“That’s more than an hour.” He’s whining now and I can hear Maja mumbling something in the background. “Yeah, okay, twelve-thirty,” he says, sounding properly chastised. “See you.”
“Bye.” I toss the phone on the bed, not paying attention to where it lands—it can fall on the floor and shatter into a million pieces for all I care—and fling my arm around Isak. “Tell me I didn’t dream yesterday. Tell me I’m not lying unconscious by the stones and hallucinating all this.”
“You’re not dreaming.” His voice is even deeper and scratchier this morning. Maybe I shouldn’t have tossed the phone; maybe I should have kept it so I could record his voice and listen to it in my cold, empty apartment later.
Instead, I say, “I would ask for a kiss to prove it, but morning breath…”
And on cue, as though th
