve seen, my travel-mates are a rather unruly bunch and do not respect lists and planning.” His chuckle was somewhat disconcerting. Clearly he thought she was being funny and actually she wasn’t, not about the value of planning. Robert would have been nodding with her. Perhaps Danes were different. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “I had a detailed plan on my laptop, but … well, I had to cobble together a replacement on the plane.” She reeled off the points of interest she could remember, which was all of them, probably mangling the pronunciation of some.

“That is very … comprehensive,” he said. She couldn’t quite work out whether he was impressed or amused.

“Well, if you only have a couple of days, you need to be efficient,” Jen said seriously. Some people – Lydia, Alice and Max for example – apparently didn’t get that.

“And what about free time?” he asked. His eyes had a twinkle to them.

She didn’t know what he meant. “The whole weekend is free time. It’s … well it’s the weekend .” That was the same in Danish, surely? “Weekend” was one of those universal words, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” he said, “but I do not hear any time allocated to simply walking through the streets, along the canals, looking and breathing.” He gave a light wave to their surroundings.

Jen could only blink at him. It made him laugh. “I am teasing you, Jen.” She released a slightly unnerved laugh. Other than Lydia, no one ever teased her. “It is a good list of things to do,” he said placating her, “but perhaps you should not walk too fast between the sights. You might miss some lovely things; the buildings, the hidden courtyards, quirky fountains, the balconies.”

Well yes, that did make sense, she thought, scanning the canal in front of them and the quaysides. There was lots to see when you took a moment to look. Tall hollyhocks in the cobbled doorways, carved wooden double doors, bicycles meandering along everywhere. Perhaps, she should assign some meandering time in her numerous trip lists at home. She was pretty sure though that breathing would come naturally.

“But most importantly,” she continued, keen to move him on from the teasing and regain her footing, “I managed to see the Kronegaard museum this morning.”

He gave her an odd look. “Kronegaard? Really?” He pronounced it the Danish way, krorn-gorr, rolling the kr .

“Oh yes. I’ve always wanted to go. The guide book said it would take two hours, but I took three. It was wonderful. Have you been?”