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New Years Eve, 2019 - Helsinki Airport, Vantaa, Finland
Bella
I spot Masen's hair when the automatic doors open and grin when it's in total disarray. Thank goodness he's tall because it's packed with people meeting flights. He doesn't hear when I call out his name, steering his cart to the right, and I have to keep him in my sights so I don't lose him. When I break out of the crowd, I watch him sit down and check his phone. He'll see the message I sent earlier, not knowing I'm here because I couldn't wait another minute to see him.
Then he covers his face with his hands, and I slow my steps, approaching him carefully.
"Masen?"
He looks up, and I see relief wash over him. Standing, he pulls me into his arms, and it's the kind of crush a woman craves when she hasn't seen her man in a while, but there's no kiss to go with the all-encompassing embrace. He merely takes my hand and sits down, so I gather the distraught look wasn't about him having to catch a train from the airport on his own.
"Are you okay?"
He groans. "Have you seen the news?"
I've been watching the aftermath of the fires on my phone ever since I came off my flight. I'm still trying to get my head around the disaster, so it must be a terrible shock if he's only just finding out.
"I've never seen such a sky or people stranded on the beach like that. It's not near Melbourne, though, is it?"
With a sigh, he answers, "It's Rose and Emmett, Bella. Their home is in that fire zone, and now they're missing."
Oh. We've been talking about the fires for months, the devastating impact on the forests and wildlife, but family going missing—
"Rose called two days ago when they were evacuating. She and Emmett were going to pick up his grandfather from a nursing home, and that's the last time we heard from them. Now they don't answer their phones."
"Did they reach the grandfather?"
He lets go of my hand and picks up his phone. "That's a good point. I don't actually know if they made it that far. I'm going to call Sue."
I rub his shoulder, relieved when the call is answered quickly, but he's speaking to Harry, not Sue. After he asks about the grandfather, he listens for a while, and then apologizes, telling them to take care.
"What did he say?" I ask, completely in the dark. Jesus, I've missed his amazing green eyes. They're even more vivid when his face has been touched by the sun.
"They never turned up at the nursing home, and from the posts on Rose's Facebook, it looks like they may not have evacuated. Harry just asked me to be patient and stop phoning them because Sue isn't coping with the incoming calls."
It's hard to comprehend what his aunt must be going through. I have more questions, but I'm reluctant to ask while this is so raw, so I wrap my arm around his shoulders to comfort him. He leans against me and shares what he's reading on his phone.
"There's no power or phone service in the area. The smoke was thick on Sunday, so the fires were either enormous or close.
"Someone spoke to them at the turnoff to the highway. The traffic was backed up heading west, and Emmett said he wasn't going to get caught on the road with nowhere to go."
"He sounds sensible."
Masen glances at me briefly before his eyes return to the phone. "He is, Bella, but he also thinks like a firefighter. This person decided to drive east and came through safely, but Emmett wouldn't take a risk like that, not with the conditions deteriorating. I think Harry is right and they probably stayed put."
"Then, as a firefighter, Emmett would know how to protect his home from fire."
Finally, he stares at me, looking weary. "Except it was forty-six degrees when I left Melbourne, with strong winds forecast. Once the conditions are classed as catastrophic, everyone is supposed to get out."
Surely, those kinds of warnings are aimed at the average Joe who thinks he can fight a fire and wouldn't necessarily apply to a professional. Even so, I worry that Emmett's experience has played a part in their destiny, although I would never voice that concern.
Running my fingers through his hair, I smile at him. "You've already said Emmett won't take risks, so Rose is safe with him. They're okay, Masen. They just don't have the means to let anyone know."
A flood of emotion fills his eyes as they roam over my face, like he's just recognized it's me in front of him. He pushes a stray lock of hair over my ear and his face softens. Then he cradles my jaw and leans in for the sweetest of kisses to the corners of my mouth, just like he did in the outback under a glorious star-filled sky. His lips turn up at the edges, and he surrounds me with his arms, welcoming me back into the cradle of his love.
"I need you so much, Bella," he gushes into my hair, and I take comfort from knowing I've helped in some way.
-0-
I hang our jackets when we arrive at the Airbnb and make coffee, leaving Masen to explore the apartment and take a much-needed shower. He was quiet and reflective on our way into the city, checking his phone now and then, so I stifled my enthusiasm for pointing out places I'd already located. I love his big heart, and I could hear it breaking when he admitted his guilt over leaving his family in crisis, but I think I've helped him to accept that no news is good news.
Masen goes through the door to our balcony and looks out at the street below. He turns his head to the right, and I imagine he's getting his bearings, seeing where we walked up from the tram. The view of his denim-clad ass and the long-sleeved thermal straining across his back sends my thoughts in a carnal direction, but it's only a minute later when he comes inside, shivering and blowing on his hands. It might take him a day or so, but he'll soon get used to living with layers. Right now, I'm more than happy to note he's only wearing one.
"What smells so good in here, Bella?"
"I made soup." I nod toward the large pot on the stove.
"From scratch?" He looks surprised, and it's a shame he doesn't know I'm a half-decent cook.
"Yeah, it's delicious and healthy, and this version has an Indian curry powder and coconut milk. Sometimes I throw in lentils or chicken and serve it with noodles, potatoes, or rice."
"Or crusty bread?" His optimistic smile makes me grin back at him. It's a favorite of mine, too, but I didn't think he'd be impressed by the amount of mess I make.
"There's a bakery across the road," I state as I place his coffee in front of him.
"Thank you." He takes my hand and runs his thumb over my wrist. "This is so different. We've never stayed in a place with a kitchen before."
"I know, and we don't need to eat out every meal, so I bought a few groceries this morning when I decided to make the soup. You'll like it. Everyone says it's good."
His eyes wander over my face and land on my lips, but the moment passes when he lets go of my wrist, shaking his head.
"I can't believe they are going ahead with the fireworks when it was forty in Sydney today. They're fucking crazy."
It does sound crazy, and I pick up my phone to check the current weather in Sydney.
"Well, they must have had a cool change because it's only twenty now." I show him my phone so he can see for himself.
"You're right," he says, frowning. "I wonder how long that will last."
"Maybe the worst of it is over."
He shrugs and sits quietly, spinning his coffee mug on the counter.
"Before I forget." He gets up and goes to the bedroom. I hear the zip of the suitcase, and he comes out with a box, placing it on the counter. "This is for you." It's not wrapped, not that I expect shiny paper and ribbon from Masen, especially when we agreed not to buy Christmas presents. However, my smile is made wider by the fact that I also have something for him.
The box contains an indigenous-looking bracelet, and it's definitely my style, the kind I would buy at the markets, but this one looks expensive. I lift it out carefully and admire the incredible detail. It's one long piece, rather than a set of individual bracelets—a shiny black jewel dominating the center of rows of smaller matte stones and crystals in gray, silver and sparkly blue. Threaded together with leather, it's a beautiful piece of art I can't wait to see on my wrist.
"So you like it?" he asks, as if my expression could leave any doubt.
"I love it, Masen. Thank you." Tracing the line of his jaw, I kiss him, hoping to stir a reaction, but he only gives me a hug in return. It's frustrating not knowing his state of mind, or its impact on his sexuality, but I won't embarrass him by asking about it.
"Can you please help me try it on?" I request, not sure if there is a knack to fitting it correctly.
"Here?" He asks for permission to cover my tattoos. The reindeer and snowflakes have occupied my inside left wrist for a decade now, never on display or hidden, exactly. It's rare for someone to ask about them, and I say they honor my home state of Alaska now, rather than bring up a tragedy from years ago. I'm very aware of how long it's been and that it's time to let my friend go in peace.
Masen effortlessly wraps the bracelet around my wrist. He's so close, I soak up the heat from his chest as I watch how he fastens it, adjusting and twisting until it's perfect.
"The company is donating a percentage of their sales to the Koala Hospital at Port Macquarie."
Of course. Masen wouldn't buy something just because it looks pretty. There is often a connection to a concept or cause he supports. He may say he's useless at gift-giving, but he actually puts a lot of thought into what he buys.
"I have something for you, too," I announce, retrieving the brown paper bag from my suitcase. It was too soft and squishy for wrapping paper, and a big-enough box would have occupied ridiculous space in my bag.
Seeing Masen's smile when he peeks inside makes me glad I put in the effort. He pulls the sweater out and lays it before him, running his fingers over the different textures, tracing the curves of the cables. He doesn't need to know about me FaceTiming with Mom when I knew she could pinpoint what I'd done wrong. He'll never see the sections that nearly beat me, the number of times I had to pull rows apart and start again. Only Maggie was there the night I hurled it across the room and nearly gave up in frustration.
Masen picks it up, holding it to his cheeks and then buries his nose in the wool.
"You made this for me?"
I wonder if he's seen a mistake in the pattern, some giveaway that it's home-made and shows I've never tackled an Aran project before. Nervously, I ask, "What makes you think that?"
"It smells of you."
"It's been in my suitcase, Masen," I say with a laugh. "Of course, it smells like me."
"No, this is you coming out of the shower, the scent you bring to bed."
Tears threaten to fill my eyes. How could I not have fallen in love with Masen Edwards? Even while he's burdened with the fate of his family, he's still so sweet, and I long to take care of him. He wraps an arm around my waist and leans down to face me.
"You couldn't have given me anything I would value more. I love you, Bella."
Wiping away an escaping tear, I nod. "I love you, too."
"I'm sorry I'm in the doldrums, baby, but I promise I'm not gonna spoil this trip for you."
Oh Masen. "You've just come off a thirty-hour journey and had to face something dreadful. Why don't you take some time to rest?"
"No, we agreed I would join this time zone as soon as possible, so let's go out."
I will not sigh, but I wish we'd never had the conversation about overcoming jet lag when I know I could soothe him with a couple of hours in my arms.
-0-
Masen keeps hold of my hand as we walk down the street. We always planned today as an easy one, not venturing too far from Kamppi, and the Oodi Library is only fifteen minutes away.
The Oodi made my Helsinki must-see list when I learned it was voted the best library in Europe, and I grinned when Masen also had it on his. We may have seen him as Steve Irwin when we first met him, but he was only able to pull it off because he researches. He's actually more of a book nerd than I am.
Approaching the incredible building, I know I would always have to stop and admire it if I lived here. Just twelve months old, it stands like a ship in dry-dock, the entryway through the underbelly of its exposed hull, but the glass at the top must pick up the color of the sky because the images I saw showed it to be blue. Today it's almost white under an overcast sky. Either way, it reminds me of the ocean, ice floating on water, but I wonder how others interpret it. I'm impressed that a library's exterior can inspire questions and demand photos be taken, and I can only imagine the designers intended to open minds upon entry. For that, I applaud them.
I have to convince Masen that it's okay to hang our jackets with hundreds of others on a great wall of hooks. He's worried they'll be gone when we return but he's never lived in a cold climate. I remind him that he thinks nothing of leaving his things at the beach and expecting them to be where he left them when he comes out of the surf.
The ceiling follows the dramatic shape of the hull, so some areas are lofty while others have tables and chairs where it's barely high enough to stand.
Up the escalators, the second floor has an area called the urban workshop, housing a myriad of items to use on site. I like the concept of borrowing things we need infrequently, and we linger, watching the output from 3D printers, robotic programming, people employing sewing machines, meeting rooms and music studios. I'm amazed to discover you can take a musical instrument home—a privilege only possible in a society where people don't abuse the system.
The top floor is the huge book library with its natural light and views of the urban landscape of Helsinki. It's here where the waves on the roof form an amazing ceiling, and the floor has hills to climb and sections of smooth timber to slide down. Along with places to relax and read, there are soft play areas for children. It is more of an inspirational space than an environment where no one can speak, but there are a lot of people wearing headphones.
When I've got our coffees from the cafe, I can't find Masen, eventually locating him staring out through the glass over the deserted outside deck. He looks lonely and weighed down with worry, but he runs a hand through his hair and smiles when he sees me approaching. I smile back, not letting on that I saw him suffering, and I say I bet the deck is packed in summer. The single eyebrow he raises is not the first time he's questioned my choice to return to Finland in the dead of winter, but he's here with me, and I appreciate it.
We fuss over each other, getting our jackets and scarves just right to go outside again. Masen looks hot in a plain charcoal beanie he's had for years but hardly ever worn, and I can't help touching the curls that poke out around the edges, or the sun-kissed skin that has my lust for him stirring again.
I asked him not to cut his hair until we come back to Australia, saying a little length would help in the cold, and I love seeing the mop get curlier as it grows. I've seen a photo of his sixteen-year-old self in someone's leafy garden where his hair is sun-streaked and matted from a day in the ocean. He's holding a cigarette between his fingers while his tongue rolls around a ruby sucker in his mouth, and I sometimes wonder what the sight of him would have done to me as a teenager. It's probably no different to the effect he has on me now.
There are girls in the photos that record his past, but he always maintains he was never serious about anyone until me. Today, he makes me happy by leaving his arm around my waist while we stroll back to Narinkka Square.
The Kamppi Chapel is very modern, clad with curved pieces of wood stained a rusty orange color. Located on the edge of the square, it's a strange place to pray and meditate in such a bustling part of the city, but the interior has a sacred womb-like feel. Out of respect, we don't speak, sitting down on the simple pews to reflect on its pale timber walls and the light emanating from the rim of its roof. Masen takes out his phone, but soon puts it away, and when our eyes meet, I don't have to ask when he shakes his head. I squeeze his hand, loving him for doing his best not to fall into despair when I can see the not-knowing is eating away at him.
It's already getting dark when we come out of the church, and take in the Christmas decorations festooning the streets. I can't resist buying a snowboarding hedgehog and reindeer on skis to hang on our own tree some day. We find a small restaurant for a drink and an early dinner, and I take out my purchases to enjoy them. Masen shows me photos of Sue's reindeer collection, saying he fears she has an obsession, but the photos are a window into a full life and happy home, and I love seeing Sue in her kitchen, wearing an apron, and holding a glass of champagne. I want to meet this woman more than ever and spend time with her learning the traditions of an Australian family Christmas.
60,000 people are expected to attend the celebrations at Citizen's Square, but we're too tired to join the crowds for the fireworks, so we return to the warmth of our apartment.
It's a relief to get out of my boots and jeans. The apartment is so warm that I only need a t-shirt and leggings. The big bed disturbs me, but I'll settle for a snuggle and a good night's sleep. My fourteen hours in the air can't compete with Masen's marathon of flying from Australia, and he's clearly exhausted. We also have two days of touring ahead.
"I need your honest opinion on something," he declares, rummaging through his bag. Pulling out a hat, he pulls it onto his head. "Can I wear this in public?"
Oh dear, it's ugly, and juvenile, and not very funny.
"Where did you buy that?" I ask, innocently.
"I didn't." He shakes his head, and I hold back a laugh when the pom poms jerk around in different directions. "It was a Christmas present."
Even in the ridiculous hat, he's as sexy as hell, and I want what's underneath those clothes.
"Sit down, Masen," I tell him, and when I point to the bed, he complies.
"That bad, huh?"
"You can't wear reindeer porn …" I purr, climbing onto his lap. "Out there in front of impressionable children." His arms find their natural place around me, and I pull the hat off to inspect it closely. "Is it supposed to be a female and two males, or three males rutting?" He frowns, so I try to explain, "Because the male antlers are longer ... thicker—"
With a finger to my lips, he silences me. "Promise me you'll never use the word 'rutting' again." I stare at him, unsure if he's joking, and then he smiles. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too." Flinging the hat toward his bag, I thread my fingers into his silky hair, and realize this is exactly how I pictured asking him to join me in Australia.
His gentle kisses are stoking the embers I've been trying to cool all day when he suddenly pulls back. "Bella, I'm not sure I can—"
From the steamy FaceTime sessions we've had lately, I know he needs physical love, but is it right to reconnect if he's torn like this? While I don't believe he's dishonoring Rose in any way by giving in to a basic human need, waiting a little longer won't kill me, and I can still relax him and show my love without us having sex.
I look into his eyes and whisper, "It's okay, Masen. I understand," and his shoulders sag as if I've eased a great torment. Massaging his shoulders and chest, I enjoy the results of the time he's been spending in the gym. He's warm and hard—stirring the fire under the cauldron of fantasies in my head—and I stifle a moan when his head falls back as he gives in to pleasure. While I explore him, the heat of blush betrays me by flaming over my cheeks and neck.
When he opens his eyes, he looks dreamy. It takes a long exhale for his hands to slide over my backside and pull me closer. Now, he kisses me with a new sensuality, and it's not long before he's tugging at my t-shirt. I raise my hands to help him, and his eyes lock on the French lace I'm wearing. The set cost me a silly amount of money, but I had a reunion on my mind.
"So, this is what you wear for strolling around the streets of Helsinki?" he asks with a look of surprise.
I smirk. "When I put it on this morning, I didn't expect I'd be wearing it for long."
He buries his face in my neck and hugs me tight. "Oh God, baby. I've been a bloody idiot. I love you."
Smoothing his curls, I rock him gently, knowing I've never felt a need to comfort anyone as much in my life. "I love you, too."
-0-
"I want to do that again." Masen turns to me, his expectant smile out of step with his labored breaths.
My heart is thundering so hard in my chest, I can't respond. He runs a hand over my shoulder and down to my breast, but I can't think about going another round with him when my legs are shaking.
"I … I might need to recover first. Parts of me feel sunburnt and others are swollen and sore."
He flinches and his eyes grow wide. "Have I hurt you?"
I love his concern but hurt is hardly the right word to describe his brand of friction, and I'm the one who should be apologizing for the bruises blooming on his upper arm.
"You didn't hurt me, Masen. I just haven't been loved like that in a long time."
His eyes sparkle with wonder. "It felt like … riding the waves of a tsunami. That hasn't happened before?"
My stomach flips as I think of his heavy-lidded lust when he removed my underwear, the sexy eye contact as he eased my legs apart. His gifted tongue made me cry out in the throes of an earth-shattering orgasm, and my heart was still pounding when he picked me up as if I weighed nothing, sitting back on his haunches and supporting the small of my back as he guided me to meet his thrusts. It was an erotic, intimate position we both contributed to equally.
"I don't think we've ever done it like that before."
"I want to do it again." Kissing my jaw, his voice is sleepy, and I play with his hair, picturing a repeat performance, but I am swollen and sore. We have tomorrow and every other day to relive the experience.
He's already asleep before I have to turn him down.
-0-
The muted sounds of car horns and cheering announce the arrival of the new year. The walls of our room glow as fireworks explode, but Masen doesn't stir, and I'm not about to give up the warmth of his body to peek out the window. Everything I'm looking forward to involves the man in this bed. I know he loves me, and although an uncertain future has meant we haven't discussed marriage, 2020 is a leap year. Maggie knows my new year's resolution is to propose.
Thanks for reading xo
