What the Heart Wants (Sample)

Chapter Three - "He slammed the door in your face?"

"So he stares at you in the park, helps you break in, touches your arm in a dark hallway and then slams the door in your face?" repeated Veronica, brushing the crumbs off her hand. "Sounds like a winner to me."

"I think he was a little drunk," I added as I took another bite of the gigantic cinnamon roll on the plate in front of me. "He smelled like beer and cigarettes."

"Mmm—even better."

So why had I gone back over those last moments in the hallway so many times? His gaze had been intense, curious, and his hand on my skin...I tried to stop myself before that thought went any further, but it was too late. Once again, I was replaying the moment he touched me, and my heart jumped and fluttered. Okay, he was officially hot, and based on all the other details I had just shared with Veronica, that probably wasn't a good thing.

The tiny café was mostly empty now. One lone man had his computer open, settled in for a longer haul—work, the look on his face suggested. All the other patrons had finished their coffee and pastries and then left, presumably not wanting to waste one of Stockholm's truly warm days indoors.

But Veronica and I made no move to get up, despite the fact that our second round of cinnamon rolls was almost gone. It felt so good to sit here with her. The two of us still looked enough alike to be sisters around here, with our long, wavy brown hair and skin a few shades darker than anyone I had seen around this part of Stockholm. But somehow, despite the ten years that had passed since we had seen each other, Veronica had managed to keep the spark of optimism that I hadn't felt in myself for a long time.

"Well, I guess you should be happy. You got more out of him than anyone else in the building has," said Veronica. "He never even looks my way when I pass him on the stairs. Even when I've said hello, he just grunts and nods."

"Yeah, he grunted at me, too. But you don't know who he is?"

"He moved in not long before you arrived. And this is Sweden—people don't make friends with their neighbors. In fact, they avoid it," said Veronica with a laugh. "Something about respecting each other's privacy. Filip warned me against trying to talk to people in the halls when I first got here, but I still can't help it. You can take the girl out of Mexico..."

I snickered.

"It doesn't matter," I said, taking the last bite of my cinnamon roll. "What I really need to be thinking about is life stuff, like how I'm going to fund the rest of my way around the world. I spent most of my money on the plane ticket."

"How much does the ex-patriot interview job pay?"

"Not much at first, though if we can get a good readership, they'll pay more. There are three others working on this series, all on different continents. I need to come up with one article every two weeks, max two per country, through the summer. I'll have some spare time here, but after two articles in Sweden, I have to move on. Which gives me about a month total to figure out some other income sources. I have some savings, but not much."

"How about portraits? Baby portraits, maybe? Who's that woman—Anne Geddes? She must make heaps off of them. And people love their babies here in Sweden."

"Ugh." I sighed. Baby portraits were exactly what I was trying to put behind me. Though I was grateful for the job—many of my college friends had long given up any hope of making a living in photography by now—I found the mall studio where I had worked for the last six years depressing. I had left to get away from that kind of thing.

"No," I added decisively. "No more baby portraits. I want something real, something outside the studio. I really don't care what it is. I'm just tired of cleaning baby spit-up off the props. If that's what I wanted, I might as well have stayed in Michigan with Brad."

"No, you definitely should not have stayed with Brad, Carolita," said Veronica and shook her head vigorously. That got a laugh from me.

I agreed with Veronica, or at least I had when I bought my ticket a few months ago. Brad and I had actually planned to travel together "after I finish law school and get established," he had said when we moved in together. Now I wasn't sure he had ever intended to follow through on that promise. Did he say it just to get me to stay? He was always so rational, and his reasons made so much sense at the time, but over the years I had begun to suspect that his smooth demeanor was a calculated method for getting his way.

"Brad was nice, wasn't he?" I asked, almost to myself.

But Veronica's thoughts went in a different direction, and she waved her hand dismissively at my question. "Nice is something you want in your dentist, not the man you're having sex with every day."

I stifled a laugh with my hand.

"Did I say that too loudly?" she whispered.

I looked over at the man in the corner, who was clearly not paying attention to his laptop anymore.

"Yep, you did," I chuckled.

Veronica shook her head. "I'm always the loud one. Even after five years in Sweden, I still haven't learned to keep my voice down."

Veronica smoothed her dress and drank down the last of her coffee. Then, in her best business voice, she said, "Now, back to planning your career."

"Planning is what usually gets me in trouble," I said with a sigh. "If I think too much, I end up making the safe decisions, not the decisions that make me happy."

"That's what I'm here for." Veronica's eyes were sparkling. She was clearly enjoying this.

"You already found me a place to stay in your building," I said. "You don't have to find me a job, too. Though something tells me you're going to try anyway." I reached across the table and squeezed my friend's hand. "I've missed you, Veronica."

"I've missed you, too. That's why I have to help you find a way to make money here," she said, her smile growing wider. "Maybe you'll stay longer."

"But my best connections are for travel publications, which means... well, travel. If this series gets some traction, I'll be able to pitch more ideas to this magazine and others. I'll get my foot in the door. I just need to eat in the meantime."

"There must be money somewhere else," said Veronica resting her chin on her hands. "How about sports? The hockey world championships are at The Globe in Stockholm starting next week—Filip bought tickets. I'm sure sports photography pays a lot, right?"

I raised my eyebrows and leaned back in my chair. "I guess so."

Sports photography probably did pay more if I could get the right kind of shots. True, I hadn't shot a hockey game since college, but there must be something in common between the candid portraits I prided myself on and the action that surfaced on a hockey rink. And if there wasn't? I could come up with something.

"Hmm..." Veronica strummed her fingers on the table. "Filip knows someone who could probably get you a press pass," she said and then gave me a mischievous smile. "And this guy is single, too."