“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.” Roy has come so far since that first visit back in March, the day we moved in and found out we were proud owners of a goat we didn’t want.

“Enough about Roy.” Jonah leans in, his lips grazing my jawline, shifting to the sensitive spot below my ear. He knows that’s a weak spot of mine. “It’s our second-to-last night alone until January second.”

“Oh my God, you’re right!”

“That’s a long time to have your mother and Simon on the other side of our bedroom wall.”

“They both wear earplugs to sleep.” Simon is a light sleeper, and the sound of him breathing irritates my mother.

“Earplugs won’t drown you out.”

“Oh, shut up.” Jonah loves to tease me about how loud I can get, but it’s—usually—not true. “I guess you better get to work, then.”

He gives me a questioning look. “Get to work with what, exactly?”

“You owe me.” I waggle my eyebrows. “For yesterday, in the office.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up as his fingers deftly unfasten the buttons of my pajama top, until he’s casting the sides open, uncovering my breasts to the cool air. “Have I ever told you how much I love all these sexy, oversized flannel pajamas you keep buying for yourself? Especially the ones with the candy canes?”

My laughter carries from deep in my belly as he shifts his broad body down, his tongue leaving a wet trail along my skin, from my collarbone all the way to my belly button, pausing for a few swirls around my peaked nipples. “Good, because I bought two more pairs.” I pause, and then add in a playfully seductive voice, “Vennen.”

He freezes. “Can you not call me that? Especially not when I’m doing this?”

“Okay, vennen,” I echo, stifling my giggle.

“Seriously.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s a term of endearment. For a little boy.” He tugs my bottoms off in one fell swoop of his hand and then tosses them away. Shifting over to fit his shoulders between my thighs, he pauses to stare steadily into my eyes. “Do I look like a little boy to you, Calla?” His voice has grown husky.

I swallow my amusement away. “No.” He looks like the most masculine, beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I inhale sharply at the first swipe of his tongue.

“What the hell are you talking about? Mom? What is he talking about!”

I blink the sleep from my eyes and check the clock to see that it’s only eight a.m. It’s still dark out, but Björn and Astrid have probably been up for hours, given the time difference.

With a groan, I slide out of bed, shuddering against the morning chill. I hastily clean myself up in the bathroom and then rush downstairs.

“Why am I finding out now? From him?” Jonah is glaring at Björn from across the kitchen island, but he’s clearly talking to his mother, perched on a kitchen stool.

“I didn’t want to worry you for something so minor,” Astrid responds calmly, flipping through an urban bridal magazine Diana subscribed me to as soon as Jonah and I got engaged. Her face is freshly made with mascara and a hint of lipstick, her short, platinum-blonde hair styled for the day, yet the expression she wears is heavy with exhaustion. Whether it’s from her long travels or this ongoing strife between her son and husband, only she can tell.

Meanwhile, Jonah looks like he’s been slapped across the face as he shakes his head at his mother. “Minor? You call that minor?”

Astrid’s gaze stalls on an image of wedding dresses as she says something to Björn in Norwegian. Again, that musical lilt masks what I’m assuming are unpleasant words.

“Because I’m not keeping your secrets anymore!” he snaps in English, likely for Jonah’s benefit.

“Watch your tone with her!” Jonah snaps back.

My body stiffens with the rising voices. If this continues, there will be nuclear war–level tension by Christmas Day.

I take the last two steps and holler, “Good morning,” hoping my presence might defuse the impending explosion. “How did everyone sleep?”

Astrid answers with a warm, albeit embarrassed smile. “Not bad. We’re still on Oslo time. It’ll probably take us a full week to adapt.” She adds a moment later, “But the cabin is quite comfortable. Right, Björn?” Her eyebrows arch as she looks to her husband.

“Yes. Comfortable.” Whether he’s been schooled on the appropriate answer or not, I appreciate it.

“Morning.” I stretch on my tiptoes to reach Jonah’s lips for a morning kiss before flashing a three-second warning look at him. When I see the glimmer of recognition there—that he needs to calm down—I continue to the barista machine for a much-needed caffeine jolt.

“I have a run up near Talkeetna this morning that I need to get ready for, but then I can help you guys move your things over here,” Jonah offers, his tone adjusted accordingly. “You can have the room we set up for Agnes and Mabel.”

I frown at his back. What is going on? Didn’t Astrid just say they were comfortable in the cabin?

“There’s no need—”

“I’ll be back around one.” Jonah rounds the counter and leans in to kiss his mother on the forehead. “Have everything packed if you can, okay?”

She sighs but then reaches up to graze her son’s cheek. “Okay, vennen.”

Despite the curious change of plans, I stifle the urge to giggle.

Without so much as a glance at Björn, Jonah marches out the side door, stalling only long enough to grab his winter hat and gloves from the hook. Seconds later, the snowmachine’s engine purrs, cutting into the awkward silence in the kitchen.

What secret did Björn divulge? What has Astrid been keeping from her son?

“That is quite the contraption,” Astrid murmurs through a sip of her coffee, her attention on the barista machine. “I think I will need to read the manual to figure it out.”

“Would you like me to make you something? Latte, cappuccino, espresso …”

She waves the offer away. “We’re fine with our black coffee.”

“Are you hungry? I have homemade banana loaf.” I pull it out of the fridge and set it on the counter, along with plates. I spent the last week stocking the house with enough food to feed twenty people with twenty different eating habits. “Or I could make you some eggs and bacon. Or, we have fruit salad and yogurt, if you’d rather—”

“This is fine.” She reaches for the knife to cut Björn a slice of bread. She slides the plate to him without a word and he settles down on the stool without so much as a thank-you. “Jonah said you have a Christmas party to attend tonight?”

“Yeah. I got roped into helping with the big annual charity dinner at the community center. I’m sorry, I couldn’t get out of it—”

“Why would you need to get out of it?” She cuts me off abruptly with a frown. “It sounds like an important night.”

“Well, it is, but you guys just got here and I feel bad about leaving you all alone.”

“If you keep fussing over us, you’ll be exhausted and counting down the days until we leave.” She softens her admonishment with a smile. “So, what do you have to do for this dinner?”