Sweet Hearts (The Lindstroms Book 3)

it.
“No?”
He glanced at her, and spoke deliberately, as if to a child. “I’m in law enforcement, Katrin.”
She nodded, doing that annoying half-smile thing girls did when they knew they had you in an argument. He’d seen Jenny and Ingrid do it his whole life. He knew what was coming.
“Mmm. Seems to me white picket fences scare you, Erik.”
“Just don’t want one to have and to hold.”
She surprised him by chuckling at that comment, blessedly breaking the tension between them. He sighed with relief, looking aside at her, feeling grateful, feeling confused, feeling—
“Okay. Listen.” She turned to him and her tone was candid with a peppering of playful. “We don’t know each other very well, but I’m not much into subterfuge, so just in case this is you, being direct with me? Let’s make this easy and set some ground rules, because we’re going to see each other from time to time, right? And we’re both single, and maybe you’re trying to tell me something here…so, I’m just going to put this out there: I get it. No picket fences for you.” She paused and looked over at him, aqua eyes pulling no punches. “Which is perfect, as far as I’m concerned, because I’ve had sort of a tough year so far, and you know what I could really use, Erik? A friend. So how does that sound?”
“Good to me.” Sort of.
“Phew. Good. Friends?”
“Friends.” He said it, but it bothered him, even though it was for the best with Ingrid’s warning still fresh in his head.
“Great. Then that’s settled.”
She smiled at him then shifted her body to look out the window.
Erik exhaled, feeling like he’d just lifted weights for an hour, exhausted by the range of emotional topics they’d just covered. He had dated that girl at UGF for months, and she had no idea his mother had died, or anything else deep and personal about his life. They had confined their conversations to small talk about college, the current Vikings season and a host of other safe, mundane topics.
Why had he allowed his conversation with Katrin to get so personal so fast? It unnerved him. He considered this for a moment and decided that it was the family connection that must have made such intimate subjects feel like fair game. The family connection. They were just family friends.
But, looking out the window at the beauty of Flathead, he suddenly heard her sleepy voice in his head asking Am I your sweetheart? in Swedish. He thought of the graceful curve of her extended neck with that pounding pulse point and the sound of her giggle when he told her not to call him Minste. Those two marvelous dimples that he ached to kiss...
He felt a sudden burst of rebellion against calling Katrin Svenson a “family friend,” and an unexpected pang of regret to be closing the door on anything more than friendship with her, despite Ingrid’s clear request that he leave Katrin alone. I barely know her, but I know this: She doesn’t feel like a friend, and she sure as heck doesn’t feel like family.
He had a sudden wild instinct to turn to her and tell her he might be wrong, that he wasn’t sure he just wanted to be her friend, that ever since the first moment they touched hands, she felt different to him than other girls, that he felt instantly attracted to her as he couldn’t ever remember being so intensely drawn to another human being in all his life. That being friends would suck because it meant he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t hope to feel her body under his someday, her legs wrapped around his waist as they—
He glanced over at her and her hand was out the window being buffeted by the wind. She wasn’t smiling, but that sweet tiny pucker in her cheek attracted his eyes like a beacon, as the cold air pushed and whooshed against her little hand. He jerked his eyes back to the road.
Friends, Erik. Family friends, with no risk of a romantic mess that would affect more people than just you and Katrin. You’re getting exactly what you want. No girl suddenly expecting anything of you. No relationship. No commitment. Just a friend—a family friend at that, who’s had a rough time, poor thing…and that’s that.
He took one last look at her, flaring his nostrils in frustration before returning his eyes to the road.
In other words, You made your bed, Minste. Time to lie in it.

Chapter 4
Erik didn’t know how Ingrid had described Skidoo Bay to Katrin, but he was sure of one thing just by looking at her face as they pulled into town: Katrin and Skidoo Bay were a match made in heaven.
Her face brightened with delight as she exclaimed over little details: the cobblestone sidewalks, the brightly colored restaurants and boutiques, the cheerful, bright-pink geraniums that lined Main Street, hanging from old-fashioned, shiny, black wrought-iron streetlamps. She pointed out a creperie serving French pastries and lattes. She oohed and ahhed over charming courtyards with quaint, landscaped pathways that led to fashionable art galleries.
I bet those dimples haven’t seen this much action since last year, he thought, having a much better time watching her than admiring the charming town of Skidoo Bay.
He smiled at her unobserved, admiring her fresh, unsophisticated prettiness. Her cheeks had some color from her excitement, and her ponytail, which had dried in a cascade of soft, blond curls, had a lost tendril or two that caressed the skin by her ear.
She was so…distracting.
He frowned, looking away from her. Erik didn’t want to be distracted by her. To his disgust, however, he was swiftly losing that battle.
They turned off of Main Street and pulled up in front of a ‘73 Hoyt on a well-kept side street. Erik parked