“Mormor?” I mouth to her. Numbness spreads inside of my shoulders, and I let my arms fall to my sides.
“Did you say something?” Kurt asks.
“Oh, I asked if you needed more.” Think, think. What is she even doing? “Sugar. Do you need more sugar?”
“Nah, I prefer black coffee.” He leans to catch my gaze. “How did you sleep?”
“Pretty well.” Can he not see the massive distraction wandering around us?
His eyes trace up and down my face, which is fair considering I’ve already memorized the sculpted lines of his.
Ignore her. She’s not real. “You know how it is when you sleep in a new bed, it takes a lot to find the right position.” I cringe at the poor phrasing.
“We can get you a new mattress.” He laughs. “Consider me an extra set of hands.”
“For breaking in mattresses?” Nope, that’s not what he meant, and yet it flew from my mouth.
“I didn’t mean…” Kurt fidgets with his mug and can’t seem to hide the shades of pink in his cheeks. “Your cousin said you could use some help with the house.” He clears his throat. “Unless this wasn’t about repairs.”
“The little I know about my family, I wouldn’t put it past her.” I take a sip of the icy drink. “Don’t worry. I don’t throw myself at strangers.”
He chokes on a sip and blinks in response.
Bail out, I need to bail out. “Any help you can give with the house is much appreciated.”
The woman is still looking straight at me. She sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes before pulling the newspaper closer to cover her face. Mormor? But it can’t be. Mormor is dead. The air is playing tricks on me.
To enter, follow @beckerixsonauthor, repost an image of the book, and comment using the hashtag #JustAFika between 10/01/2023 and 10/10/2023 on Instagram to be entered into the giveaway. Open to legal residents of the 48 contiguous United States and Washington D.C. (excluding HI and AK)
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