Sweet Hearts (The Lindstroms Book 3)

of her…Minste.”
He nodded beside her, deciding to ignore her use of his hated nickname. “Oh, absolutely. She and Jenny were two peas in a pod growing up. Toughest thing Jen ever went through was losing our mamma and Ing within a few months of each other. Luckily, Ing came back.”
Wow, Erik. Way to go. Great job steering the conversation into happier waters. What the hell is the matter with you?
“I knew your mom had passed away,” she answered smoothly, alleviating his worries. “Someone told me at Sam and Jenny’s wedding. How long ago?”
“Six years.”
She unclasped her knees and crossed them, shifting her body toward him to give him her attention. “I’m sorry. That’s really hard. I lost my dad three years ago. I was in nursing college, and my mother called to say that he’d been in a car accident. Just like that. Gone. I was nineteen.” She shared this softly, but without tears. “I miss him. There were times it was almost unbearable, you know? But, mostly the years go by and you find you can think about them and talk about them without those crushing, drowning feelings taking over every morning. Now, I remember the good times. I remember his smile.”
Erik was surprised. He didn’t realize that Kristian and Katrin’s father had passed away. He didn’t remember meeting their father at Jenny’s wedding, but there were so many new faces, it hadn’t really occurred to him. He thought of Katrin on her wedding day, already emotional that her father wasn’t there to walk her down the aisle, only to be abandoned by the second-most important man in her life: her fiancé. Scumbag. He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head over the unfairness of it.
Her hand on his arm jerked him back to the present. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he blustered, looking down at her small, white, delicate fingers that looked cold, but were surprisingly warm on his skin. He was instantly distracted and had to shuffle through his thoughts to remember their chain of conversation. “I’m fine. I’m just—I’m sorry about it. Your dad.” And your creepy, stalker, alcoholic ex-fiancé.
“And your mom. For both of us.” She took her hand away and uncapped the water she was holding between her legs, taking another sip.
“It was the worst for Jenny. Youngest. Only girl.”
“It probably just seemed that way. I’m sure it was just as hard for you.”
He glanced out his window to the left, away from her, pushing away thoughts of his mother’s broken-down body. He had helped Jenny care for her as she deteriorated steadily, slipping away a little more hour by hour before his eyes. He could still hear the moans whenever she had to be moved or touched, her restless sleep when she cried out for Erik’s father. Picking her up so that Jenny could change the sheets and feeling less and less of her in his arms. His Pappa, who couldn’t bear it, who couldn’t watch, who spent more and more time in the park as his wife lay dying, abandoning her to—
Erik shuddered, shutting down his memories and shifting his focus back to Jenny instead. “It was a really bad time. It changed her. I’m pretty sure she would have just ended up alone in Gardiner if it wasn’t for Sam. He woke her up. He rescued her.”
He heard Ingrid’s words in his head: “You’re saving her life today.” Katrin. Like Sam rescued Jenny? He chased the uncomfortable thought out of his mind, and squirmed in his seat, wishing he could just turn on the radio and they could quit talking. This conversation was too deep, too personal, too intense, dredging up memories he’d just as soon forget, making him feel things he didn’t want to feel.
“Jenny and Sam…so romantic,” Katrin sighed, a wistfulness in her voice that he recognized and that instinctively repelled him. “Are you a romantic, Erik?”
“No way!” he blurted out, lowering his window. The cool breeze felt like heaven on his suddenly hot face.
She turned sharply to look at him. “I didn’t ask if you’re a drug smuggler or a gangster! Would it be so terrible to be a romantic?”
His shoulders felt tense and his hands tightened on the wheel. “I guess that’s okay for some guys, but not me. I’m not one. Romantic. I’m not. I don’t really even, you know, do commitment.” He scoffed, staring ahead. “All that silly, sappy flowers and poetry and Valentine’s Day and sh-sharing feelings and all that crap. That’s just not me. Not who I am. No picket fences.” His words came out in a nervous rush and he felt like an idiot.
“No picket fences?”
“You know. Little house. White picket fence. Coming home to the ball and chain. Trapped.”
“Huh! Wow!”
“I don’t need that. I don’t want to be tied down.”
“I see!” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring out the window. She made a high-pitched noise like “whew” and sounded annoyed.
“Am I upsetting you?”
“Upsetting me? Erik, I don’t even know you. I met you, like, a minute ago. I mean… do I think you might have some commitment issues? Uh, yeah. But, that’s none of my business. You’re entitled to think what you want to think. I don’t have a right to judge you.”
“Doesn’t sound like you much like the way I think.”
“Does that matter?”
He didn’t know how to answer her question. He felt like the words “Not really” should have flown off his tongue without thinking, but they didn’t. And he tried to say them, but couldn’t. And it didn’t make sense.
Katrin turned to face him with a slight smile, her dimple little, tentative. She spoke softly. “You know, it’s okay to be scared. Putting yourself out there is scary.”
Yeah, look what happened to you, for God’s sake!
“I’m not scared of anything.” He answered too quickly and he knew