“I applied for college in
Toronto and asked Ryssa to come with me. She decided to stay behind. Didn’t
want to be disloyal to her family like that.” He brushed the couch, as if
erasing whatever he’d drawn, and captured Carrie’s gaze with his own. His blue
eyes were as bright and sad as melting ice. “We were awfully young. And leaving
is considered treasonous among my kind.”
The story
was crazy, nothing like the staid life she’d had, but those scars were too
clean to be an accident. Then his last statement registered. “Your kind?”
Brett
blinked, shook off the maudlin with a friendly smile and stretched. “You know,
crazy far-northern Canucks.” He shook her hand. “I like it better here,
anyway.”
She
couldn’t help asking, “Is that all true?”
His
expression turned confused, as if the idea of lying hadn’t occurred to him, and
he canted his head again in that way that always made his bells jingle. Without
the cap, though, it looked more like he was listening to something, like faint
music or unspoken words.
He held a finger
up and slid his wallet out of his back pocket. A moment of digging inside, and
he produced a folded photograph. “That’s the house I grew up in.” A weathered
wooden structure, small and none-too-sturdy but with brightly painted window
shutters, took up a third of the frame. “My little sister.” He pointed to a
fair-haired kid of maybe ten making snow angels on the lawn in a threadbare
jacket. “And a moose. ’Cause they’re everywhere.” He pointed to the background
where, sure enough, an enormous brown animal stared at the camera with angry
eyes.
“Wow.” The
windswept desolation in the photo made it all real. He’d grown up in a totally
different world than she had with her cheerful middle-class family. Talk about
overcoming some odds. Shame pricked at her. How dare she or anyone else judge
him or his job when he’d come from frozen poverty and creepy violence to become
a friendly guy cheering up children at the mall?
He folded
the picture carefully along the same lines and replaced it, then spun the
wallet so she could see his driver’s license through the clear plastic. “But
I’m a US citizen now.”
“Brett
Vertanen,” she read. Apparently Elf-man had a last name, too. It made him more
real. “That’s a cool name.”
“Finnish.”
He chuckled. “I’m the only one of my immediate kin to escape the cold.” He
slapped the wallet closed and stuffed it back into his pocket. When he faced
her again, his cheerful smile had returned. “So you liked my food, eh?”
She nodded.
He still had her hand, and he squeezed it.
“Can I cook
for you again?”
Here it
was, the decision to keep seeing him, to let him in, if only just a little. She
couldn’t help hearing, “Give me a chance to hurt you?” But that wasn’t what he
meant. She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Even if it scared her,
she meant it.
The
cheerful smile turned triumphant. What a goober he was. Furtively, he glanced
around them.
“What are
you—”
She stopped
when he cupped her cheek with his free hand. His gaze found hers with the force
of a storm. In his eyes again she glimpsed a core that was strong and a little
wild, hidden—or maybe held in check—by his laughter and affable smile. The
depth of space masked by the light of the stars.
It struck her
that Lincoln had been the other way around, a wild, rebellious exterior hiding
a man who feared he wasn’t special. She’d always wanted to help Lincoln see
that he had more inside him than he realized.
And then, when it
had mattered most, he’d gone and proved her wrong.
Brett’s thumb
stroked her cheek, bringing her back to the present and the man she was with.
“I’m checking for eyes before I do this.” With a twinkle in his own eyes, he
leaned in.
Her heart
pattered furiously, her skin tingling in anticipation as she realized what he
was about to do. Since the divorce she’d told herself
Toronto and asked Ryssa to come with me. She decided to stay behind. Didn’t
want to be disloyal to her family like that.” He brushed the couch, as if
erasing whatever he’d drawn, and captured Carrie’s gaze with his own. His blue
eyes were as bright and sad as melting ice. “We were awfully young. And leaving
is considered treasonous among my kind.”
The story
was crazy, nothing like the staid life she’d had, but those scars were too
clean to be an accident. Then his last statement registered. “Your kind?”
Brett
blinked, shook off the maudlin with a friendly smile and stretched. “You know,
crazy far-northern Canucks.” He shook her hand. “I like it better here,
anyway.”
She
couldn’t help asking, “Is that all true?”
His
expression turned confused, as if the idea of lying hadn’t occurred to him, and
he canted his head again in that way that always made his bells jingle. Without
the cap, though, it looked more like he was listening to something, like faint
music or unspoken words.
He held a finger
up and slid his wallet out of his back pocket. A moment of digging inside, and
he produced a folded photograph. “That’s the house I grew up in.” A weathered
wooden structure, small and none-too-sturdy but with brightly painted window
shutters, took up a third of the frame. “My little sister.” He pointed to a
fair-haired kid of maybe ten making snow angels on the lawn in a threadbare
jacket. “And a moose. ’Cause they’re everywhere.” He pointed to the background
where, sure enough, an enormous brown animal stared at the camera with angry
eyes.
“Wow.” The
windswept desolation in the photo made it all real. He’d grown up in a totally
different world than she had with her cheerful middle-class family. Talk about
overcoming some odds. Shame pricked at her. How dare she or anyone else judge
him or his job when he’d come from frozen poverty and creepy violence to become
a friendly guy cheering up children at the mall?
He folded
the picture carefully along the same lines and replaced it, then spun the
wallet so she could see his driver’s license through the clear plastic. “But
I’m a US citizen now.”
“Brett
Vertanen,” she read. Apparently Elf-man had a last name, too. It made him more
real. “That’s a cool name.”
“Finnish.”
He chuckled. “I’m the only one of my immediate kin to escape the cold.” He
slapped the wallet closed and stuffed it back into his pocket. When he faced
her again, his cheerful smile had returned. “So you liked my food, eh?”
She nodded.
He still had her hand, and he squeezed it.
“Can I cook
for you again?”
Here it
was, the decision to keep seeing him, to let him in, if only just a little. She
couldn’t help hearing, “Give me a chance to hurt you?” But that wasn’t what he
meant. She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Even if it scared her,
she meant it.
The
cheerful smile turned triumphant. What a goober he was. Furtively, he glanced
around them.
“What are
you—”
She stopped
when he cupped her cheek with his free hand. His gaze found hers with the force
of a storm. In his eyes again she glimpsed a core that was strong and a little
wild, hidden—or maybe held in check—by his laughter and affable smile. The
depth of space masked by the light of the stars.
It struck her
that Lincoln had been the other way around, a wild, rebellious exterior hiding
a man who feared he wasn’t special. She’d always wanted to help Lincoln see
that he had more inside him than he realized.
And then, when it
had mattered most, he’d gone and proved her wrong.
Brett’s thumb
stroked her cheek, bringing her back to the present and the man she was with.
“I’m checking for eyes before I do this.” With a twinkle in his own eyes, he
leaned in.
Her heart
pattered furiously, her skin tingling in anticipation as she realized what he
was about to do. Since the divorce she’d told herself
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