U.S. Male by Kristin Hardy

came in.
    “Good morning.”
    “Good morning.” She jammed her hands deep in the pockets of her robe. “I thought maybe you’d headed out for the day.”
    For a moment, he looked taken aback. “I was downstairs having coffee. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry, I should have left a note.”
    It was awkward, she thought. They’d become lovers without warning. Now, they were essentially living together as intimate strangers. She knew how to make Bax shudder with arousal but couldn’t name his favorite color. They still hadn’t found their rhythm with one another, they didn’t know what to expect.
    At least not out of bed.
    “Well, I’m up and around now,” she told him, sitting down on the bed. “Hey, is anything important going on today? The guide book mentioned a postal museum on Gamla Stan. I thought it might have some useful information for us. You know, stamps and stuff.”
    “Sure.” He walked restlessly over to the windows to peer out. “By the way, I saw something in the paper about a stamp auction later on this week. The preauction viewing and reception are tomorrow night.”
    “So?”
    “So Silverhielm will very likely be there. It might be a good opportunity to make his acquaintance.”
    “Wouldn’t that be convenient?” Joss said, watching Bax. He was tense enough that he was making her tense. Too many more days like this and they’d be crawling the walls. It was definitely time to do something about it.
    She reached for the sash of her robe. “Well, if we’re going to be meeting Silverhielm, we should probably get prepared.”
    “I think I told you, we’re going to get a briefing.”
    “I mean you and I should get prepared,” she said, sliding her robe off her shoulders.
    “Get prepared how?” Bax turned away from the window to look at her.
    Joss gave him a wicked smile. “If you’ll just come into the shower with me, I’d be happy to explain.”
     
    T HE NARROW cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan wound between the high gabled buildings, the air still echoing with the past. Tourists and Stockholmers sat at the sidewalk cafés drinking coffee in the warm afternoon. The whole scene held the feeling of a gentler age.
    Inside the postal museum, history permeated the air. All around them were displays with stamps from other eras, other places. They walked past the prize holdings of the stamp world. At least, that was Joss’s assumption. Given that all the signs and labels were in Swedish, and her current vocabulary consisted of “hello,” “goodbye,” “please” and “thank you,” it was hard to be sure.
    Context was everything, Joss thought with a sigh. Otherwise, the stamps were just colored squares of paper. “I don’t suppose you could translate for me, could you?” she asked Bax.
    He gave her a calculating look. “I suppose, but it’ll cost you.”
    Joss frowned. “Wait a minute, I thought you were supposed to be my devoted lover. Wasn’t that what we were just talking about?”
    “Well, I’m not sure that includes translation services beyond la langue d’amour .” He stuck his tongue in his cheek.
    Joss raised her eyebrows. “La langue d’amour?”
    “I was raised in Europe,” he said blandly.
    “I see.” This was a new Bax. She’d never seen him be playful before. It was something she could get used to. “Well, if I could talk you into translating, I’d be happy to discuss some sort of compensation for your efforts.”
    “What do you have in mind?” He looked at her speculatively.
    “Perhaps we could take it out in trade.”
    “I can work with that. Let’s see,” he squinted at the label. “Well, what you’re looking at here is a stamp on a letter.”
    Joss crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway to the display case. “You don’t say.”
    “It’s true. If you want to hear more, I’ll need a deposit.”
    It took her away, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his arms around her. It didn’t matter that they’d just spent a couple of