Somewhere Else

Chapter 2: Bump in the Road (ii)

I am embarrassed the next day, after the shock has worn off, about my mini-breakdown the night before.

Aksel spent what was left of the night taking care of me, making me a quick dinner and then climbing into bed with me, holding me like I was a small child.

I am embarrassed, thinking about it. I was so weak, so selfishly dependent on him. I didn't even think to ask him about his night out.

He woke this morning before I did, and let me sleep in, but I walk into the kitchen just as he finishes making himself a cup of coffee. He looks up when I walk in, and I go over to him. He's all dressed and ready for work, looking incredibly professional and sophisticated. It hits me anew how good he looks, especially in his work clothes.

I reach up to straighten his tie, wanting to do something for him, too. But, to be honest, I don't know a thing about ties. The stereotypical domestic scene of a woman tying the man's tie before he leaves for work – I couldn't enact it if I wanted to. Aksel does it himself so quickly, efficiently, even while multitasking, that it's pointless for me to try to do for him.

He puts down his coffee mug and his hand comes up to grasp my wrist gently. "Morning," he murmurs, looking into my eyes, checking for something. "How are you feeling?"

"Great!" I chirp, giving up on fiddling with his already straight tie and patting his chest for lack of something to do. "Completely fine."

"Emilie..." He looks like he wants to say something, but ends up simply sighing. He drops my wrist and slides his hands around my waist instead, pulling me in for a kiss. He tastes of bitter black coffee, and I almost recoil. But I catch myself at the last moment, and, steeling myself against the bitter taste, kiss him back. He pulls away after a while, looking into my face.

"Ah, sorry," he says, rubbing his knuckles over my cheek, "I forgot I was drinking black coffee."

How does he read me so easily? It's like he sees every emotion I feel, sometimes even before I register it myself.

"It's fine," I say, grabbing him by the sides of his face and standing up on my tiptoes to kiss him again, to prove that I don't mind the taste.

Oh, but is black coffee bitter. Finns like their coffee so strong.

Aksel smiles faintly, reaching a finger to touch my nose. I haven't realised that it's scrunched up as a reflex to the bitter taste on his lips. "This gives it away." He leans down and kisses my cheek chastely. "Thanks," he whispers.

Feeling a little flustered – what is he thanking me for? – I clear my throat and turn to look around the kitchen. "Have you eaten? I'll make you something–" I want to repay him, somehow, for last night.

"It's okay," he says, putting his hands on my shoulders and steering me towards the dining table right outside of the entryway to the kitchen. He pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. "I've eaten. And I made you something too."

I sit down, pouting a little at the plate of toast and scrambled eggs in front of me. "I love scrambled eggs," I say in a small voice. But I'm disappointed. I wanted to cook something for him today.

He takes care of me too much. I want to take care of him, too, sometimes.

"I know." He sounds unconcerned; he is back in the kitchen now, polishing off his mug of coffee. Then I hear the tap running. I'm poking at my eggs with a fork when he comes back out.

He stops beside me, bending down to kiss my cheek again. "I have to go," he says, straightening as I turn to face him.

I jump up from the chair, grabbing hold of his tie and pulling him back. "What–" he begins, but I cut him off by kissing him right on the mouth. He still tastes of the bitter coffee, but I'm starting to get used it. It's not that bad, really.