Perfekt Order (The Ære Saga Book 1) (5 page)

“So you like being in control?” He winked.
Nope, definitely not nervous; Captain Cool was back.

“That’s not quite what I said.”

“It’s kind of what you said,” Tyr pointed
out.

“Well, it’s not what I meant. Not at all.
Well, not
not at all
—I mean, I like control. Of things, not
people. I don’t try to control people. Just situations.”

“You like to control situations?” Tyr’s lips
quivered with barely contained amusement.

Abort. Abort. Pull it together, Ahlström.
You were doing so well.

“No! That’s not what I mean. I just mean I
like schedules, you know? And routines. Lists. Totally reasonable
things. Like, I go to bed early so I don’t sleep through a workout.
That’s just good sense.”

“I see.” Tyr chuckled. “You like
perfekt
order.”

“Don’t you?” I wrung my fingers together as I
glanced up. If he didn’t, I was
so
the wrong girl for
him.

“Yes,” he answered seriously. “I do.”

I exhaled slowly.
Thank you, God
.

We sat in silence for a long moment. I was
afraid to open my mouth after the whole control-freak-debacle.

“So tell me,
prinsessa
,” Tyr broke the
quiet, “do you like Italian food?”

Was he asking me out? Maybe Tyr
did
have a thing for clavicles! Before I could answer the question that
I hoped might be the invitation to my own collegiate
happily-evah-aftah, Tyr’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket.

“
Skit
,” he swore as he brought the
device to his ear. “
Ja
?”

Disappointment flooded my veins, drowning me
in its bitter taste. Who took a call in the middle of asking a girl
out? Unless maybe he hadn’t been going to ask me out. He could have
just been asking about my dietary preferences. No, that was just
weird. He was definitely asking me out.
Me
, the girl who’d
kissed three boys in seventeen years was
this close
to being
asked out by a six-and-a-half-foot Swedish dreamboat who looked as
if he’d just climbed down off Mount Olympus. But then his stupid
phone had to ring. And he had to answer it.

Which was just rude, really.

“
Ja
. I understand. How low are her
levels?” Tyr ground his fist into his thigh as he turned away from
me. “How did that happen?”

His posture positively seethed dejection—his
shoulders tensed, his back hunched, and his head hung low. He must
have gotten some truly terrible news. Guilt at my selfishness
seeped through the disappointment, and I reached out to touch his
arm.

“No. Do nothing. I’ll be right there.” He
turned off the phone and shoved it in his pocket. He swore one more
time, then took a deep breath. When he turned around, his
expression was hard.

“Tyr?” I asked softly.

“I have to go.” He stood abruptly. I
scrambled to my feet.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” There
was no point in asking if things were okay; they obviously
weren’t.

The corners of Tyr’s eyes crinkled. He
reached out to touch my cheek with the back of one finger. My body
responded, and I leaned into him, tilting my face into his
hand.

Tyr leaned down and touched his lips to my
forehead. He inhaled deeply before pulling away. My heart dropped.
“You are sweet. But no.”

“Oh.” I tucked my hands in my pockets and
shifted my weight to my back leg.
Bury it, Mia. It’s just a guy.
One you’ve only known two minutes.
“Okay.”

Tyr looked as if he wanted to say more, but
as soon as he opened his mouth he snapped it shut again without a
single mention of food, Italian or any other. He stepped down off
the porch and walked toward the grass with long strides, then
turned and looked back at me. “Take care of yourself.”

With that he bolted. He was across the lawn
and around the corner of the house before I could blink.

“
SO NOTHING HAPPENED?” BRYNN
didn’t
try to hide the incredulity from her voice.

“Nada. Zip. Zilch.” I took a drag of my
coffee and stared at my chipper roommate. Even at nine o’clock on a
Sunday morning, she looked as if she had enough energy to run a
full marathon. Loose blond curls were piled atop a face that looked
unnaturally perfect without so much as a lick of makeup, and she
sat on the living room floor in seiza position, wearing yoga pants
and a sports bra.

“That sucks,” Heather chimed in. She was
sprawled across the love seat, still in flannel pajama pants and a
T-shirt with the periodic table on the front. “Wonder what that
call was all about.”

“Who cares?” Charlotte waved her freshly
manicured hand. “You don’t want a guy like that. You want someone
who appreciates the awesomeness that is Mia Ahlström: athlete,
brainiac, fabulous dresser.” Charlotte nodded at my Lulu capris and
fitted vest, then pointed to the caddy of polishes on the table.
“And a girl in need of a manicure. Come over here and pick your
poison.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I cradled my coffee and moved
to the couch next to Charlotte. Her nails now matched her pink silk
pajamas. “Hmm. I think French tips, please.”

“Classic taste.” She pulled two bottles and
an emery board, and went to work.

“I want to know how things went down with
Texas Matt and the shirtless hottie.” I turned my attention to
Heather. “What was his name?”

“Jack.” Heather grinned. “He’s taking me to
the beach next weekend.”

“Because they already made out in the woods.”
Charlotte raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

Heather stuck out her tongue. “Oh, you’re one
to talk. You and Texas Matt looked pretty cozy on the porch swing
when I got home last night.”

Charlotte turned bright red. “You saw?”

“The whole block saw,” Heather confirmed.

Charlotte gave a delicate ‘harrumph’ as she
filed my nails to gently squared tips.

“What about you, Brynn? What happened with
Henrik?” I asked.

“Henrik? Oh, nothing. We’re just friends.”
She sighed.

“Do you want to be
just friends
?”
Charlotte glanced up.

“It doesn’t work like that for us. I’m not
allowed to date,” Brynn grumbled.

“You’re not allowed to date?” Heather balked.
“How is that even possible? And how would your parents know,
anyway? They’re in Sweden. Just don’t tell them.”

Brynn shook her head. “I wish it was that
easy. I’m supposed to stay focused on, um, on what I’m here to do.
Besides, Henrik sees me as his little brother’s classmate. He’s one
of those guys who gets something in his head and never changes
it.”

Heather lifted her mug. “I think you just
described all men.”

“Truth,” Charlotte chimed in.

“So what are we going to do today?” I
diverted the conversation. “Did the summer orientation week show
you what’s fun around here? So far, I know there’s a forest behind
the house and a Target somewhere that calls to Charlotte with its
siren song. Brynn, what do you know about this place?”

“Oh, about the same as you,” Brynn chirped.
Her voice sounded slightly off.

“You okay?” Charlotte looked up from my
nails, and I pulled a hand away to take another hit of coffee.

“I’m great! Why don’t you two give us a tour
today? I haven’t seen downtown yet.” Brynn folded her hands in her
lap.

“We need more caffeine first.” Heather stood
and padded to the kitchen in bare feet. She came back with the
coffee pot, and held it up. “Refills?”

“Yes, please.” Charlotte tilted her head
toward her cup, and Heather poured.

“Double for me,” I added.

Heather filled my cup, then her own.
“Brynn?”

“I’m good.” Brynn beamed. “I had my cup.” She
leaned back into her seiza and perched on her toes. “But if we’re
going to take a tour, I’d better take a shower first. That six a.m.
burn class at the gym was pretty intense. See you guys in half an
hour?”

“Uh, it takes me longer than that to look
presentable, and we’ve only got two bathrooms.” Charlotte looked up
from my hands. White tips now lined my nails, and she’d begun to
paint the clear topcoat. “Say an hour-and-a-half?”

“
Perfekt
!” Brynn stood and bounded up
the stairs, her curls bouncing atop her head. Heather, Charlotte
and I stared after her.

Heather walked the coffee pot back to the
kitchen. When she came back into the living room, she brought her
mug to her lips. “Did she say she’d only had one cup?”

“I think so.” I shook my head.

“Man.” Heather set her cup down on the coffee
table and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “It’s going to be a long
year.”

****

Early that evening, we traipsed through the
front door of our little house, weighed down with shopping
bags.

“That, ladies, was a highly successful day.”
Charlotte headed up the stairs, carrying a trio of bags in each
arm.

“The shoe industry won’t know what hit it,”
Heather teased. “How many did you bring home?”

“I stopped counting after the third pair,”
Charlotte called over her shoulder. “Besides, you’re one to talk.
Those ankle boots are going to look fabulous with your boyfriend
jeans.”

“I know.” Heather grinned sheepishly. She
followed me into the kitchen carrying the bags of vegetables we’d
picked up at a farmer’s market.

Brynn bounded into the room as I set my bags
on the counter and started moving perishables to the fridge.
“Speaking of fabulous, I’m so excited to try your chicken parm,
Mia! Can I help?”

“It’s super easy. But here; you do this.” I
traded spots with Brynn, and she started unpacking groceries. “And
I’ll work up the dinner schedule real quick.”

“I know Mia suggested we trade cooking
nights, but you guys should probably know in advance that my
skill-set is more boxed hamburger helper and salad in a bag.” Brynn
handed Heather the produce and nestled cereal boxes in the
cupboard.

“You told me that. Don’t worry, I won’t give
you anything you can’t handle.” I sat at the kitchen table and
started sketching on a piece of scrap paper. A minute later, I had
an outline. “Where did I put the whiteboard?”

“That thing over there?” Brynn pointed at the
white rectangle peeking out of the top of a shopping bag.

“Thanks.” I carried my paper over to the bag,
and removed the white board and colored pens. It was an erasable
calendar, just like the one my mother used in our kitchen. I began
to write, filling in each date with meals that could be made from
the ingredients we’d bought that afternoon. When I was done, I
peeled the stickers off the magnets on the back of the board, and
stuck it to the fridge.

“Ta da!” I stepped back to admire my
handiwork.

Heather looked up from folding empty grocery
bags, and stood beside me. She raised one eyebrow.

“Wow, Mia. That’s kind of amazing.” Brynn
burst into a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

“Thanks.” I grinned back. “Will you please
get out four chicken breasts, two eggs, and the breadcrumbs? I’ll
start breading so we can eat soon.”

“Sure.” As Brynn pulled out items, I cracked
the eggs into a bowl and began whisking them smooth. Heather stood,
still staring at the list.

“This thing is intense.” Heather blinked.

I shrugged. “It’s just a menu.”

“And a chore chart. And it’s color
coded.”

“The chores are just a suggestion.” I
flushed. “We can trade later, or come up with another system. This
was just how we did it at my boarding school—saved fights, when
everybody knew what to expect.”

Charlotte came into the kitchen and furrowed
her brow at the whiteboard. “This looks scary.”

“Mia meal planned,” Heather explained.

Brynn held up a frying pan, a question in her
eyes. I nodded. “We need that. Add a little oil to it and set the
burner to medium, please.”

“Deal.” Brynn did as I instructed. “What do
the colors mean?”

“They’re our designated cooking nights, the
ones we picked in the car. But we can always switch if our
schedules change.”

“We can give it a go,” Charlotte said
agreeably.

“You have a side column for who’s doing
dishes, and who’s cleaning bathrooms, and who tidies common areas
on weekends.” Heather took off her glasses and pinched the bridge
of her nose.

“If it’s too much, we can erase that. I’m not
trying to push my cleaning schedule on you; we can figure that part
out later,” I hurried to explain. It had worked for us at
Tottenham, but I didn’t want to come off as overly pushy.

Heather tilted her head. “Not sure how I feel
about a cleaning chart. But can you make me a study schedule?”

“You’re pre-Med.” I laughed. “I doubt you
need my help studying.”

“No,” Heather agreed. “But I need help
organizing my time. I want to volunteer at a clinic, but I’m trying
to cram my course work into three-and-a-half years so I can do a
semester with Doctors Without Borders before I graduate. And I’m
not sure I can carry a full load of classes
and
volunteer.”

“Hmm.” I battered a chicken breast in
breadcrumbs before placing it delicately in the hot oil, then
filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. “We can work out a
schedule for you tonight. I’m sure we can clear a few hours on the
weekend for you to volunteer somewhere.”

Brynn bounded to the cabinet and filled water
glasses. “What about you Charlotte? What are your plans for the
semester?”

“Classes, boys, shopping, more boys, and my
internship.” Charlotte straightened a spoon on the table.

“You have an internship already?” My brows
shot up as I added noodles to the now-boiling water.

“My parents own an art gallery in San
Francisco, and they know someone up here,” Charlotte explained.
“It’s super part-time, maybe ten hours a week, but I’m
excited.”