The one bed dilemma

*Kiera*

After an exhausting day of travel and keeping vigil at the hospital, I’m ready to brush my teeth and collapse into bed… any bed will do, even a dog bed. Honestly, I’d even consider sleeping on the floor if it meant I could stretch out and relax.

Despite my fatigue, today had its silver linings. Mr. Lund spoke with Frida's doctors and learned about her rehabilitation plan. She’ll be in the hospital for at least a few more days. Tomorrow, they’ll cast her arm for the broken ulna, but they need the swelling in her leg to subside before they can address that injury as well.

The hospital ushered us out shortly after eight o'clock, declaring that visiting hours were over. Mr. Lund protested, insisting he should be allowed to stay. In the end, I made a show of appointing Kiera the Bear as the room's security guard, which brought a smile to Frida’s face. Kiera the Bear even kicked Onkel Will out for being disruptive, and I set her up at the foot of Frida's bed before I left.

Frida is a tough little kid… sweet and smart, though incredibly shy. It makes sense, given Mr. Lund is her uncle. She knows her mother is gone; she understood without Mr. Lund needing to say a word. I pray I’m wrong, but I fear she might have been conscious during the whole ordeal. Who knows what she witnessed that night? It’s heartbreaking to see her so deeply sad, but also expected.

Throughout the day, they both cried on and off, holding each other close and whispering soft words in Danish. I tried to give them space to grieve as best as I could. Around lunchtime, I found my way to the hospital cafeteria. I bought us salmon salads and a couple of bags of chips, and I also stumbled upon a coffee cart. Nervous about ordering anything fancy, I opted for plain coffees. Mr. Lund usually drinks his black, but I added two creams to his, because why not? We ate in silence, with Mr. Lund never straying far from his niece’s side.

The taxi slides along the streets of Copenhagen, the dim light of streetlamps flickering across the window as I lean my head against the glass. My thoughts drift like the clouds passing overhead. Are we heading to a hotel? The thought lingers, but I’m too tired to ask. Mr. Lund sits beside me, seamingly cool and collected.

As the car halts at a red light, my heart skips a beat when I realize something crucial: my duffel bag. Panic surges through me. Did I leave it on the jet? The image of my stuff flashes in my mind. What if I have to wear the same underwear for a week? I can’t even fathom that level of discomfort.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Lund asks, turning slightly in his seat, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yeah, just… tired,” I manage to say, forcing a smile. But my mind races with thoughts of my bag and what I might have to endure in the days ahead.

The taxi rolls to a stop, and the driver turns to Mr. Lund, who holds his phone to the maschine to pay. I glance around as I step out, squinting at the building before me. This doesn't look like a hotel. My heart races with curiosity as I follow Mr. Lund through the grand entrance. The lobby is sleek, adorned with modern art and plush furniture that seems to beckon for my weary body to rest.

We step into a small elevator, and I can’t help but notice how close we stand, the warmth of his arm brushing against mine. My breath catches for a heartbeat, and I try to focus on anything else but the heat rising in my cheeks. The elevator dings, and we step out onto a floor that feels a bit more lived in than the pristine lobby below.

Mr. Lund leads me down a narrow corridor and opens a door at the end. As I step inside, a wave of warmth envelops me. The space is an eclectic mix of modern and clutter, a cozy sanctuary that feels like a home, not just a temporary place to crash.

The living area is open-plan, with a small kitchen and a snug couch that looks like it’s perfect for curling up with a book. To my right, I see a lofted bed area, inviting and serene, the sheets a soft white that contrast beautifully with the wooden beams overhead. The view from the large window is breathtaking, the city lights twinkling like stars against the night sky.

“I love it!” I blurt out, my fatigue momentarily forgotten in the face of this charming apartment. “It’s so homey and… well, cozy, but modern”

Mr. Lund chuckles softly, the sound warm and rich. “I’m glad you like it. I try to keep it comfortable. It’s not much, but it’s mine. After all I spend most my time in New York.”

As I glance around, my eyes fall on my duffel bag, sitting innocently in the corner, beside Mr Lund's suitcase. “Wait! My bag is here?” I exclaim, rushing over to it. “You had it brought here?”

He nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I figured you’d need your things. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Seriously, thank you!” I say, relief flooding through me as I unzip the bag, reassuring myself that my underwear is still intact.

He looks a bit forlorn, “I can get you a hotel room nearby if…”

“Nonsense,” I interrupt, shaking my head, looking at the couch, all soft and inviting. “Really, the couch is fine. I promise I won’t take up too much space.”

Mr. Lund studies me for a moment, his blue eyes serious yet soft. “Kiera, are you sure? You are helping me immensely and you deserve to be comfortable.”

There’s an intensity in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine. The air between us feels charged, a tension that lingers like a whisper. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to lean closer, to close that distance between us.

“Yeah I am sure,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “The couch is just fine.”

He smiles, and the warmth in his expression makes my heart flutter. “Good. I’ll get some blankets for you.”

As he moves to the small closet, I can’t shake the feeling that this moment, this cozy apartment.. it has a special meaning.