you to one of my favourite haunts.’
They went down in the lift, dragging on hats and scarves as they exited the automatic doors to the street, the whistling wind driving the falling snow diagonally. Hannah pulled down her hat as her ears began to burn. ‘Whoo! It’s turned wild.’ Snowflakes stung her skin like Jack Frost’s kisses.
‘A storm’s forecast.’ He helped pull her hood over her hat then they set off along gritted pavements that crunched beneath their feet, turning off when they reached Mäster Samuelsgatan then off again to cut through Sergels Torg, its geometric paving disguised by grit and slush. Fairy lights flickered and writhed through bare trees like snakes at a rave and the fragrance from a kiosk selling Halv special hot dogs stoked Hannah’s hunger.
‘Where are we going?’ She clasped her hood close to shield her face from the snow.
Nico didn’t seem to hear, so she tugged his gloved hand. His fingers curled around hers as he answered. ‘Near Kungsan.’
‘Kungsan’ was the pet name for Kungsträdgården or ‘King’s Garden’, a popular spot in Stockholm and one Hannah knew well from her daily walks between Gamla Stan and Östermalm. It was hard to think of that though as she absorbed the seamless way they’d ended up holding hands. It felt warm and promising and … well, nice.
They tried to talk as they passed beneath dangling Christmas lights, gold against the night sky, but the driving snow stole their breath and the wind made their words swirl around them. Nico laughed, blinking snow from his eyes. ‘To think we could have stayed safely indoors.’
The streets were half-empty in the deluge and they soon reached the restaurant, falling in through the door, gasping at the warm air replacing the cold in their lungs. Cutlery gleamed on royal blue cloths and a cream and gold tiled wood stove stood in the corner of the room. They were able to get a table by the window with a view over the water to Stockholm Palace and the bridges to Gamla Stan.
‘Beautiful,’ Hannah breathed, admiring the lights of the city playing over the glassy night-time sea, enjoying the lazy hum of conversation and clink of cutlery from the other diners.
‘How about fizz?’ Nico suggested, reading the wine menu. He took her hand, switching her attention from the view to him.
‘Fizz sounds fantastic,’ she murmured, feeling as if several glasses were already dancing through her veins when his leg came to rest against hers. It was hard to concentrate on the leather-bound food menu so she chose the local speciality. ‘Meatballs. I can’t come back to Sweden without eating meatballs.’
‘Fizz and meatballs, a meal fit for the king.’ Nico ordered and the smiling woman who served them brought a silver ice bucket containing a bottle with Hatt et Söner grande cuvée on the crest-like label. Actual champagne, not just a bottle of cava. Hannah’s skin prickled with the feeling that something special was happening.
Nico’s gaze was warm when it rested upon her. ‘I telephoned Dad before we came out.’ He still held her hand.
Hannah was distracted by the feel of his skin, warm and soft yet slightly rough, like a cat’s tongue. She had to force herself to concentrate on his words. ‘How is he?’
‘Much more his old self,’ Nico answered drily, the flickering flame from the candle on their table reflecting in his eyes. ‘He told me how lucky I was to be out this evening with a beautiful, warm, kind, intelligent woman.’ A smile made his eyes bluer. ‘As if I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh,’ she breathed, her heart launching into a gallop.
‘Tell me something,’ he went on, but paused to lift his wine glass to his lips. Was it her imagination or was there a sheen on his skin as if from nerves? ‘Is Albin in your thoughts much?’
She swallowed, feeling as if her reply was important and wanting to be honest. ‘He’s crossed my mind a couple of times. It would be odd if being a mile as the crow flies from Hannah Anna Butik didn’t remind me but, apart from the little matter of the several thousand pounds he owes me, he doesn’t mean anything to me. Not now. He killed my feelings when he showed me his unpleasant side.’ She didn’t add that the man who filled her thoughts was Nico.
He nodded as if satisfied and released her hand as their meal arrived, the sauce from the meatballs pooling around boiled potatoes and dark red lingonberry jam. He ate