Sweet Hearts (The Lindstroms Book 3)

her with a start, surprised to hear her voice after riding in silence for a good half hour. “Huh?”
“When she asked for you, she didn’t call you Erik. She called you…Mint?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s nothing. Just a stupid nickname from when I was a kid.”
She lowered her sunglasses just enough to peek at him over the rims. “Your childhood nickname is ‘Mint’?”
“Will you take off the sunglasses?”
“And show you my big, puffy, bloodshot bug-eyes? No chance. You’ll regret it.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“I look like a gargoyle when I cry. I don’t think so.”
“I bet I’ve seen worse. I studied criminal justice so I could go into law enforcement. That’s a lot of pretty scary photos. Come on. We’ve still got a few hours to go. It’s unnerving to sit next to someone that long when you can’t see their eyes.”
She seemed to consider this and then slowly pulled the sunglasses off her face, folding them neatly in her lap and looking at him squarely.
Erik glanced over at her and grimaced cartoonishly in mock horror, making a hissing sound, and then quickly looked back with a regular grin.
“You don’t look like a gargoyle. You look fine.” He realized she hadn’t swapped the sunglasses for the prescription glasses she’d been wearing earlier. “Where’d your other glasses go?”
“Contacts.”
“Huh.” What a difference contacts can make.
“Huh what?”
“Huh, you look nice without glasses.”
She stared straight ahead, but he thought he might have seen the very beginnings of one of those dimples in the cheek closest to him. “The nickname?”
Oh, shoot. That. “It’s Norwegian. It means ‘littlest’ or ‘smallest.’ I’m the youngest of three brothers, and my mother called Nils—he’s my oldest brother—Største, which means biggest, and she called Lars, my middle brother, Midten, which means middle, and she called me Minste.”
“So that’s what Ingrid called you? Minste?”
Erik nodded. “I’ve known Ing since she was a baby. Since I was a baby.”
“Since you were Minste.”
He chuckled. She’s quick. When he glanced over at her, she was looking out the window ahead, cheek closest to him mildly dented.
“You have a dimple.”
“A matched pair.”
“I like them.”
“Thanks,” she said in barely a whisper. She cleared her throat, crossed and uncrossed her legs, then turned to him. He wondered if he had made her uncomfortable with his compliment. “But, isn’t your sister Jenny actually the littlest?”
“Yes. But, she had a different name. Lillesøster.”
“Little sister. Kristian calls me lillesøster sometimes too.”
“You know Norwegian?”
She shrugged noncommittally. “Swedish. And not much. You know. Parents. Grandparents. You pick up a word or phrase here and there.”
“Same here. My dad’s Swedish. My mom was Norwegian. I know a bit of both, not that they’re very different.”
“It bothers you?” she asked.
“The Norwegian?”
“The nickname.”
“What do you think? What man likes to be called ‘smallest’? Maybe the most embarrassing nickname ever. Is there a more humiliating nickname?”
“Believe me, I know a little bit about humiliation. It’s not that bad.”
He chose to ignore her comment and tried to keep up the banter between them. “Says a small girl. It’s cute if you’re small.”
“Cute, huh?”
Smiling, Erik flicked his glance to see her face and she cracked a modest grin, making a deep crevasse in her cheek.
“Well, you’re hardly small now,” she said. “Anyway, it’s in Norwegian. You could lie and say it means ‘handsome’ or ‘virile’ or ‘strong’ or something.”
“Handsome or virile or strong, huh?”
She cringed and then grinned nervously, biting her lip as she realized what she’d implied. “Well, I mean. You could say that.” She paused again and he could hear the mix of awkwardness and humor in her voice when she mumbled, “I don’t mean I think you’re…not that I don’t think you’re…”
Erik was having the best time hearing her squirm and tried not to laugh.
She covered her eyes and shook her head in embarrassment. “Oh, gosh. Just, um, put it this way: All evidence to the contrary, Minste.”
“No! No, no, no! You’re not calling me that. Jenny and Ing are bad enough! Not you too!”
She giggled then. Briefly, yes, but it was a giggle, and Erik decided she could call him whatever she wanted, as long as he got to hear that giggle again.
She was quiet for a few minutes then, and when he glanced back at her, her smile was fading.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I haven’t laughed much lately.”
“Huh. Well, maybe it’s time to start again.”
“Yeah, probably.” She sighed, looking out the window at the land belonging to the Blackfeet Nation. “I’m so relieved to be leaving. It’s just hitting me now.”
“It’s for the best.”
“I’m so tired,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
“Worry will do that to you.”
“I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
“Why don’t you sleep a little now?”
“No, that’s okay. It’s rude to sleep while you drive.”
“Nah. Take a nap. I don’t mind. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
She reached over and touched his arm, her fingers lightly brushing his arm hair, causing goose bumps to rise up underneath. “You know what? You’re kind, Erik. I know this wasn’t your idea. It wasn’t mine either, for that matter, I hope you know that. But, you’ve been—you know, really great today. Thank you.”
He barely heard what she said; he was so distracted by her fingers on his skin. What was it about this girl that every time they touched it was like an event? He could only imagine if he felt this way when she touched his arm how it would feel if she touched his—
Aw, come on. Don’t go there. Back up. No! Not up. Down. Down, boy. Come on. Think about something else, for Pete’s sake. Poor thing, poor thing, poor little thing…
His breath came out slow and low as