If you've been with me since the very beginning (or joined somewhere along the way), thank you for sticking around. I know we've traveled to a lot of countries, and still seemed to be moving, and I’ve tested your patience more than I should’ve 🤭
But good news… I moved to Stockholm.
Like I have a bed, a kitchen, and a chair!
The world keeps getting bigger, but instead of running from city to city, we're falling in love.
So unpack your suitcase and stay a while.
Noelle Jameson
Tavastgatan 9
118 24 Stockholm
Sweden
💁🏽♀️ A Note from Noa✨
New here?
This space is meant to feel like a cozy book club.
Read at your own pace.
You can absolutely start with Season 2.
Season 1 we moved around the world.
Season 2 we move into a home.
You can always go back and discover how we got here.
Returning readers, welcome to my new home.
Summary: Välkommen till Sverige! Welcome to Sweden! One assignment ends as a new chapter begins, sending Noa from Saudi to Stockholm while Theo leaves Saudi and returns home to Milan.
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: And... we're back! Prologue to get us caught up.
This Trumpet in My Head by Lykke Li
Noa stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel hanging beside the glass door. By the time she wrapped it around herself, the bathroom mirror had completely fogged over.
"We were doing so well," she groaned, pulling off her shower cap, fluffing at the curls around her hairline in the fogged mirror.
The bathroom was still warm from the shower, steam curling toward the high ceiling while the room filled with shea butter and citrus from the lotion she rubbed over her arms and legs.
The marble counter had disappeared beneath three days of Saudi meetings and events. Jewelry sat piled beside a watch she'd forgotten to wear while makeup brushes spilled from an open cosmetic case.
"Okay. What actually needs to come with me?" she muttered, unzipping her toiletry bag.
She dropped her face wash and sunscreen inside and reached for her perfume.
"No. You're checking luggage,” she said, placing the perfume back onto the vanity before reaching for her toothbrush.
She was halfway through brushing when her phone lit up beside the sink.
PING.
"The Nordic Assignment?"
“Stockholm will serve as Noa's primary European base, balancing ongoing agency commitments alongside her expanded responsibilities across the Our Planet climate initiative.”
No Rest for the Wicked by Lykke Li
"What the—"
Noa nearly dropped her toothbrush. She grabbed the phone mid-brush and started scrolling.
"Stockholm?"
She barely paused long enough to rinse her mouth before picking up the phone again.
She reread the email.
Stockholm will function as your primary base over the next ninety days.
residency
embedded narrative lead
continuity
stewardship
Noa stopped scrolling.
Somewhere to put your books.
She stared at the words for a second longer.
"This can't be right," she muttered, gripping her phone tighter as she kept reading.
DING.
A message from Maya-Rose appeared at the top of her screen as she checked her calendar for tomorrow's flight.
Maya-Rose: What. The.
Noa laughed.
Noa: FUCK.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Maya-Rose: NOA. JAPAN.
Noa: STOCKHOLM.
Maya-Rose: SEBASTIAN??
Noa: georgia. louise.
She glanced toward the television mounted across the bedroom where a BBC anchor was talking soundlessly beneath a scrolling ticker. She'd muted it nearly an hour ago and still hadn't changed the channel.
KNOCK.
"Room service."
“Coming!”
Noa crossed the suite, weaving past mounds of clothes at the end of the bed and the half-zipped suitcase she still hadn't finished packing before opening the door.
"As-salamu alaykum."
A young hotel attendant waited beside a room service trolley, a gold nameplate on his lapel reading KARIM.
"Wa alaykum as-salam."
"May I bring this in?"
"Please."
Karim wheeled the trolley inside.
"Leaving Riyadh?"
"Tomorrow."
"Back home?"
Noa laughed.
"Something like that."
"Would you prefer the dining table, Ms. Jameson?"
Noa looked toward the chandelier hanging above twelve empty chairs.
"The sofa's fine."
Steam escaped beneath the silver domes, lifting cardamom and saffron into the air as he arranged lamb kabsa, saffron rice, warm khubz, hummus, labneh, dates, and mint tea across the coffee table.
"Is there anything else I may bring for you this evening, Ms. Jameson?"
"No, thank you."
"Enjoy your meal."
The door clicked quickly shut behind him.
Noa plopped onto the cream-colored sofa facing the gardens. Beyond the windows, fountain lights flickered across the courtyards as evening settled over the Diplomatic Quarter. She pulled her plate closer, picked up the remote, and began flipping through channels.
CNN.
"Markets closed mixed today as investors continue evaluating—"
Click.
Al Jazeera.
"Aid organizations have warned that conditions continue to deteriorate—"
Click.
Weather.
"Temperatures across the Gulf are expected to remain above forty degrees—"
Click.
The screen flashed green and red.
SUPER CUP FINAL
ROSSONERI MILANO vs ANFIELD RED FC MEN’S HIGHLIGHTS
RIYADH
A replay of Theo lifting his medal to the camera filled the screen while confetti drifted through stadium lights. Vaughn appeared a second later laughing about something off-camera before disappearing back into the crowd.
"Absolutely not."
Click.
Back to CNN.
The prayer call began somewhere beyond the hotel grounds.
Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar.
Noa glanced up from her plate. Shadows from the palm trees stretched across the garden pathways below while the fountains glowed gold beneath the evening lights. Beyond them, the sky over Riyadh had deepened into blue, though the desert heat still lingered against the glass.
Just Like A Dream Lykke Li
BUZZ.
MOM.
Noa stared at the screen for a second before grabbing the phone.
"Hey, Mom,” she said, taking the last sip of her mint tea.
“Don’t hey mom me!”
Noa laughed as her mother's face zoomed into the screen, Basil's barks echoing through the speaker.
Woof. Woof.
“Hey, Basil bub.”
"Been too long, Noe," her mother said, adjusting her camera.
Her mother reached down to scratch Basil and his tail thumped against the chair.
“I know. Times zones are not so great.”
Noa tucked the phone between her ear and wandered into the bedroom.
“I do send texts and updates though.”
“Hmm.”
Her mother disappeared from frame before settling back into view with a fresh cup of coffee.
“All this travel can't be so great either.”
“What's the next city? How's the new climate stuff? How are you still doing your regular work?"
“I'm still in Riyadh. I leave in a few hours."
"To?"
"...that's actually why I am calling."
She looked down at the open suitcase instead of the screen.
"I've been asked to officially stay in Europe for longer."
"Officially? You've been there longer than you should've... think we are beyond officially at this point. Don't you think?"
Woof. Woof.
Her mother nodded toward him.
"See? Even he agrees."
Noa laughed quietly.
"Yeah..."
Her eyes drifted to the airline tags still hanging from her carry-on.
"You okay?"
"Yeah... just a bit..."
"So where to and how long?"
"OUR PLANET wants me home based in Stockholm for the next ninety days of the project."
"...and Vivian okay'ed the move so that I have a space to do MARCHAND projects and OUR PLANET without having to be so transient."
Basil's nose suddenly filled the screen.
Woof.
Woof.
"No, Basil, I am talking," her mother said, swatting him away.
Basil pawed at her mother's arm.
"You're very passionate about this conversation, aren't you?"
The phone jolted as Basil bumped it.
"Careful, Bub." Noa laughed as she zipped the bag shut.
"Well... the good news? The good news is you've been working toward this for a really long time."
She smiled and sipped her coffee.
"And I am proud of you."
"...I do wish we'd planned better."
“We should've expected you'd eclipse the sun."
Noa unplugged the curling iron she'd left cooling on the bathroom counter.
"So… Sweden…” her mother said, tossing Basil’s tennis ball across the room. “Any Black folks there?"
"Honestly, not even sure.”
She pulled her pink bonnet from the nightstand and tossed it into her bag.
"Going to call Ayaan and see if she can help with my hair."
They burst out laughing.
“It's apparently a good place to live.”
She sighed and fluffed her curls in the screen reflection.
“But it wouldn't be my ideal location."
"Is anything ever ideal?"
She folded another sundress into the suitcase, only to notice two more draped across the chaise.
Basil climbed into her mother's lap.
"So we should get to preparing, yes..."
"Basil."
Woof. Woof.
"Basil will keep his routine... with me."
Noa blew him a kiss.
"I think we should plan a trip for you so we can get him settled here?"
Basil dropped his tennis ball at her feet.
"It is only ninety days."
Noa reached for her passport and slid it into the front pocket of her carry-on.
"Mom... we should've expected I'd eclipse the sun."
Her mother studied her over the rim of her coffee mug.
"Apartment? What are we going to do about your lease? Is it even worth keeping?"
"Sublet?"
Noa's hand lingered on the suitcase zipper.
"I won't always want to eclipse the sun.”
The smile slipped from her mother’s face as she studied Noa.
"Selam sublets all the time. I'll get her help."
"Okay."
"Mail? Bills?"
"Autopay and Selam will collect it."
"Should I ship more clothes?"
Her gaze caught on the forgotten sandals beside the sofa, then drifted across everything else she'd left scattered around the suite.
"Yes. For now. Then, I guess I’ll buy some here. Let me get you the address."
Her mother grabbed a notepad and a pen.
"I'll start looking at flights. Get the Basil information ready so that I can do my part."
"And Noe..."
Noa stopped packing.
"Yeah?"
"This is a good thing."
"A good opportunity."
"Do you hear me?"
Noa laughed softly.
"We're fine here."
"We'll be fine."
Basil climbed farther into her lap.
"Try to take this in as a good opportunity."
Noa walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down at the city glittering beneath her.
She let out a slow breath.
"...yeah. I will."
A car horn sounded outside and her mother looked toward the window.
"Good,” she said, glancing toward the clock. “Now let me go brag.”
Her mother stood and Basil immediately followed.
“Yolanda and I are off to the local markets today and I gotta get ready.”
Noa laughed.
"Okay... get me some..."
"Nectarines. Copy!"
Woof. Woof.
Basil shoved his nose directly into the lens, whining at the screen.
“Love you Basil, bub!”
She blew a kiss toward the camera.
He barked once and wagged hard enough to shake the camera.
"I love you. I am proud of you.”
Noa smiled.
“Keep eclipsing the sun.”
She pointed at Noa one last time.
"I love you, too. Call you soon. Text you when I land.”
Silver Line by Lykke Li
Noa shoved the last few things into the suitcase, sat on the lid, and forced the zipper closed.
"Shit," she exhaled. "Finally... there."
She looked around the suite one last time and grabbed her phone.
Noa: Life is moving too fast. We need a Zoom soon. I am getting dropped in Stockholm for 90 days.
Selam: Your mom already texted.
Amina: Oh wow! How are you feeling? You’ll be closer to me!
Carmen: Are there Black people there?
Carmen: When we visiting?
Lore: Oh… I have not been there. Let me Google flights.
Amina: This is so cool, Noe…
Patats messages continued stacking across the top of her screen as she opened a separate chat with Selam.
Noa: I need sublet help.
Selam: Your mom already called. Boss la, you are.
Noa tucked her passport into the front pocket, set tomorrow’s outfit across an armchair, then immediately checked that the passport was still there thirty seconds later.
Noa: HA! I haven’t had time to watch an Anfield Red match in ages.
Selam: Too busy being with Vaughn.
Noa collapsed across the duvet, grabbed the remote, and started flipping through the channels.
Noa: Wow.
Selam: Too soon? LOL.
Noa: AHAHAHAHAHA. Never.
Selam: How is that going anyway?
Selam: All your paramours
Selam: All the detours
Selam: Back to Theo…
The television flashed green and red.
Theo appeared on screen with the trophy raised above his head.
"Not again," she muttered, changing the channel.
Noa: About that…
Noa: Can we save that for Tribeca weekend this fall?
As Selam's replies appeared, Noa twisted her curls into her bonnet.
Selam: Always.
Selam: Heart still big though, yeah…
Noa: It’s still beating.
Selam: Good. That’s important.
Noa stared at the message for a second.
Three dots appeared.
Selam: More important. What type of subletter do we want? I usually hate cats… and kids.
Selam: And… cigarette smokers. I draw the line at cigarette smoke.
Noa: Sele!
She turned off every light except the lamp beside the bed, plugged her phone into the charger, and climbed beneath the duvet.
A dubbed version of Ocean's Eleven flickered across the television.
She opened a new chat.
Noa: So… remember when you joked that I haven’t been to London since I arrived in London.
Harper: Yeah…
Noa: Well… apparently I am never coming back… but I am also never leaving you. Hahahaha.
Harper: Confused emoji
Noa: OUR PLANET wants me home based in Stockholm for the next 90 days of the project and Vivian okay’ed the move so that I have a space to do MARCHAND projects and OUR PLANET without having to be so transient.
Harper: EXCUSE ME??? I am literally stranded in Sweden right now LOL.
Noa: What??
Harper: nursing conference
Harper: flight delayed because apparently National Rail doesn’t hate me enough.
Noa: Go look around. Apparently that's my new home.
Harper: I'll leave a full field report.
Harper: First impression: cold.
Harper: Second impression: not London.
Noa laughed, set the phone on the nightstand, and turned off the television.
Utopia by Lykke Li
Noa: Riyadh King Khalid International to Stockholm Arlanda
DING.
“Prepare for landing,” the pilot's voice echoed through the intercom.
Noa glanced out the window as droplets of Scandinavian summer rain streaked across the glass, blurring patches of green forest and gray tarmac below.
The wheels hit the runway hard.
A ripple passed through the cabin as overhead bins rattled and several passengers sucked in startled breaths.
DING.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Stockholm Arlanda Airport. Local time is 10:12 a.m., and the temperature outside is seventeen degrees Celsius. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been switched off. Thank you for flying with us.”
Half the cabin was already standing before the announcement finished.
“Please remain mindful of your fellow passengers while retrieving your belongings,” a flight attendant called with a tight smile. “And please be careful when opening the overhead compartments.”
The aisle clogged within seconds and a suitcase immediately tumbled halfway out of a bin.
The woman beneath it cursed under her breath and dragged her carry-on forward.
Noa bit back a laugh.
A young couple ahead of her spoke in Swedish.
“Tror du att mamma hämtar oss?” the woman asked.
(Do you think your Mom is picking us up?)
“Hon är säkert redan här.”
(She's probably already here.)
Behind them, two friends switched quickly between Arabic and English.
“Bro, I told you we'd make the connection.”
“Wallah, barely.”
“You said that in Riyadh too.”
Their laughter bounced softly through the cabin.
Further ahead, a little boy tugged on his father's sleeve.
“Pappa, regnar det?”
(Dad, is it raining?)
“Ja, men bara lite.”
(Yes, but only a little.)
“Kan vi ta tåget?”
(Can we take the train?)
His mother laughed.
“Först väskorna.”
(First the luggage.)
The line lurched forward one row at a time until the aircraft door finally opened.
She stepped into Terminal 5 with the rest of the passengers.
The terminal stretched ahead in long corridors lined with floor-to-ceiling windows as rain trickled down in tiny silver beads.
A woman pushed a stroller past a display advertising Stockholm's archipelago, the photograph showing red cottages scattered across rocky islands.
Further ahead, a giant poster featured a model in an oversized linen coat standing beneath the words:
WELCOME TO STOCKHOLM.
Noa followed the crowd, listening to a calm female voice drifting from hidden speakers.
“Välkommen till Stockholm Arlanda. Följ skyltarna mot passkontroll och bagageutlämning.”
(Welcome to Stockholm Arlanda. Please follow the signs toward passport control and baggage claim.)
A moment later, the English version followed.
“Welcome to Stockholm Arlanda Airport. Please follow the signs to passport control and baggage claim.”
The stream of travelers funneled toward immigration.
Rows of electronic gates glowed green and white beneath bright overhead lighting.
A border officer waved the Swedish couple forward.
“Hej.”
The woman handed over her passport.
“Var har ni rest från?”
(Where have you traveled from?)
“Riyadh.”
The officer nodded and waved them through.
Next came the two friends.
“Purpose of your visit?”
“Home,” one replied.
The officer stamped the passport.
“Welcome back.”
“Hej.”
Noa stepped forward and handed over her passport.
“Purpose of your visit?” The officer asked, scanning it.
“Work.”
“How long are you staying?”
“A few weeks.”
The officer studied his screen for a moment, then looked back up at Noa. His eyes lingered just a second longer before he handed back her passport.
"Welcome to Sweden."
A green light flashed.
Noa collected her passport as he waved her through, the continuous thud of passport stamps echoing behind her.
Beyond customs, the terminal opened suddenly into the arrivals area where a sea of people stood behind railings clutching bouquets of flowers and holding signs with bold black letters.
“Pappa!”
A teenage girl spotted an old bald man in the crowd, immediately broke into a run, and launched herself into the man’s arms.
Nearby, an older woman pressed both hands against her son's cheeks.
“Välkommen hem.”
(Welcome home.)
Noa smiled at them and kept walking as the rain followed her, tapping softly against the enormous glass walls.
Above her, train departure boards flickered with destinations.
Stockholm Central.Uppsala.Märsta.
She paused for a second to grab her phone from her bag.
Theo: Riyadh King Khalid International to Milano Malpensa
The team bus rolled beneath the canopies of King Khalid International Airport just before sunrise. Two airport security officers were already waiting near the curb, speaking with club staff beneath the terminal lights. Beside them, equipment managers moved toward the luggage compartment before the bus had even stopped completely.
"Let's go, let's go."
The luggage doors swung open and black suitcases stamped with the club crest appeared one after another.
"Thirty-two."
"Thirty-three."
"Thirty-four."
The bus hissed as the doors opened. One by one, players climbed out carrying backpacks and rolling suitcases.
Theo adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and stepped onto the pavement.
"What time is it?" Santi yawned, dragging his suitcase off the bus and nearly walking into a luggage cart.
Malik checked his phone.
“Like 4:30.”
"Too early, still," Fik said, already a step ahead, headphones half on his head blasting UK drill.
"Passports out, gentlemen."
Koni stopped walking, frantically checking his jacket pockets.
"Wait."
Theo looked over.
"What?"
"Where's your passport?" Malik asked.
"I had it."
“And now you don’t." Fik said, turning toward him, laughing.
"I just had it,” Koni said, searching another pocket.
"Every trip," Fik muttered. "Every single trip."
Koni finally pulled the passport from the side pocket of his backpack.
"Found it."
Theo shook his head.
"One day they're leaving you, swear down."
"No they're not."
"Let's go."
The team moved inside, greeted by bright white light and towering marble columns that rose toward the ceiling. Above them, digital advertisements rotated between luxury watches, designer fragrances, and airline promotions.
Arabic calligraphy curved across illuminated signs.
المغادرة
(DEPARTURES)
التفتيش الأمني
(SECURITY CHECK)
البوابات
(GATES)
The check-in counters had already been prepared for them, lined with black equipment trunks.
Staff members weighed bags while coaches compared passenger lists.
BEEP.
“Thirty-eight.”
The baggage agent frowned.
"Sir, this bag is overweight."
The equipment manager sighed as another trunk rolled onto the belt.
The baggage agent stared at it.
Across the check-in area, Coach Mourinho looked up.
"Where's Leao?"
Nobody answered.
A few seconds later Leao appeared from the direction of the café, coffee in one hand and his passport in the other.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"We're checking bags."
Leao glanced toward the counters.
"What, I'm here?"
"Passport."
Malik appeared beside him.
"Alhamdulillah. Almost home.”
Theo stepped through the scanner as watches, wallets, tablets, phones, and designer belts disappeared into identical gray trays.
"Whose belt is this?"
"Probably yours."
"Whose are these?"
Three people pointed at once.
"Wait."
"That’s mine."
"السادة المسافرون، يرجى التوجه إلى بوابات المغادرة."
(Passengers are kindly requested to proceed to their departure gates.)
Beyond security, the airport opened into a sprawling concourse as sunlight crept through the glass walls overlooking the runways.
"That's Theo Aldridge-Wells."
"No way."
Click.
One boy, no older than seven, finally gathered enough courage to approach.
"Excuse me?"
"Can I take a picture?"
"Sure."
“Okay… one, two, three.”
His mother quickly snapped the photo.
Click.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
As they walked away, Theo bit back a laugh as he heard the kid whisper.
"I'm never deleting that."
Fik dropped into an empty seat beside Theo.
"Wake me up when we're in Milan."
"We're not even boarding yet."
"Yeah, still.”
Fik pulled his hood over his eyes.
Across from them, two girls sitting near the windows looked up from their phones.
One girl whispered something.
Her friend immediately covered her face.
"Don't."
"I'm not."
"You're literally looking at him."
"So are you."
Fik opened one eye.
"Fans?"
“Yeah.”
"Flight AZ721 to Milan is now ready for boarding."
The travel coordinator clapped his hands.
"Alright, let's move."
The gate agent smiled as the group approached and scanned boarding pass after boarding pass.
"Entire team?"
The travel coordinator nodded.
"Unfortunately."
Theo adjusted his backpack and stepped forward with the rest of the squad.
Players filled the rows in matching tracksuits, backpacks shoved beneath seats and duffel bags crammed into overhead bins.
Theo reached his row just in time to hear an argument breaking out across the aisle.
"Switch seats with me."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"I'll buy lunch."
"...Fine."
A few rows ahead, Maestro had already fallen asleep, his head against the window before half the team had even boarded.
Leao pulled out a deck of cards somewhere near the back and within minutes, four players were arguing around a tray table.
"I won."
"You cheated."
Theo dropped into his seat and fastened his seatbelt.
Before long, the captain's voice returned over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Milan. Local time is 10:18 a.m. Please return to your seats and ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened."
Theo glanced out the window as green fields stretched beneath scattered clouds and clusters of red-roofed buildings.
The aircraft settled onto the runway with a firm thud before slowing into a steady taxi toward the terminal.
"Benvenuti a Milano."
(Welcome to Milan.)
The seatbelt sign switched off.
"Sit down."
"No."
"We literally just landed."
"I'm stretching."
"You're standing."
"Same thing."
The overhead bins began opening. Theo slung his backpack over his shoulder and scrolled his phone as the players headed down the aisle and exited the plane.rt rt
Italian voices bounced off the walls around him.
"Allora, ascolta..."
(So, listen...)
"No, no, no, aspetta!"
(No, no, no, wait!)
"Ci vediamo dopo."
(I'll see you later.)
ARRIVI (ARRIVALS)
RITIRO BAGAGLI (BAGGAGE CLAIM)
CONTROLLO PASSAPORTI (PASSPORT CONTROL)
Summary: Stockholm welcomes Noa with rain, candy, Volvos, and an unexpected guide.
A/N: New here? Welcome. You can start here.
Complaint Department
RING.
“Where are you?”
Beneath the smoking shelter, a woman in navy scrubs stood beside a rolling suitcase, cigarette in hand, arguing with a man on speakerphone.
"I've been standing here twenty minutes, Johan."
"No. Twenty."
The woman looked toward the arrivals doors and took another puff.
"You said that fifteen minutes ago."
"I don't care if the E4 is backed up. I'm literally watching people reunite with their families."
"Drive faster."
Noa bit back a laugh, wheeling her suitcase beneath the terminal canopy as she scanned the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear.
“Gray Volvo to your left.”
“There are like seven gray Volvos to my left.”
“Sebastian, roll the window down and wave your coffee.”
Noa headed down the sidewalk toward the taxi queue, stepping to the side as two gulls fought over pieces of bread stuck to the slick pavement. An airport employee in a reflective vest watched them for a second before shooing them away.
A few yards away, a family loaded luggage into the back of a station wagon while a little girl in bright yellow rain boots jumped directly into a puddle.
SPLASH.
Her mother sighed.
"Elsa."
The girl jumped again.
SPLASH.
"Elsa."
"I'm testing it."
"You tested it."
"I'm testing it again."
Her father laughed.
"Elsa, let’s go.”
SPLASH.
“Now.”
Noa couldn't help smiling. Elsa waved before hopping into the back seat.
Noa kept moving, passing a blue airport coach pulled to the curb, where three backpackers dragged oversized hiking packs toward the luggage compartment.
"Guys."
"What?"
"The sandwich place in the terminal charges fourteen dollars."
"For a sandwich?"
“It’s Sweden.”
Noa smiled and kept walking.
"Gray Volvo."
A rear window lowered and a hand appeared holding an absurdly large paper cup.
"Oh my God."
Noa rolled her eyes and headed toward the car.
"You really gotta stay on your toes, Nova."
"The nickname is tired. Pick a new one.”
Damien grinned from behind the wheel.
"Everyone has one for you. Give me a better option."
"Oh, shut up."
The rear passenger door opened and Sebastian climbed out, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.
His hair had gone lighter since she'd seen him last, blonde strands falling across his forehead beneath tortoiseshell glasses.
"Welcome to Sweden. Here."
He reached for her carry-on and shoved the coffee into her hand.
Noa barely had time to adjust her grip before he took the bag from her.
"Hey."
"Give me that."
"I can carry my own bag."
"Clearly.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Because you're doing such a good job."
"Wow."
"Come on."
He guided her toward the waiting Volvo.
Rain beaded across the dark gray paint of a XC90 while airport traffic flowed steadily around them. It blended into the sea of Volvos outside the terminal until she got close enough to notice the matte black wheels, pale leather seats, light wood trim, and the custom sound system spanning the dashboard.
Sebastian popped the trunk and slid her luggage inside beside two duffel bags, a camera case, and a cardboard box overflowing with rolled design plans.
Then he opened the front passenger door.
Noa immediately angled toward the back.
"You get shotgun."
"I didn't ask for shotgun."
"You flew halfway across Europe."
"It was four and a half hours."
"Get in the car, Noa."
He nudged her shoulder.
Half-laughing, half-scoff, she climbed inside and shut the door.
Dance, Dance, Dance
The first thing she noticed was the candy. An enormous paper bag occupied most of the center console, overflowing with gummies, licorice, chocolate, sour belts, and marshmallows.
"Why do you have that much candy?"
Damien looked over at her.
“Hello to you too, Noelle Jameson.”
"This is a normal amount."
He glanced at the bag.
"Of candy."
"It is not a normal amount."
"It absolutely is."
Sebastian climbed into the back seat and shut the door as Damien pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
"It's pick-and-mix."
"That explains nothing."
"It explains everything."
"No."
"Yes."
He gestured toward the candy.
"You go into the store. You fill a bag."
"I can see that."
"You fill it with whatever you want."
Sebastian leaned forward between the seats.
"You're also forgetting Saturday candy."
Noa turned around.
“Here’s your coffee.”
“That’s yours, I have mine back here.”
Noa ignored him and set the coffee back into the cup holder.
"Saturday candy?"
"Lördagsgodis."
"... which is?"
"Saturday candy," Damien repeated.
"Children traditionally get candy on Saturdays."
"Children."
"Yes."
"You are not children.”
"That's incredibly rude, Noelle. Everyone can be children at heart. You should try it.”
I’m Good, I’m Gone
Noa ignored him.
“So, I know why Sebastian is here.”
Sebastian looked up from his phone.
“But why are you? Why do you know so much about Sweden?”
"Because Sebastian called me."
“And?”
“And,” Damien shrugged. “I used to live here.”
Her head snapped toward him.
"What?"
"What? Don't 'what' me," she said, pointing at Damien.
Damien merged into the center lane as traffic thickened ahead.
Sebastian laughed, leaning forward. “I've been waiting for this conversation."
“You used to live here.”
Damien laughed.
"Why is that surprising?"
"Because we all lived together in Prishtina. In a dorm, I might add. As grownups. And somehow nobody mentioned Sweden."
Noa twisted in her seat to look at him.
"It wasn't relevant."
Noa turned to Sebastian.
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. That’s why I called him.”
"And nobody thought this information might come up?"
"You two are impossible.”
Noa flopped back into the seat, rolling her eyes.
Green highway signs flashed past the window.
Märsta.
Rotebro.
Upplands Väsby.
"Okay, so do you speak Swedish?”
"A little."
"You know where everything is."
"Mostly,” Damien said, drumming his fingers against the wheel.
Noa sat up straighter.
"So... rapid fire."
“What's the coolest neighborhood?"
"Depends who you ask."
Noa rolled her eyes.
"For You. Södermalm."
“Hmm.”
Damien laughed.
"Best neighborhood for food?"
"Vasastan."
“Cheapest?”
Damien switched lanes.
"Depends how far you're willing to commute."
“Damien.”
“What?” He laughed. “The cheapest places are usually farther out on the metro lines. Farsta, Rinkeby, and parts of Spånga-Kista.”
A blue commuter train flashed past on the tracks running beside the highway.
“Thank you.”
"Where do celebrities live?"
"Everywhere."
"Damien."
"Fine. Mostly Östermalm."
"The richest neighborhood?"
"Djursholm."
Sebastian looked up.
"Don't you live there?"
Damien gripped the wheel.
“Yes.”
Noa rolled her eyes.
"Of course you do."
Damien shrugged.
"If you must know, I'm a military brat and diplomat kid."
Noa turned back toward him.
"What?"
"Military brat and diplomat kid."
"I thought you were from Los Angeles."
"Both things can be true."
“Damien.”
“It’s not like we ever exchange kumbaya stories. You never asked.”
“You never volunteered.”
"Touché."
"Okay, so this still doesn't explain how you two know each other."
Noa twisted around in her seat and pointed between them.
"And somehow never mentioned it."
“I lived in London for a year. Sebastian was my neighbor.”
“Yep.” Sebastian stretched his arms. “Those were the good old days.”
Damien laughed.
“Okay…”
“I’m a diplomat, military kid and Sebastian’s rich… if you didn’t know.”
Sebastian burst out laughing.
“Shut up.” She twisted in her seat and looked out the window. “Both of you.”
Black signs flashed overhead: E4 SOUTH. STOCKHOLM C. UPPSALA.
Noa squinted.
"What's Uppsala?"
"About forty minutes north."
“Yes, I see that,” Noa said, pointing to the sign.
Damien shrugged.
"Big university town. Half the country goes there to study. The other half goes there to visit someone who's studying."
Another sign for Uppsala disappeared behind them.
"Actually," Sebastian said, leaning forward again. "It's home to Sweden's oldest university."
“Thank you, Sebastian,” Damien said.
“Founded in 1477.”
“We got it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Noa, pass me some licorice,” Sebastian said before flopping back in his seat.
Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as Damien merged into the flow of traffic leaving Arlanda. Within minutes, airport hotels, rental car lots, and warehouses gave way to large, dark pine forests pressed close to the highway, dense enough that Noa couldn't see more than a few yards into the woods.
Sebastian looked up from his phone.
“Ugh. It’s supposed to rain all day.”
The road curved between towering slabs of rain-dark stone. Moss clung to the rock face while pine trees crowded the top edge above them.
"Did they carve the road through a mountain?"
Damien glanced out the windshield.
"Pretty much."
The highway curved south toward Stockholm.
"Where's the city?"
"About thirty minutes away."
Damien changed lanes between two Volvos while a third pulled up beside them.
Noa looked out her window.
"Clearly everyone drives a Volvo,” she muttered to herself.
"Yes."
“I actually like Volvos.”
“We do too.”
Noa rolled her eyes and turned the volume up on the radio.
"You haven't even reached Stockholm yet,” Sebastian said, reaching for another piece of candy.
Beyond the trees, along the shoreline, rows of red cottages appeared briefly before the trees swallowed them again.
"Why are they all red?"
Damien glanced toward the trees.
"Now that's actually a long story."
Sebastian looked down at his phone.
"The traditional red color comes from Falun copper mining pigments."
Noa turned around.
Sebastian scrolled.
"Historically, it became popular because it imitated expensive European brick buildings."
"You're literally reading Wikipedia."
Sebastian glanced up.
"And?"
Damien grabbed another piece of candy.
"They were trying to copy brick, Noelle."
"Brick?"
"Painting wood red was cheaper."
“Oh.”
Let It Fall
A blue sign flashed past the passenger window.
SOLNA.
"What's Solna known for?"
People on bicycles rode along separated paths below the highway.
Damien glanced ahead as rain pelted the windshield.
"A lot of people work here."
He nodded toward the glass office towers.
“GlaxoSmithKline.”
“Wait. The pharmaceutical company? The ones from the commercials?”
"Yeah. Tech too."
A curved stadium roof appeared between office buildings before disappearing behind another overpass.
"That's the national stadium.”
"Strawberry Arena?”
"Yeah."
“Beyonce played there a few months ago,” Sebastian said, glancing up mid-text. "I'm actually meeting AIK there next week for their football campaign.”
A blue tram slid past rows of apartment buildings.
"They've changed this whole stretch."
Damien pointed toward a cluster of new apartment buildings.
"That used to be a football field."
He nodded toward the buildings beyond the barrier.
"There used to be a grocery store there."
Sadness Is a Blessing
Noa glanced out the window as they exited the highway, watching water and bridges appear and disappear while they crossed an inlet.
She watched a seagull nibble at bread on a rain-soaked dock while teenagers stood smoking near rows of sailboats bobbing in the current.
"How many islands are in this city?"
Damien huffed.
"A lot."
Cyclists rode along separated bike lanes below the road, heads down against the rain as they glided between rows of pale apartment buildings.
She glanced over at him.
"So why are you actually here?"
"FIFA."
"Could you PLEASE use more than one word?"
"Sustainability advisory meetings. That's three."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Sebastian snickered from the back seat still scrolling his phone.
"If you must know. My meetings start tomorrow." Damien glanced in the rearview mirror. "One got moved to tomorrow afternoon."
"My sister already sent me apartment listings,” Sebastian groaned.
He grabbed a marshmallow from the bag.
"Ninety days."
Noa looked back out the window.
"Seriously," she said. "I can’t believe we’re actually staying here.”
Damien laughed.
"You just realized?"
"I've been trying not to,” Noa said.
“And it was working until just now,” Sebastian deadpanned. “Thank you… Damien.”
Noa laughed and grabbed a piece of candy.
Rich Kid Blues
ÖSTERMALM
"Welcome to everyone's favorite place to spend money they don't technically need to spend."
Damien turned off the larger road and onto Nybrogatan, a narrower avenue lined with luxury cars and designer storefronts.
"This whole stretch is antiques. Furniture. Rugs. Art. Jewelry. Books."
Sebastian looked out the window.
"Is that Nordiska Galleriet?"
"Yeah.”
“I need to get a chair.”
Damien ignored him and continued north before cutting left toward Nybroplan.
Traffic slowed near the waterfront as a delivery van blocked half a lane while cyclists cut between taxis and pedestrians carrying shopping bags.
Noa watched a woman step out of a black Range Rover and disappear into a six-story stone apartment building.
Brass plaques covered one side of the entrance while a florist unloaded arrangements taller than Noa between two movers as they wrestled a sofa through the arched entrance.
The building seemed to rise straight out of the sidewalk, pale yellow stone, wrought iron balconies, and bronze lanterns framing enormous oak doors.
"Okay," she admitted quietly. "This is kind of nice."
"Kind of?" Damien said.
Sebastian immediately looked up.
"My sister said Svenskt Tenn was a store we should check out."
He pointed across the street to a storefront filled with bright patterned lamps and chairs.
The entire display window contained three chairs, two lamps, and a cabinet.
"One of the most famous design stores in Sweden."
"Why are there only three things in the window?" Noa asked.
"Because they're expensive."
"I thought you said Djursholm was the rich neighborhood?"
"It is."
"Then what is this?"
Damien laughed.
"This is rich people who want to walk places, don't want a lawn, and like restaurants."
“So… Manhattan.”
“Kinda. But the apartments are absurd. Twelve-foot ceilings, original moldings, tiled stoves, herringbone floors. The rooms are larger than most Manhattan apartments combined.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Two older men in raincoats stood outside a wine shop chatting, each holding the leash of an identical long-haired dachshund.
"Does everyone own a dachshund?"
"Not everyone."
"Damien, every other person has one."
She pointed across the street.
A woman pushing a stroller stopped at the crosswalk as another approached with a dachshund in a bright green raincoat. The dogs immediately began circling each other until their leashes tangled.
"Dachshunds. Plural."
Sebastian snorted.
Damien ignored her, and followed the curve around Stureplan.
The large square opened around them, outlined by stone buildings, outdoor cafés, luxury storefronts. He slowed to let a cluster of pedestrians cross from every direction.
"That’s Sturehof,” he said, nodding toward the corner.
They drove by the stone building with tall arched windows and red awnings.
“Do people work?”
Noa’s brows furrowed as she watched a blond waitress weaving between tightly packed chairs carrying a silver tray to a set of men in suits as they idled at the light.
“Yes.”
"Could've fooled me," she muttered. "Every outdoor table has someone seated. It's the middle of the day and it's raining."
“People gotta eat.”
"Good seafood. Been there forever."
“We should make a reservation,” Sebastian called from the back.
Damien turned right onto Floragatan and a red brick villa appeared behind wrought-iron gates.
"Curmanska Villan."
Noa reached for her phone and snapped a photo.
Click.
"I know it…. one of the most famous houses in Östermalm."
"House?"
“Excuse me,” Noa said, shifting in her seat. “It is not just a house. It was built in the 1880s and used to be a cultural salon for creatives.”
She looked at Damien.
“Better.”
He nodded toward the flag outside.
"Royal Thai Embassy now."
A row of embassy flags appeared farther down the avenue, hanging motionless above wrought-iron fences and stone townhouses.
Noa looked out the window.
"Did your mom work here?"
Damien followed her gaze.
"A few blocks over."
He lifted a hand from the steering wheel and nodded as a suited man emerged from a black sedan outside one of the buildings.
"Swedish History Museum."
Sebastian looked out the window.
"The Gold Room is ridiculous."
Everybody But Me
Damien turned down a quieter residential street lined with chestnut trees and parked beside a dark red brick three-story townhouse slightly hidden behind neatly trimmed hedges.
Noa looked toward the building watching rain slide down tall windows. Black iron railings bordered a small front garden leading to a short stone path beneath a covered porch.
"This is me."
Sebastian slid his phone into his pocket, grabbed a small leather duffel bag and opened the door.
"My sister's meeting me inside."
"Tell Mel I said what’s up.”
“I can’t…” he said, leaning back in. “She’ll be inviting us to dinner, then asking about settling down before we even sit down at the table.”
Sebastian turned toward Noa.
"You have meetings at nine tomorrow."
"No, I don't."
"You do now. Vivian moved them yesterday."
Noa groaned.
“It’s not like either of us want to be here,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag. “But to be honest, I’m not really excited about being a white person in Japan.”
Noa snorted. “Sebastian!”
Damien burst out laughing.
"Would you rather be a Black person in Japan?"
He stepped back.
“Oh. Niko lands tomorrow morning. He already started redesigning the athlete housing mockups before approvals. So prepare yourself.”
Sebastian closed the door and headed toward the entrance.
Noa rolled the window down. Rain droplets landed on her arm as she watched him disappear through the dark wooden glass-paneled front door.
Damien glanced over as he merged back into traffic.
"Seriously?"
Noa froze with a handful of sour belts.
"What?"
"I thought candy was for children.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Basically, you did.”
Damien pointed through the windshield. Beyond a row of apartment buildings stood a red-brick stadium with castle-like towers at each corner, surrounded by wet green fields and floodlights behind black iron fences.
"That's where I played."
Noa followed his gaze.
"Played?"
"Basketball.”
Noa looked at him.
“It’s like YMCA but they have competitive basketball.”
He shrugged.
"Both my parents got posted every few years.” He looked over at Noa. “Sports were the fastest way to make friends."
"How many schools did you go to?"
“A lot.”
Noa glanced once more at the building as they drove by.
“Wait. You play basketball?”
Damien drove another block before answering.
“I played D1.”
He drove through the intersection as the light changed and turned onto Valhallavägen. The street widened immediately, catching them at a red light beside an apartment building where Noa could see straight into the living rooms.
She turned toward Damien and held out an imaginary microphone.
“You know you’re rich when?”
Damien glanced over at her, his eyes flickering toward the uncovered windows and the rooms furnished with pale wood furniture and oversized lamps.
“You keep your windows open.”
“At all times.”
They burst out laughing.
Easy to Love by Ahmad Jamal
Noa reached toward the center console for another handful of candy.
Ahead, Karlaplan's broad circular boulevard was beginning to come into view. Cars flowed slowly around the enormous central park while cyclists cut across crosswalks in every direction.
A new song drifted through the speakers.
"Excuse me."
Damien glanced over briefly.
"What?"
"Is this Ahmad Jamal?"
"Yeah."
He adjusted the volume slightly without taking his eyes off the road.
Noa looked at him, then back at the road.
The street widened as they approached Karlaplan. A massive fountain occupied the center while traffic circled it beneath the steady rain.
She glanced back at him, brows knitting together.
"You listen to Ahmad Jamal?"
"Frequently."
She studied him for a second longer.
"Ahmad Jamal?"
Damien laughed.
"I feel like we've already established that."
"Should I not?"
Noa ignored him and opened the playlist.
For several seconds she simply scrolled.
“What is happening right now?"
"I'm reassessing everything,” she said, glancing up at him, “I don't know what I expected."
"Neither do I, apparently."
Brent Faiyaz
Fela Kuti
Ahmad Jamal
Gilberto Gil
Dizzy Gillespie
Ryuichi Sakamoto
Noa scrolled back to the top of the playlist.
Then she looked over at him.
"Who exactly are you?"
Damien laughed, shaking his head.
Silence overtook the Volvo for a moment as Ahmad Jamal crooned through the speakers.
"Do you miss it?"
Damien glanced over briefly.
"What?"
She gestured toward the harbor.
"Living here."
He was quiet for a moment, watching a ferry move across the water.
"Sometimes."
Hanging High
NYBROVIKEN
As they rounded the harbor, a white water taxi cut across the water while passengers waited beneath covered docks farther ahead, feeding bread to seagulls drifting between the boats.
"How do the water taxis work?"
Damien glanced toward the harbor.
"Some are ferries. Some are water taxis. Ferries run on fixed routes all day. Others are private water taxis like Ubers.”
“Oh.”
“You can use the same SL card for the buses, trains, subways, and some commuter ferries.”
“Cool.”
Damien followed Nybroviken along the edge of the harbor before making a right toward the theater district.
DRAMATEN
The Royal Dramatic Theatre appeared beside the waterfront. Huge arched windows stretched across the front and wide stone stairs led up to dozens of identical doors beneath a green copper roof.
Noa immediately reached for her phone.
Click.
Damien slowed beside Berzelii Park.
People wandered through winding paths between giant flower beds that seemed to fill every corner of the park.
Noa turned slowly in her seat, the Royal Dramatic Theatre, on one side, and the Grand Hôtel on the other.
"Why is everybody outside?"
"Because it's summer."
"It's raining. It’s been raining all day. And people are out doing more than running errands."
"Exactly."
Noa looked at the rain, then back at him.
"Noelle. You'll understand in January."
Noa leaned back in her seat and glanced out the window.
“I’m only here for 90 days.”
“That’s what my mom told me too.”
KUNGSTRADGARDEN
Noa looked out the window, watching people sitting along the edge of a long fountain in the center of the park, talking, eating, reading, and watching the crowds pass by.
"This is pretty," she said, glancing over at Damien. "Even in the rain."
“Told you.”
“Yeah. It’s not what I expected.”
"Stockholm?"
"Sweden."
Damien laughed.
"What were you expecting?"
"IKEA."
“Swedish meatballs,” she said, grabbing another piece of candy. “Authentic ones.”
"You know that’s incredibly offensive."
"I'm being serious."
"I know."
GAMLA STAN
The island appeared almost suddenly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Every structure seemed slightly crooked. Church spires rose above a cluster of buildings painted mustard yellow, burnt orange, pale green, and deep red with roofs tilted in different directions, before disappearing between the narrow alleys.
Noa leaned forward.
"Oh."
Damien smiled.
"Yeah."
Jaguars in the Air
DJURGÅRDEN
Damien crossed the bridge onto Djurgården and the road narrowed under trees.
Noa glanced out the window.
One moment she was looking at trees, the next, the road curved and opened onto a view of the harbor.
Damien slowed as a man on a bicycle appeared ahead, crossing in front of the Volvo before disappearing down a gravel path leading toward the water.
Noa followed the path with her eyes to the end of a tiny dock extending into the harbor where someone was fishing.
"People fish here?"
"All the time."
Families wandered beneath umbrellas, passing runners on gravel paths beside the water.
Noa leaned her head against the window and watched the shoreline drift by as two dogs splashed through puddles while their owners watched from beneath umbrellas.
The road curved again and a massive red wooden building appeared between the trees.
Before she could get a good look at it, the forest closed around the road once more.
“It’s so peaceful here.”
Damien glanced over before slowing for a cyclist crossing in front of them.
"That's a strong statement for somebody who's been here forty-five minutes."
Noa tucked her leg beneath her and turned slightly in her seat.
"Can I ask you something?"
Damien adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
"Depends."
"Why didn't you tell me you lived here?"
Damien laughed.
"It's not exactly like we are friends, Noelle."
"I never said we weren’t friends.”
"Partners, reluctantly." He shrugged. "Friends? Ehhh..."
“You still could’ve mentioned it,” Noa said, shifting in her seat.
Damien glanced over.
“When?”
He turned back to the road.
“Like… oh by the way I lived in Stockholm.”
He scoffed.
“It sounds pretentious.”
Noa laughed. “But you are…pretentious.”
“I am from LA.”
“And you are pretentious too,” he said, grabbing another piece of candy. “Just with a smile.”
Noa rolled her eyes.
BUZZ.
Damien's phone rang as an employee at Hedengrens flipped the sign from STÄNGT to ÖPPET, propping the door open while balancing a stack of books beneath their jacket.
"Oh boy."
He answered.
"CJ."
Noa's eyebrows shot upward.
She straightened in her seat.
"Mind your business," Damien said without looking away from the road.
"I'm minding it,” Noa huffed, taking another piece of candy from the console.
The Volvo rolled through another intersection and joined a line of cyclists in bright rain gear waiting at a crossing as a tram rattled past beneath rows of chestnut trees.
“CJ, I’m not talking to you.”
Damien glanced over at Noa.
"No, you're not."
Traffic slowed ahead of them as a woman pushed a stroller through the intersection. Behind her, six preschoolers in matching neon rain suits walked in a line holding a rope stretched between them.
"No, I landed yesterday."
"No. Stockholm."
Damien laughed.
"No, Grandma's still mad."
Noa turned so fast the seatbelt caught across her shoulder.
He merged through a roundabout and she caught a glimpse of apartment balconies that looked like mini greenhouses enclosed entirely in glass.
"I told her I'mma call her tomorrow,” he said, switching lanes.
Noa turned toward the window and watched a ferry disappear beneath a bridge, pretending she wasn't listening.
Which lasted approximately three seconds.
"I can't come to Keisha's baby shower. I just said I'm in Stockholm."
Damien laughed.
"No. I sent a gift."
"You know Keisha only like money."
Noa bit the inside of her cheek and stared straight ahead.
“Just put a hundred in the card.”
“Well, anything less than that, you look broke.”
A gravelly voice broke through the speaker.
“I am broke. Why you think I’m calling you.”
Noa slapped her hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.
Damien glanced over, grinning.
“CJ, put $100 in the card.”
“Imma call you later,” he said, ending the call.
Noa finally dropped her hand from her mouth.
"Your family sounds fun."
"They're exhausting,” Damien said, rubbing the back of his neck as they continued down the road.
I Know Places
BUZZ.
MOM DUKES.
Damien grabbed his phone from the console and answered, lightly resting his head briefly against the headrest as he merged into a nearby lane.
"Hey, Mom Dukes."
A small smile crept over Noa's face, her ears tilted toward the soft voice lifting through the speaker.
"No, I remembered."
"I remembered."
"I literally remembered."
Noa slowly turned in her seat.
Damien was already pointing at her.
"Don't."
"Didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"She's here," Damien said into the phone.
"Yes, Mom."
"No, she's not homeless."
Noa blinked.
"What?"
Damien pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Nothing."
A voice crackled loudly enough through the phone speaker that Noa could slightly hear a muffled reply.
Damien absently tapped the handful of untouched sour belts in the console while he listened.
"Yes. Before six.”
"Yes."
"I know Lars is leaving early."
He exhaled and ended the call.
"Need to grab keys."
"Keys to what?"
"Apartment."
"Your apartment?"
"Family apartment."
Noa stared at him.
DJURSHOLM
Apartment buildings gave way to rows of detached homes hidden behind hedges and stone walls.
Every few blocks Noa caught another glimpse of water between the trees.
"Where are we?"
"Djursholm."
"Never heard of it."
Damien laughed.
"Most people haven't."
“I bet,” she muttered, turning down the volume on the radio.
Houses sat farther apart beneath enormous oak trees and towering pine trees, their branches stretching over the road.
Noa realized she hadn't seen a traffic light in several minutes.
Damien turned onto a quiet road shaded by enormous oak trees.
The house appeared gradually between the trees, red timber framed by white trim and a steep tiled roof rising above lush green gardens.
Gravel crackled beneath the tires as the Volvo rolled through the gate and stopped beside a garden overflowing with late-summer flowers.
Noa glanced at the mailbox beside the gate.
STRANDSTIGEN 7.
Damien parked beside three bicycles chained to a wooden fence and unbuckled his seatbelt.
"I'll be two minutes."
He pulled his hood up and stepped into the rain.
Movement behind the front windows caught Noa's attention. A woman in her sixties stepped into the garden carrying a watering can, two matching dachshunds trotting behind her. Her silver braids were gathered into a low bun beneath a navy hood.
She stopped immediately when she spotted Damien.
Noa slightly cracked the window, leaning closer as rain droplets trickled in.
"There you are. You’re late.”
Damien broke into a grin.
"Mrs. Mariam.”
He stepped forward and hugged her.
“Your mother said you’d be here for a few days.”
“Yes. Some work conferences and stuff.”
“I see.”
The woman pointed the watering can at him.
"It’s been three months."
Damien laughed.
"It hasn't been three months."
"Almost."
She pointed toward the entrance.
"Lars said if you disappeared again he was changing the locks."
Damien held up both hands.
"I go where the job goes, Mrs. Mariam.” He laughed, shaking his head.
The front door opened and an older man with frizzy white hair and half-moon glasses stepped onto the porch carrying a ring of keys and a bundle of mail tucked beneath one arm.
The dachshunds immediately began barking as Lars stepped onto the porch.
"Trodde du inte skulle komma tillbaka." (Thought you weren't coming back.)
Damien laughed.
"Du låter precis som min mamma." (You sound just like my mother.)
Lars handed him a stack of mail tied together with a rubber band.
"Bills. Three magazines. One Christmas card that showed up in March."
Lars held onto the keys for another second.
"Want to have a look around first? Make sure everything's still where it's supposed to be?"
Damien glanced toward the house.
"Nah."
He slipped the keys into his pocket.
"We watered the garden," Mariam said.
"And chased off two teenagers who thought your dock was public property," Lars added.
Damien laughed.
"See? Exactly why I don't need to check."
"Wait!"
Mariam hurried toward the front door.
Noa watched the two dachshunds scurry and yelp behind her as she disappeared behind the door.
Mariam returned a moment later carrying a package wrapped in parchment paper and pushed it into Damien’s hands.
Deep End
BUZZ.
HARPER (6 unread messages)
Harper: Tell me you’ve made it safely.
Noa: Yes.
Harper: Good.
Noa: I need furniture.
Harper: I need coffee.
Noa: I need… furniture.
Noa: We're doing IKEA.
Harper: We?
Noa looked toward the house, watching Damien walk toward the car. Rain pelted the shoulders of his jacket as he carried keys and mail in one hand and homemade cookies wrapped in parchment paper in the other.
He took a bite of one of the homemade cookies before he reached the car.
BUZZ.
Harper: Important question.
Harper: Do you know anyone with a car?
Damien turned to wave at Mariam one last time.
Mariam's eyes drifted toward the Volvo.
"Mmhm."
Damien laughed and lifted the cookies.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
Noa glanced up from her phone.
BUZZ.
Noa: Maybe.
Harper: Already in a new city with a new paramour. Oh, if only we could be as lucky.
Noa: It’s Damien.
Noa: Damien Cole.
Harper: Oh.
Harper: What is he doing in Sweden???
Damien kept walking with a sheepish grin.
"No,” he said, opening the car door and sliding in.
"I haven't asked anything yet."
"You made a face,” he said, turning up the music.
"What face?"
"The face people make before they ask for favors."
BUZZ.
Harper: Helloooooo. What is he doing in Sweden??
Noa: Taking us to IKEA.
Noa turned to face him.
BUZZ.
Damien slid behind the wheel and handed Noa the keys, mail, and cookies before pulling the door shut against the rain.
"Hold these."
“Please.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Noa stared down at the pile in her hand. She dropped the mail into her lap and the keys into the console as gravel crunched beneath the tires and the Volvo began backing down the drive.
"These smell so good."
Damien glanced over.
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I know exactly what you were going to say."
Rain streaked across the windshield as the house disappeared behind hedges and towering pines. Noa shifted the stack of envelopes on her lap and carefully unfolded one corner of the parchment paper.
Inside sat a stack of golden cookies dusted with sugar.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke, listening to the rain as the Volvo wound through the neighborhood.
Noa glanced out the window as houses hidden behind hedges and stone walls drifted by.
"Everybody rich here?" she asked.
Damien snorted.
"Pretty much."
Damien slowed as they passed a narrow road branching deeper into the neighborhood.
"I used to bike down there."
Noa followed his gaze.
"There?"
"Mm."
The houses seemed to emerge from the rain and disappear again just as quickly. She watched a long gravel driveway disappear between iron gates.
"How rich is pretty much?”
"Old money rich."
She laughed.
“Swedish rich.”
“Exactly. If someone buys a Ferrari, the neighbors start wondering what's wrong with them."
He nodded toward a pale yellow villa tucked behind the trees.
"A lot of those houses have been in the same families for generations."
"My mom knows everybody out here."
Noa glanced over.
"Everybody?"
"Give her twenty minutes and a cup of coffee, she'll tell you who built the house, who inherited it, and which cousin they're still fighting with."
Damien shrugged.
"I spent half my teenage summers getting dragged to garden parties."
Noa laughed.
"You? Garden parties?"
"My parents had obligations."
RING.
VIVIAN.
"They're not for you,” Damien said, glancing over at the cookies before answering.
“Hi Vivian.”
Noa’s eyes widened.
"Vivian," she quietly mouthed as she lifted a cookie from the package.
“Put it back.”
Damien lightly swatted her hand away. His eyes flickered between Noa, the road ahead, and the phone pressed to his ear.
"Yeah."
The Volvo rounded a curve. Through a gap between the villas, gray water flashed beyond the trees before disappearing again.
Noa ignored him and took a bite.
She glanced out the window as they passed a narrow inlet where small boats rocked gently against wooden docks.
"She's with me.”
"Oh my God," she muttered, her eyes fluttering closed as the cookie melted in her mouth.
"No, Vivian. Absolutely not."
Noa held a cookie toward him.
"Vivian, that's not how apartment hunting works."
The traffic light ahead flashed yellow before turning red.
"Hang on."
Damien eased onto the brake as a blue tram rattled across the intersection, the phone shifting slightly against his shoulder.
"No," he said once they started moving again. "She got here twenty minutes ago."
Damien sighed.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered before ending the call.
The light changed and Damien accelerated as apartment buildings replaced detached villas almost block by block.
"What was that?"
"Apparently, I've been volunteered."
"For what?"
"Vivian wants me helping you find housing."
Noa pulled the rubber band off and sorted through the stack of mail.
Bills.
Magazine.
More bills.
A postcard.
She sorted the envelopes into piles, lining them up by name.
"You do know Stockholm.”
Damien rested one hand on the steering wheel as a Volvo merged in front of them.
"Knowing Stockholm and helping somebody apartment hunt are not the same thing."
“Tomatoes. Tomahtoes.”
He glanced over.
“Why are you sorting my mail?”
“It’s not organized right.”
Noa took another cookie and kept sorting.
"Mörby Centrum."
Noa followed his gaze toward a sprawling complex connected to a metro station.
"What's that?"
"Shopping center. Transit hub. Medical center.”
"My first girlfriend lived around here."
Noa looked over immediately toward a set of four-story buildings painted dusty yellow and faded green with a shared courtyard.
"First girlfriend?"
"Mm."
"What happened?"
"We were fifteen."
"She dumped me over text."
Noa laughed.
"You got dumped?"
"I was devastated for almost six entire days."
I Never Learn
Rain continued to sweep across the windshield as the Volvo pulled away from Mörby Centrum and merged onto the larger roadway heading south.
The neighborhood slowly thinned behind them.
Stone walls gave way to apartment buildings as detached villas disappeared behind rows of offices, bus stops, and medical buildings. Ahead, more lanes of traffic merged together.
Noa watched the city slowly closing around them.
Cars poured onto the motorway from every direction. Blue overhead signs flashed toward Stockholm while commuter buses slipped in and out of dedicated lanes. Somewhere ahead, an ambulance disappeared beneath an overpass, its lights flashing silently through the rain.
She reached for another cookie.
“Noelle.”
"What? They're good."
“I know. And there will be none left if you keep inhaling them.”
"Oh, shut up.”
“Hmm.”
“There will!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
BUZZ.
Harper: Any ETA?
Noa: Twenty-ish.
Harper: Amazing. I'm on my third hospital coffee.
Noa looked down at the stack of mail in her lap and slid the last envelope beneath the rubber band.
"...Okay."
Damien’s eyes drifted towards her.
"Vivian volunteered you."
"I noticed."
"And since you've already apparently agreed to help me find an apartment..."
"I didn't agree."
"You literally did."
“I had no choice.”
Noa waved him off.
“Okay. You had no choice. Whatever.”
The motorway dipped beneath another overpass before rising again. In the distance, Noa caught the first faint outline of the city.
"I need you to make one more stop before we do any of that."
Damien stared at her for a moment.
"Where?"
"Karolinska."
"The hospital?"
"Conference center."
Traffic compressed as several roads funneled together.
"...Okay. Same difference.”
"My friend Harper's flight back to London got delayed after a nursing conference."
Damien tapped the wheel and stayed quiet.
"So..."
She pointed between the two of them.
"...you're officially responsible for her now too."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We're picking her up."
"And then…. you're taking us to IKEA."
Damien looked at Noa.
Then at the road.
Then back at the Noa again.
"You're very generous with my schedule."
Noa shrugged. "You'll live."
Damien merged between two more Volvos, a pair of red ones.
"Fine."
"Thank you.” Noa smiled, adjusting the volume on the radio.
A long line of blue regional buses pulled alongside them before peeling away toward another exit.
Damien eased into the center lane.
Ambulances moved steadily through dedicated entrances while pedestrians crossed elevated walkways connecting one building to another.
"What is all that?"
"Danderyd."
"The hospital?"
"And the metro."
Cars flowed around buses stopping beneath covered platforms while commuters disappeared underground carrying backpacks, briefcases, and grocery bags.
"It gets busy here," Damien said.
"I can tell."
The neighborhoods changed almost without warning.
The green space between buildings narrowed as construction cranes multiplied across the skyline. New apartment blocks stood beside older brick buildings while office complexes stretched along the roadway.
Metro tracks appeared briefly beside the motorway before disappearing beneath another bridge.
"No kidding about everybody commuting."
"Nobody likes paying Stockholm rent.”
They continued south.
The road twisted through larger intersections where cyclists waited beside trams and pedestrians crowded crosswalks beneath rows of modern apartment buildings.
Damien nodded toward the windshield.
"Hagastaden."
Noa looked around. Researchers wearing white coats crossed broad plazas beside students carrying coffee cups and backpacks.
"It's...different."
"It didn't look like this when I was a kid."
"No?"
He shook his head.
Ahead, broad hospital buildings rose above the surrounding neighborhood between cranes and office towers.
Blue signs pointed toward emergency entrances, visitor parking, and Karolinska University Hospital as streams of buses, cyclists, taxis, and pedestrians converged from every direction.
"This whole neighborhood changed around Karolinska."
He slowed as signs for the medical campus appeared one after another.
Visitor Parking.
Emergency.
Outpatient Clinics.
Research Center.
Noa leaned forward slightly.
"That's where she is."
Damien nodded.
"Welcome to Karolinska."
Sex Money Feelings Die
The Volvo turned beneath a covered drop-off lane before easing to the curb outside the conference center.
Glass buildings stretched several stories above them, reflecting gray clouds and streams of people moving between the hospital, research institutes, and conference center. Healthcare workers in navy scrubs crossed paths with researchers wearing conference badges while visitors wheeled suitcases toward waiting taxis beneath broad steel canopies.
Damien shifted into park.
"We're here."
Before Noa could reach for the door handle, he was already out of the car.
She watched him walk around to the rear of the Volvo, unlock the trunk, and lift it open.
She climbed out just as the conference center's sliding doors parted.
Harper stepped outside pulling a navy suitcase behind her.
Her conference lanyard still hung around her neck, an oversized canvas tote slung over one shoulder while she scanned the drop-off lane.
"There you are!"
Noa met her halfway, laughing as they wrapped each other in a quick hug.
"The best part about getting stranded in Stockholm," Harper said as they pulled apart, "is that you'd somehow also be stranded in Stockholm."
"You know it."
"How long are you actually here?"
They started back toward the Volvo together.
"Ninety days."
Harper blinked.
"What?"
Noa shrugged. "Officially a Nordic residency, I guess.”
“Wow.”
"Still traveling for projects and stuff, of course."
"Of course." Harper laughed, before her attention drifted past Noa toward the Volvo.
Damien was waiting beside the open trunk.
He was taller than Harper expected, stood with one hand resting against the tailgate, a charcoal hoodie disappearing beneath a dark rain jacket while rain clung to the short curls at his hairline. Gold shifted at his wrist each time he shifted the luggage inside the trunk.
"Is that Damien?"
Noa glanced toward the Volvo.
"Yeah."
Harper looked at Noa.
Then back at Damien.
Then at Noa again.
Damien looked up and caught Harper watching.
"Harper?" he called with a smile.
"Damien."
"Nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise."
As they reached the Volvo, Damien stepped forward and took the suitcase handle from Harper before she could stop walking.
"I've got it."
"Thanks."
He lifted the suitcase into the trunk, then reached for the canvas tote still hanging from her shoulder.
"And this?"
Harper quickly slipped it off her shoulder.
"Thanks."
"Of course."
Damien tucked the tote beside the luggage, lowered the tailgate, then walked around to open the rear passenger door before either woman had reached the car.
Summary: Stockholm welcomes Noa with rain, candy, Volvos, and an unexpected guide.
A/N: New here? Welcome. You can start here.
Complaint Department
RING.
“Where are you?”
Beneath the smoking shelter, a woman in navy scrubs stood beside a rolling suitcase, cigarette in hand, arguing with a man on speakerphone.
"I've been standing here twenty minutes, Johan."
"No. Twenty."
The woman looked toward the arrivals doors and took another puff.
"You said that fifteen minutes ago."
"I don't care if the E4 is backed up. I'm literally watching people reunite with their families."
"Drive faster."
Noa bit back a laugh, wheeling her suitcase beneath the terminal canopy as she scanned the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear.
“Gray Volvo to your left.”
“There are like seven gray Volvos to my left.”
“Sebastian, roll the window down and wave your coffee.”
Noa headed down the sidewalk toward the taxi queue, stepping to the side as two gulls fought over pieces of bread stuck to the slick pavement. An airport employee in a reflective vest watched them for a second before shooing them away.
A few yards away, a family loaded luggage into the back of a station wagon while a little girl in bright yellow rain boots jumped directly into a puddle.
SPLASH.
Her mother sighed.
"Elsa."
The girl jumped again.
SPLASH.
"Elsa."
"I'm testing it."
"You tested it."
"I'm testing it again."
Her father laughed.
"Elsa, let’s go.”
SPLASH.
“Now.”
Noa couldn't help smiling. Elsa waved before hopping into the back seat.
Noa kept moving, passing a blue airport coach pulled to the curb, where three backpackers dragged oversized hiking packs toward the luggage compartment.
"Guys."
"What?"
"The sandwich place in the terminal charges fourteen dollars."
"For a sandwich?"
“It’s Sweden.”
Noa smiled and kept walking.
"Gray Volvo."
A rear window lowered and a hand appeared holding an absurdly large paper cup.
"Oh my God."
Noa rolled her eyes and headed toward the car.
"You really gotta stay on your toes, Nova."
"The nickname is tired. Pick a new one.”
Damien grinned from behind the wheel.
"Everyone has one for you. Give me a better option."
"Oh, shut up."
The rear passenger door opened and Sebastian climbed out, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.
His hair had gone lighter since she'd seen him last, blonde strands falling across his forehead beneath tortoiseshell glasses.
"Welcome to Sweden. Here."
He reached for her carry-on and shoved the coffee into her hand.
Noa barely had time to adjust her grip before he took the bag from her.
"Hey."
"Give me that."
"I can carry my own bag."
"Clearly.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Because you're doing such a good job."
"Wow."
"Come on."
He guided her toward the waiting Volvo.
Rain beaded across the dark gray paint of a XC90 while airport traffic flowed steadily around them. It blended into the sea of Volvos outside the terminal until she got close enough to notice the matte black wheels, pale leather seats, light wood trim, and the custom sound system spanning the dashboard.
Sebastian popped the trunk and slid her luggage inside beside two duffel bags, a camera case, and a cardboard box overflowing with rolled design plans.
Then he opened the front passenger door.
Noa immediately angled toward the back.
"You get shotgun."
"I didn't ask for shotgun."
"You flew halfway across Europe."
"It was four and a half hours."
"Get in the car, Noa."
He nudged her shoulder.
Half-laughing, half-scoff, she climbed inside and shut the door.
Dance, Dance, Dance
The first thing she noticed was the candy. An enormous paper bag occupied most of the center console, overflowing with gummies, licorice, chocolate, sour belts, and marshmallows.
"Why do you have that much candy?"
Damien looked over at her.
“Hello to you too, Noelle Jameson.”
"This is a normal amount."
He glanced at the bag.
"Of candy."
"It is not a normal amount."
"It absolutely is."
Sebastian climbed into the back seat and shut the door as Damien pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
"It's pick-and-mix."
"That explains nothing."
"It explains everything."
"No."
"Yes."
He gestured toward the candy.
"You go into the store. You fill a bag."
"I can see that."
"You fill it with whatever you want."
Sebastian leaned forward between the seats.
"You're also forgetting Saturday candy."
Noa turned around.
“Here’s your coffee.”
“That’s yours, I have mine back here.”
Noa ignored him and set the coffee back into the cup holder.
"Saturday candy?"
"Lördagsgodis."
"... which is?"
"Saturday candy," Damien repeated.
"Children traditionally get candy on Saturdays."
"Children."
"Yes."
"You are not children.”
"That's incredibly rude, Noelle. Everyone can be children at heart. You should try it.”
I’m Good, I’m Gone
Noa ignored him.
“So, I know why Sebastian is here.”
Sebastian looked up from his phone.
“But why are you? Why do you know so much about Sweden?”
"Because Sebastian called me."
“And?”
“And,” Damien shrugged. “I used to live here.”
Her head snapped toward him.
"What?"
"What? Don't 'what' me," she said, pointing at Damien.
Damien merged into the center lane as traffic thickened ahead.
Sebastian laughed, leaning forward. “I've been waiting for this conversation."
“You used to live here.”
Damien laughed.
"Why is that surprising?"
"Because we all lived together in Prishtina. In a dorm, I might add. As grownups. And somehow nobody mentioned Sweden."
Noa twisted in her seat to look at him.
"It wasn't relevant."
Noa turned to Sebastian.
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. That’s why I called him.”
"And nobody thought this information might come up?"
"You two are impossible.”
Noa flopped back into the seat, rolling her eyes.
Green highway signs flashed past the window.
Märsta.
Rotebro.
Upplands Väsby.
"Okay, so do you speak Swedish?”
"A little."
"You know where everything is."
"Mostly,” Damien said, drumming his fingers against the wheel.
Noa sat up straighter.
"So... rapid fire."
“What's the coolest neighborhood?"
"Depends who you ask."
Noa rolled her eyes.
"For You. Södermalm."
“Hmm.”
Damien laughed.
"Best neighborhood for food?"
"Vasastan."
“Cheapest?”
Damien switched lanes.
"Depends how far you're willing to commute."
“Damien.”
“What?” He laughed. “The cheapest places are usually farther out on the metro lines. Farsta, Rinkeby, and parts of Spånga-Kista.”
A blue commuter train flashed past on the tracks running beside the highway.
“Thank you.”
"Where do celebrities live?"
"Everywhere."
"Damien."
"Fine. Mostly Östermalm."
"The richest neighborhood?"
"Djursholm."
Sebastian looked up.
"Don't you live there?"
Damien gripped the wheel.
“Yes.”
Noa rolled her eyes.
"Of course you do."
Damien shrugged.
"If you must know, I'm a military brat and diplomat kid."
Noa turned back toward him.
"What?"
"Military brat and diplomat kid."
"I thought you were from Los Angeles."
"Both things can be true."
“Damien.”
“It’s not like we ever exchange kumbaya stories. You never asked.”
“You never volunteered.”
"Touché."
"Okay, so this still doesn't explain how you two know each other."
Noa twisted around in her seat and pointed between them.
"And somehow never mentioned it."
“I lived in London for a year. Sebastian was my neighbor.”
“Yep.” Sebastian stretched his arms. “Those were the good old days.”
Damien laughed.
“Okay…”
“I’m a diplomat, military kid and Sebastian’s rich… if you didn’t know.”
Sebastian burst out laughing.
“Shut up.” She twisted in her seat and looked out the window. “Both of you.”
Black signs flashed overhead: E4 SOUTH. STOCKHOLM C. UPPSALA.
Noa squinted.
"What's Uppsala?"
"About forty minutes north."
“Yes, I see that,” Noa said, pointing to the sign.
Damien shrugged.
"Big university town. Half the country goes there to study. The other half goes there to visit someone who's studying."
Another sign for Uppsala disappeared behind them.
"Actually," Sebastian said, leaning forward again. "It's home to Sweden's oldest university."
“Thank you, Sebastian,” Damien said.
“Founded in 1477.”
“We got it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Noa, pass me some licorice,” Sebastian said before flopping back in his seat.
Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as Damien merged into the flow of traffic leaving Arlanda. Within minutes, airport hotels, rental car lots, and warehouses gave way to large, dark pine forests pressed close to the highway, dense enough that Noa couldn't see more than a few yards into the woods.
Sebastian looked up from his phone.
“Ugh. It’s supposed to rain all day.”
The road curved between towering slabs of rain-dark stone. Moss clung to the rock face while pine trees crowded the top edge above them.
"Did they carve the road through a mountain?"
Damien glanced out the windshield.
"Pretty much."
The highway curved south toward Stockholm.
"Where's the city?"
"About thirty minutes away."
Damien changed lanes between two Volvos while a third pulled up beside them.
Noa looked out her window.
"Clearly everyone drives a Volvo,” she muttered to herself.
"Yes."
“I actually like Volvos.”
“We do too.”
Noa rolled her eyes and turned the volume up on the radio.
"You haven't even reached Stockholm yet,” Sebastian said, reaching for another piece of candy.
Beyond the trees, along the shoreline, rows of red cottages appeared briefly before the trees swallowed them again.
"Why are they all red?"
Damien glanced toward the trees.
"Now that's actually a long story."
Sebastian looked down at his phone.
"The traditional red color comes from Falun copper mining pigments."
Noa turned around.
Sebastian scrolled.
"Historically, it became popular because it imitated expensive European brick buildings."
"You're literally reading Wikipedia."
Sebastian glanced up.
"And?"
Damien grabbed another piece of candy.
"They were trying to copy brick, Noelle."
"Brick?"
"Painting wood red was cheaper."
“Oh.”
Let It Fall
A blue sign flashed past the passenger window.
SOLNA.
"What's Solna known for?"
People on bicycles rode along separated paths below the highway.
Damien glanced ahead as rain pelted the windshield.
"A lot of people work here."
He nodded toward the glass office towers.
“GlaxoSmithKline.”
“Wait. The pharmaceutical company? The ones from the commercials?”
"Yeah. Tech too."
A curved stadium roof appeared between office buildings before disappearing behind another overpass.
"That's the national stadium.”
"Strawberry Arena?”
"Yeah."
“Beyonce played there a few months ago,” Sebastian said, glancing up mid-text. "I'm actually meeting AIK there next week for their football campaign.”
A blue tram slid past rows of apartment buildings.
"They've changed this whole stretch."
Damien pointed toward a cluster of new apartment buildings.
"That used to be a football field."
He nodded toward the buildings beyond the barrier.
"There used to be a grocery store there."
Sadness Is a Blessing
Noa glanced out the window as they exited the highway, watching water and bridges appear and disappear while they crossed an inlet.
She watched a seagull nibble at bread on a rain-soaked dock while teenagers stood smoking near rows of sailboats bobbing in the current.
"How many islands are in this city?"
Damien huffed.
"A lot."
Cyclists rode along separated bike lanes below the road, heads down against the rain as they glided between rows of pale apartment buildings.
She glanced over at him.
"So why are you actually here?"
"FIFA."
"Could you PLEASE use more than one word?"
"Sustainability advisory meetings. That's three."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Sebastian snickered from the back seat still scrolling his phone.
"If you must know. My meetings start tomorrow." Damien glanced in the rearview mirror. "One got moved to tomorrow afternoon."
"My sister already sent me apartment listings,” Sebastian groaned.
He grabbed a marshmallow from the bag.
"Ninety days."
Noa looked back out the window.
"Seriously," she said. "I can’t believe we’re actually staying here.”
Damien laughed.
"You just realized?"
"I've been trying not to,” Noa said.
“And it was working until just now,” Sebastian deadpanned. “Thank you… Damien.”
Noa laughed and grabbed a piece of candy.
Rich Kid Blues
ÖSTERMALM
"Welcome to everyone's favorite place to spend money they don't technically need to spend."
Damien turned off the larger road and onto Nybrogatan, a narrower avenue lined with luxury cars and designer storefronts.
"This whole stretch is antiques. Furniture. Rugs. Art. Jewelry. Books."
Sebastian looked out the window.
"Is that Nordiska Galleriet?"
"Yeah.”
“I need to get a chair.”
Damien ignored him and continued north before cutting left toward Nybroplan.
Traffic slowed near the waterfront as a delivery van blocked half a lane while cyclists cut between taxis and pedestrians carrying shopping bags.
Noa watched a woman step out of a black Range Rover and disappear into a six-story stone apartment building.
Brass plaques covered one side of the entrance while a florist unloaded arrangements taller than Noa between two movers as they wrestled a sofa through the arched entrance.
The building seemed to rise straight out of the sidewalk, pale yellow stone, wrought iron balconies, and bronze lanterns framing enormous oak doors.
"Okay," she admitted quietly. "This is kind of nice."
"Kind of?" Damien said.
Sebastian immediately looked up.
"My sister said Svenskt Tenn was a store we should check out."
He pointed across the street to a storefront filled with bright patterned lamps and chairs.
The entire display window contained three chairs, two lamps, and a cabinet.
"One of the most famous design stores in Sweden."
"Why are there only three things in the window?" Noa asked.
"Because they're expensive."
"I thought you said Djursholm was the rich neighborhood?"
"It is."
"Then what is this?"
Damien laughed.
"This is rich people who want to walk places, don't want a lawn, and like restaurants."
“So… Manhattan.”
“Kinda. But the apartments are absurd. Twelve-foot ceilings, original moldings, tiled stoves, herringbone floors. The rooms are larger than most Manhattan apartments combined.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Two older men in raincoats stood outside a wine shop chatting, each holding the leash of an identical long-haired dachshund.
"Does everyone own a dachshund?"
"Not everyone."
"Damien, every other person has one."
She pointed across the street.
A woman pushing a stroller stopped at the crosswalk as another approached with a dachshund in a bright green raincoat. The dogs immediately began circling each other until their leashes tangled.
"Dachshunds. Plural."
Sebastian snorted.
Damien ignored her, and followed the curve around Stureplan.
The large square opened around them, outlined by stone buildings, outdoor cafés, luxury storefronts. He slowed to let a cluster of pedestrians cross from every direction.
"That’s Sturehof,” he said, nodding toward the corner.
They drove by the stone building with tall arched windows and red awnings.
“Do people work?”
Noa’s brows furrowed as she watched a blond waitress weaving between tightly packed chairs carrying a silver tray to a set of men in suits as they idled at the light.
“Yes.”
"Could've fooled me," she muttered. "Every outdoor table has someone seated. It's the middle of the day and it's raining."
“People gotta eat.”
"Good seafood. Been there forever."
“We should make a reservation,” Sebastian called from the back.
Damien turned right onto Floragatan and a red brick villa appeared behind wrought-iron gates.
"Curmanska Villan."
Noa reached for her phone and snapped a photo.
Click.
"I know it…. one of the most famous houses in Östermalm."
"House?"
“Excuse me,” Noa said, shifting in her seat. “It is not just a house. It was built in the 1880s and used to be a cultural salon for creatives.”
She looked at Damien.
“Better.”
He nodded toward the flag outside.
"Royal Thai Embassy now."
A row of embassy flags appeared farther down the avenue, hanging motionless above wrought-iron fences and stone townhouses.
Noa looked out the window.
"Did your mom work here?"
Damien followed her gaze.
"A few blocks over."
He lifted a hand from the steering wheel and nodded as a suited man emerged from a black sedan outside one of the buildings.
"Swedish History Museum."
Sebastian looked out the window.
"The Gold Room is ridiculous."
Everybody But Me
Damien turned down a quieter residential street lined with chestnut trees and parked beside a dark red brick three-story townhouse slightly hidden behind neatly trimmed hedges.
Noa looked toward the building watching rain slide down tall windows. Black iron railings bordered a small front garden leading to a short stone path beneath a covered porch.
"This is me."
Sebastian slid his phone into his pocket, grabbed a small leather duffel bag and opened the door.
"My sister's meeting me inside."
"Tell Mel I said what’s up.”
“I can’t…” he said, leaning back in. “She’ll be inviting us to dinner, then asking about settling down before we even sit down at the table.”
Sebastian turned toward Noa.
"You have meetings at nine tomorrow."
"No, I don't."
"You do now. Vivian moved them yesterday."
Noa groaned.
“It’s not like either of us want to be here,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag. “But to be honest, I’m not really excited about being a white person in Japan.”
Noa snorted. “Sebastian!”
Damien burst out laughing.
"Would you rather be a Black person in Japan?"
He stepped back.
“Oh. Niko lands tomorrow morning. He already started redesigning the athlete housing mockups before approvals. So prepare yourself.”
Sebastian closed the door and headed toward the entrance.
Noa rolled the window down. Rain droplets landed on her arm as she watched him disappear through the dark wooden glass-paneled front door.
Damien glanced over as he merged back into traffic.
"Seriously?"
Noa froze with a handful of sour belts.
"What?"
"I thought candy was for children.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Basically, you did.”
Damien pointed through the windshield. Beyond a row of apartment buildings stood a red-brick stadium with castle-like towers at each corner, surrounded by wet green fields and floodlights behind black iron fences.
"That's where I played."
Noa followed his gaze.
"Played?"
"Basketball.”
Noa looked at him.
“It’s like YMCA but they have competitive basketball.”
He shrugged.
"Both my parents got posted every few years.” He looked over at Noa. “Sports were the fastest way to make friends."
"How many schools did you go to?"
“A lot.”
Noa glanced once more at the building as they drove by.
“Wait. You play basketball?”
Damien drove another block before answering.
“I played D1.”
He drove through the intersection as the light changed and turned onto Valhallavägen. The street widened immediately, catching them at a red light beside an apartment building where Noa could see straight into the living rooms.
She turned toward Damien and held out an imaginary microphone.
“You know you’re rich when?”
Damien glanced over at her, his eyes flickering toward the uncovered windows and the rooms furnished with pale wood furniture and oversized lamps.
“You keep your windows open.”
“At all times.”
They burst out laughing.
Easy to Love by Ahmad Jamal
Noa reached toward the center console for another handful of candy.
Ahead, Karlaplan's broad circular boulevard was beginning to come into view. Cars flowed slowly around the enormous central park while cyclists cut across crosswalks in every direction.
A new song drifted through the speakers.
"Excuse me."
Damien glanced over briefly.
"What?"
"Is this Ahmad Jamal?"
"Yeah."
He adjusted the volume slightly without taking his eyes off the road.
Noa looked at him, then back at the road.
The street widened as they approached Karlaplan. A massive fountain occupied the center while traffic circled it beneath the steady rain.
She glanced back at him, brows knitting together.
"You listen to Ahmad Jamal?"
"Frequently."
She studied him for a second longer.
"Ahmad Jamal?"
Damien laughed.
"I feel like we've already established that."
"Should I not?"
Noa ignored him and opened the playlist.
For several seconds she simply scrolled.
“What is happening right now?"
"I'm reassessing everything,” she said, glancing up at him, “I don't know what I expected."
"Neither do I, apparently."
Brent Faiyaz
Fela Kuti
Ahmad Jamal
Gilberto Gil
Dizzy Gillespie
Ryuichi Sakamoto
Noa scrolled back to the top of the playlist.
Then she looked over at him.
"Who exactly are you?"
Damien laughed, shaking his head.
Silence overtook the Volvo for a moment as Ahmad Jamal crooned through the speakers.
"Do you miss it?"
Damien glanced over briefly.
"What?"
She gestured toward the harbor.
"Living here."
He was quiet for a moment, watching a ferry move across the water.
"Sometimes."
Hanging High
NYBROVIKEN
As they rounded the harbor, a white water taxi cut across the water while passengers waited beneath covered docks farther ahead, feeding bread to seagulls drifting between the boats.
"How do the water taxis work?"
Damien glanced toward the harbor.
"Some are ferries. Some are water taxis. Ferries run on fixed routes all day. Others are private water taxis like Ubers.”
“Oh.”
“You can use the same SL card for the buses, trains, subways, and some commuter ferries.”
“Cool.”
Damien followed Nybroviken along the edge of the harbor before making a right toward the theater district.
DRAMATEN
The Royal Dramatic Theatre appeared beside the waterfront. Huge arched windows stretched across the front and wide stone stairs led up to dozens of identical doors beneath a green copper roof.
Noa immediately reached for her phone.
Click.
Damien slowed beside Berzelii Park.
People wandered through winding paths between giant flower beds that seemed to fill every corner of the park.
Noa turned slowly in her seat, the Royal Dramatic Theatre, on one side, and the Grand Hôtel on the other.
"Why is everybody outside?"
"Because it's summer."
"It's raining. It’s been raining all day. And people are out doing more than running errands."
"Exactly."
Noa looked at the rain, then back at him.
"Noelle. You'll understand in January."
Noa leaned back in her seat and glanced out the window.
“I’m only here for 90 days.”
“That’s what my mom told me too.”
KUNGSTRADGARDEN
Noa looked out the window, watching people sitting along the edge of a long fountain in the center of the park, talking, eating, reading, and watching the crowds pass by.
"This is pretty," she said, glancing over at Damien. "Even in the rain."
“Told you.”
“Yeah. It’s not what I expected.”
"Stockholm?"
"Sweden."
Damien laughed.
"What were you expecting?"
"IKEA."
“Swedish meatballs,” she said, grabbing another piece of candy. “Authentic ones.”
"You know that’s incredibly offensive."
"I'm being serious."
"I know."
GAMLA STAN
The island appeared almost suddenly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Every structure seemed slightly crooked. Church spires rose above a cluster of buildings painted mustard yellow, burnt orange, pale green, and deep red with roofs tilted in different directions, before disappearing between the narrow alleys.
Noa leaned forward.
"Oh."
Damien smiled.
"Yeah."
Jaguars in the Air
DJURGÅRDEN
Damien crossed the bridge onto Djurgården and the road narrowed under trees.
Noa glanced out the window.
One moment she was looking at trees, the next, the road curved and opened onto a view of the harbor.
Damien slowed as a man on a bicycle appeared ahead, crossing in front of the Volvo before disappearing down a gravel path leading toward the water.
Noa followed the path with her eyes to the end of a tiny dock extending into the harbor where someone was fishing.
"People fish here?"
"All the time."
Families wandered beneath umbrellas, passing runners on gravel paths beside the water.
Noa leaned her head against the window and watched the shoreline drift by as two dogs splashed through puddles while their owners watched from beneath umbrellas.
The road curved again and a massive red wooden building appeared between the trees.
Before she could get a good look at it, the forest closed around the road once more.
“It’s so peaceful here.”
Damien glanced over before slowing for a cyclist crossing in front of them.
"That's a strong statement for somebody who's been here forty-five minutes."
Noa tucked her leg beneath her and turned slightly in her seat.
"Can I ask you something?"
Damien adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
"Depends."
"Why didn't you tell me you lived here?"
Damien laughed.
"It's not exactly like we are friends, Noelle."
"I never said we weren’t friends.”
"Partners, reluctantly." He shrugged. "Friends? Ehhh..."
“You still could’ve mentioned it,” Noa said, shifting in her seat.
Damien glanced over.
“When?”
He turned back to the road.
“Like… oh by the way I lived in Stockholm.”
He scoffed.
“It sounds pretentious.”
Noa laughed. “But you are…pretentious.”
“I am from LA.”
“And you are pretentious too,” he said, grabbing another piece of candy. “Just with a smile.”
Noa rolled her eyes.
BUZZ.
Damien's phone rang as an employee at Hedengrens flipped the sign from STÄNGT to ÖPPET, propping the door open while balancing a stack of books beneath their jacket.
"Oh boy."
He answered.
"CJ."
Noa's eyebrows shot upward.
She straightened in her seat.
"Mind your business," Damien said without looking away from the road.
"I'm minding it,” Noa huffed, taking another piece of candy from the console.
The Volvo rolled through another intersection and joined a line of cyclists in bright rain gear waiting at a crossing as a tram rattled past beneath rows of chestnut trees.
“CJ, I’m not talking to you.”
Damien glanced over at Noa.
"No, you're not."
Traffic slowed ahead of them as a woman pushed a stroller through the intersection. Behind her, six preschoolers in matching neon rain suits walked in a line holding a rope stretched between them.
"No, I landed yesterday."
"No. Stockholm."
Damien laughed.
"No, Grandma's still mad."
Noa turned so fast the seatbelt caught across her shoulder.
He merged through a roundabout and she caught a glimpse of apartment balconies that looked like mini greenhouses enclosed entirely in glass.
"I told her I'mma call her tomorrow,” he said, switching lanes.
Noa turned toward the window and watched a ferry disappear beneath a bridge, pretending she wasn't listening.
Which lasted approximately three seconds.
"I can't come to Keisha's baby shower. I just said I'm in Stockholm."
Damien laughed.
"No. I sent a gift."
"You know Keisha only like money."
Noa bit the inside of her cheek and stared straight ahead.
“Just put a hundred in the card.”
“Well, anything less than that, you look broke.”
A gravelly voice broke through the speaker.
“I am broke. Why you think I’m calling you.”
Noa slapped her hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.
Damien glanced over, grinning.
“CJ, put $100 in the card.”
“Imma call you later,” he said, ending the call.
Noa finally dropped her hand from her mouth.
"Your family sounds fun."
"They're exhausting,” Damien said, rubbing the back of his neck as they continued down the road.
I Know Places
BUZZ.
MOM DUKES.
Damien grabbed his phone from the console and answered, lightly resting his head briefly against the headrest as he merged into a nearby lane.
"Hey, Mom Dukes."
A small smile crept over Noa's face, her ears tilted toward the soft voice lifting through the speaker.
"No, I remembered."
"I remembered."
"I literally remembered."
Noa slowly turned in her seat.
Damien was already pointing at her.
"Don't."
"Didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"She's here," Damien said into the phone.
"Yes, Mom."
"No, she's not homeless."
Noa blinked.
"What?"
Damien pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Nothing."
A voice crackled loudly enough through the phone speaker that Noa could slightly hear a muffled reply.
Damien absently tapped the handful of untouched sour belts in the console while he listened.
"Yes. Before six.”
"Yes."
"I know Lars is leaving early."
He exhaled and ended the call.
"Need to grab keys."
"Keys to what?"
"Apartment."
"Your apartment?"
"Family apartment."
Noa stared at him.
DJURSHOLM
Apartment buildings gave way to rows of detached homes hidden behind hedges and stone walls.
Every few blocks Noa caught another glimpse of water between the trees.
"Where are we?"
"Djursholm."
"Never heard of it."
Damien laughed.
"Most people haven't."
“I bet,” she muttered, turning down the volume on the radio.
Houses sat farther apart beneath enormous oak trees and towering pine trees, their branches stretching over the road.
Noa realized she hadn't seen a traffic light in several minutes.
Damien turned onto a quiet road shaded by enormous oak trees.
The house appeared gradually between the trees, red timber framed by white trim and a steep tiled roof rising above lush green gardens.
Gravel crackled beneath the tires as the Volvo rolled through the gate and stopped beside a garden overflowing with late-summer flowers.
Noa glanced at the mailbox beside the gate.
STRANDSTIGEN 7.
Damien parked beside three bicycles chained to a wooden fence and unbuckled his seatbelt.
"I'll be two minutes."
He pulled his hood up and stepped into the rain.
Movement behind the front windows caught Noa's attention. A woman in her sixties stepped into the garden carrying a watering can, two matching dachshunds trotting behind her. Her silver braids were gathered into a low bun beneath a navy hood.
She stopped immediately when she spotted Damien.
Noa slightly cracked the window, leaning closer as rain droplets trickled in.
"There you are. You’re late.”
Damien broke into a grin.
"Mrs. Mariam.”
He stepped forward and hugged her.
“Your mother said you’d be here for a few days.”
“Yes. Some work conferences and stuff.”
“I see.”
The woman pointed the watering can at him.
"It’s been three months."
Damien laughed.
"It hasn't been three months."
"Almost."
She pointed toward the entrance.
"Lars said if you disappeared again he was changing the locks."
Damien held up both hands.
"I go where the job goes, Mrs. Mariam.” He laughed, shaking his head.
The front door opened and an older man with frizzy white hair and half-moon glasses stepped onto the porch carrying a ring of keys and a bundle of mail tucked beneath one arm.
The dachshunds immediately began barking as Lars stepped onto the porch.
"Trodde du inte skulle komma tillbaka." (Thought you weren't coming back.)
Damien laughed.
"Du låter precis som min mamma." (You sound just like my mother.)
Lars handed him a stack of mail tied together with a rubber band.
"Bills. Three magazines. One Christmas card that showed up in March."
Lars held onto the keys for another second.
"Want to have a look around first? Make sure everything's still where it's supposed to be?"
Damien glanced toward the house.
"Nah."
He slipped the keys into his pocket.
"We watered the garden," Mariam said.
"And chased off two teenagers who thought your dock was public property," Lars added.
Damien laughed.
"See? Exactly why I don't need to check."
"Wait!"
Mariam hurried toward the front door.
Noa watched the two dachshunds scurry and yelp behind her as she disappeared behind the door.
Mariam returned a moment later carrying a package wrapped in parchment paper and pushed it into Damien’s hands.
Deep End
BUZZ.
HARPER (6 unread messages)
Harper: Tell me you’ve made it safely.
Noa: Yes.
Harper: Good.
Noa: I need furniture.
Harper: I need coffee.
Noa: I need… furniture.
Noa: We're doing IKEA.
Harper: We?
Noa looked toward the house, watching Damien walk toward the car. Rain pelted the shoulders of his jacket as he carried keys and mail in one hand and homemade cookies wrapped in parchment paper in the other.
He took a bite of one of the homemade cookies before he reached the car.
BUZZ.
Harper: Important question.
Harper: Do you know anyone with a car?
Damien turned to wave at Mariam one last time.
Mariam's eyes drifted toward the Volvo.
"Mmhm."
Damien laughed and lifted the cookies.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
Noa glanced up from her phone.
BUZZ.
Noa: Maybe.
Harper: Already in a new city with a new paramour. Oh, if only we could be as lucky.
Noa: It’s Damien.
Noa: Damien Cole.
Harper: Oh.
Harper: What is he doing in Sweden???
Damien kept walking with a sheepish grin.
"No,” he said, opening the car door and sliding in.
"I haven't asked anything yet."
"You made a face,” he said, turning up the music.
"What face?"
"The face people make before they ask for favors."
BUZZ.
Harper: Helloooooo. What is he doing in Sweden??
Noa: Taking us to IKEA.
Noa turned to face him.
BUZZ.
Damien slid behind the wheel and handed Noa the keys, mail, and cookies before pulling the door shut against the rain.
"Hold these."
“Please.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Noa stared down at the pile in her hand. She dropped the mail into her lap and the keys into the console as gravel crunched beneath the tires and the Volvo began backing down the drive.
"These smell so good."
Damien glanced over.
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I know exactly what you were going to say."
Rain streaked across the windshield as the house disappeared behind hedges and towering pines. Noa shifted the stack of envelopes on her lap and carefully unfolded one corner of the parchment paper.
Inside sat a stack of golden cookies dusted with sugar.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke, listening to the rain as the Volvo wound through the neighborhood.
Noa glanced out the window as houses hidden behind hedges and stone walls drifted by.
"Everybody rich here?" she asked.
Damien snorted.
"Pretty much."
Damien slowed as they passed a narrow road branching deeper into the neighborhood.
"I used to bike down there."
Noa followed his gaze.
"There?"
"Mm."
The houses seemed to emerge from the rain and disappear again just as quickly. She watched a long gravel driveway disappear between iron gates.
"How rich is pretty much?”
"Old money rich."
She laughed.
“Swedish rich.”
“Exactly. If someone buys a Ferrari, the neighbors start wondering what's wrong with them."
He nodded toward a pale yellow villa tucked behind the trees.
"A lot of those houses have been in the same families for generations."
"My mom knows everybody out here."
Noa glanced over.
"Everybody?"
"Give her twenty minutes and a cup of coffee, she'll tell you who built the house, who inherited it, and which cousin they're still fighting with."
Damien shrugged.
"I spent half my teenage summers getting dragged to garden parties."
Noa laughed.
"You? Garden parties?"
"My parents had obligations."
RING.
VIVIAN.
"They're not for you,” Damien said, glancing over at the cookies before answering.
“Hi Vivian.”
Noa’s eyes widened.
"Vivian," she quietly mouthed as she lifted a cookie from the package.
“Put it back.”
Damien lightly swatted her hand away. His eyes flickered between Noa, the road ahead, and the phone pressed to his ear.
"Yeah."
The Volvo rounded a curve. Through a gap between the villas, gray water flashed beyond the trees before disappearing again.
Noa ignored him and took a bite.
She glanced out the window as they passed a narrow inlet where small boats rocked gently against wooden docks.
"She's with me.”
"Oh my God," she muttered, her eyes fluttering closed as the cookie melted in her mouth.
"No, Vivian. Absolutely not."
Noa held a cookie toward him.
"Vivian, that's not how apartment hunting works."
The traffic light ahead flashed yellow before turning red.
"Hang on."
Damien eased onto the brake as a blue tram rattled across the intersection, the phone shifting slightly against his shoulder.
"No," he said once they started moving again. "She got here twenty minutes ago."
Damien sighed.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered before ending the call.
The light changed and Damien accelerated as apartment buildings replaced detached villas almost block by block.
"What was that?"
"Apparently, I've been volunteered."
"For what?"
"Vivian wants me helping you find housing."
Noa pulled the rubber band off and sorted through the stack of mail.
Bills.
Magazine.
More bills.
A postcard.
She sorted the envelopes into piles, lining them up by name.
"You do know Stockholm.”
Damien rested one hand on the steering wheel as a Volvo merged in front of them.
"Knowing Stockholm and helping somebody apartment hunt are not the same thing."
“Tomatoes. Tomahtoes.”
He glanced over.
“Why are you sorting my mail?”
“It’s not organized right.”
Noa took another cookie and kept sorting.
"Mörby Centrum."
Noa followed his gaze toward a sprawling complex connected to a metro station.
"What's that?"
"Shopping center. Transit hub. Medical center.”
"My first girlfriend lived around here."
Noa looked over immediately toward a set of four-story buildings painted dusty yellow and faded green with a shared courtyard.
"First girlfriend?"
"Mm."
"What happened?"
"We were fifteen."
"She dumped me over text."
Noa laughed.
"You got dumped?"
"I was devastated for almost six entire days."
I Never Learn
Rain continued to sweep across the windshield as the Volvo pulled away from Mörby Centrum and merged onto the larger roadway heading south.
The neighborhood slowly thinned behind them.
Stone walls gave way to apartment buildings as detached villas disappeared behind rows of offices, bus stops, and medical buildings. Ahead, more lanes of traffic merged together.
Noa watched the city slowly closing around them.
Cars poured onto the motorway from every direction. Blue overhead signs flashed toward Stockholm while commuter buses slipped in and out of dedicated lanes. Somewhere ahead, an ambulance disappeared beneath an overpass, its lights flashing silently through the rain.
She reached for another cookie.
“Noelle.”
"What? They're good."
“I know. And there will be none left if you keep inhaling them.”
"Oh, shut up.”
“Hmm.”
“There will!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
BUZZ.
Harper: Any ETA?
Noa: Twenty-ish.
Harper: Amazing. I'm on my third hospital coffee.
Noa looked down at the stack of mail in her lap and slid the last envelope beneath the rubber band.
"...Okay."
Damien’s eyes drifted towards her.
"Vivian volunteered you."
"I noticed."
"And since you've already apparently agreed to help me find an apartment..."
"I didn't agree."
"You literally did."
“I had no choice.”
Noa waved him off.
“Okay. You had no choice. Whatever.”
The motorway dipped beneath another overpass before rising again. In the distance, Noa caught the first faint outline of the city.
"I need you to make one more stop before we do any of that."
Damien stared at her for a moment.
"Where?"
"Karolinska."
"The hospital?"
"Conference center."
Traffic compressed as several roads funneled together.
"...Okay. Same difference.”
"My friend Harper's flight back to London got delayed after a nursing conference."
Damien tapped the wheel and stayed quiet.
"So..."
She pointed between the two of them.
"...you're officially responsible for her now too."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We're picking her up."
"And then…. you're taking us to IKEA."
Damien looked at Noa.
Then at the road.
Then back at the Noa again.
"You're very generous with my schedule."
Noa shrugged. "You'll live."
Damien merged between two more Volvos, a pair of red ones.
"Fine."
"Thank you.” Noa smiled, adjusting the volume on the radio.
A long line of blue regional buses pulled alongside them before peeling away toward another exit.
Damien eased into the center lane.
Ambulances moved steadily through dedicated entrances while pedestrians crossed elevated walkways connecting one building to another.
"What is all that?"
"Danderyd."
"The hospital?"
"And the metro."
Cars flowed around buses stopping beneath covered platforms while commuters disappeared underground carrying backpacks, briefcases, and grocery bags.
"It gets busy here," Damien said.
"I can tell."
The neighborhoods changed almost without warning.
The green space between buildings narrowed as construction cranes multiplied across the skyline. New apartment blocks stood beside older brick buildings while office complexes stretched along the roadway.
Metro tracks appeared briefly beside the motorway before disappearing beneath another bridge.
"No kidding about everybody commuting."
"Nobody likes paying Stockholm rent.”
They continued south.
The road twisted through larger intersections where cyclists waited beside trams and pedestrians crowded crosswalks beneath rows of modern apartment buildings.
Damien nodded toward the windshield.
"Hagastaden."
Noa looked around. Researchers wearing white coats crossed broad plazas beside students carrying coffee cups and backpacks.
"It's...different."
"It didn't look like this when I was a kid."
"No?"
He shook his head.
Ahead, broad hospital buildings rose above the surrounding neighborhood between cranes and office towers.
Blue signs pointed toward emergency entrances, visitor parking, and Karolinska University Hospital as streams of buses, cyclists, taxis, and pedestrians converged from every direction.
"This whole neighborhood changed around Karolinska."
He slowed as signs for the medical campus appeared one after another.
Visitor Parking.
Emergency.
Outpatient Clinics.
Research Center.
Noa leaned forward slightly.
"That's where she is."
Damien nodded.
"Welcome to Karolinska."
Sex Money Feelings Die
The Volvo turned beneath a covered drop-off lane before easing to the curb outside the conference center.
Glass buildings stretched several stories above them, reflecting gray clouds and streams of people moving between the hospital, research institutes, and conference center. Healthcare workers in navy scrubs crossed paths with researchers wearing conference badges while visitors wheeled suitcases toward waiting taxis beneath broad steel canopies.
Damien shifted into park.
"We're here."
Before Noa could reach for the door handle, he was already out of the car.
She watched him walk around to the rear of the Volvo, unlock the trunk, and lift it open.
She climbed out just as the conference center's sliding doors parted.
Harper stepped outside pulling a navy suitcase behind her.
Her conference lanyard still hung around her neck, an oversized canvas tote slung over one shoulder while she scanned the drop-off lane.
"There you are!"
Noa met her halfway, laughing as they wrapped each other in a quick hug.
"The best part about getting stranded in Stockholm," Harper said as they pulled apart, "is that you'd somehow also be stranded in Stockholm."
"You know it."
"How long are you actually here?"
They started back toward the Volvo together.
"Ninety days."
Harper blinked.
"What?"
Noa shrugged. "Officially a Nordic residency, I guess.”
“Wow.”
"Still traveling for projects and stuff, of course."
"Of course." Harper laughed, before her attention drifted past Noa toward the Volvo.
Damien was waiting beside the open trunk.
He was taller than Harper expected, stood with one hand resting against the tailgate, a charcoal hoodie disappearing beneath a dark rain jacket while rain clung to the short curls at his hairline. Gold shifted at his wrist each time he shifted the luggage inside the trunk.
"Is that Damien?"
Noa glanced toward the Volvo.
"Yeah."
Harper looked at Noa.
Then back at Damien.
Then at Noa again.
Damien looked up and caught Harper watching.
"Harper?" he called with a smile.
"Damien."
"Nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise."
As they reached the Volvo, Damien stepped forward and took the suitcase handle from Harper before she could stop walking.
"I've got it."
"Thanks."
He lifted the suitcase into the trunk, then reached for the canvas tote still hanging from her shoulder.
"And this?"
Harper quickly slipped it off her shoulder.
"Thanks."
"Of course."
Damien tucked the tote beside the luggage, lowered the tailgate, then walked around to open the rear passenger door before either woman had reached the car.
Summary: Välkommen till Sverige! Welcome to Sweden! One assignment ends as a new chapter begins, sending Noa from Saudi to Stockholm while Theo leaves Saudi and returns home to Milan.
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: And... we're back! Prologue to get us caught up.
This Trumpet in My Head by Lykke Li
Noa stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel hanging beside the glass door. By the time she wrapped it around herself, the bathroom mirror had completely fogged over.
"We were doing so well," she groaned, pulling off her shower cap, fluffing at the curls around her hairline in the fogged mirror.
The bathroom was still warm from the shower, steam curling toward the high ceiling while the room filled with shea butter and citrus from the lotion she rubbed over her arms and legs.
The marble counter had disappeared beneath three days of Saudi meetings and events. Jewelry sat piled beside a watch she'd forgotten to wear while makeup brushes spilled from an open cosmetic case.
"Okay. What actually needs to come with me?" she muttered, unzipping her toiletry bag.
She dropped her face wash and sunscreen inside and reached for her perfume.
"No. You're checking luggage,” she said, placing the perfume back onto the vanity before reaching for her toothbrush.
She was halfway through brushing when her phone lit up beside the sink.
PING.
"The Nordic Assignment?"
“Stockholm will serve as Noa's primary European base, balancing ongoing agency commitments alongside her expanded responsibilities across the Our Planet climate initiative.”
No Rest for the Wicked by Lykke Li
"What the—"
Noa nearly dropped her toothbrush. She grabbed the phone mid-brush and started scrolling.
"Stockholm?"
She barely paused long enough to rinse her mouth before picking up the phone again.
She reread the email.
Stockholm will function as your primary base over the next ninety days.
residency
embedded narrative lead
continuity
stewardship
Noa stopped scrolling.
Somewhere to put your books.
She stared at the words for a second longer.
"This can't be right," she muttered, gripping her phone tighter as she kept reading.
DING.
A message from Maya-Rose appeared at the top of her screen as she checked her calendar for tomorrow's flight.
Maya-Rose: What. The.
Noa laughed.
Noa: FUCK.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Maya-Rose: NOA. JAPAN.
Noa: STOCKHOLM.
Maya-Rose: SEBASTIAN??
Noa: georgia. louise.
She glanced toward the television mounted across the bedroom where a BBC anchor was talking soundlessly beneath a scrolling ticker. She'd muted it nearly an hour ago and still hadn't changed the channel.
KNOCK.
"Room service."
“Coming!”
Noa crossed the suite, weaving past mounds of clothes at the end of the bed and the half-zipped suitcase she still hadn't finished packing before opening the door.
"As-salamu alaykum."
A young hotel attendant waited beside a room service trolley, a gold nameplate on his lapel reading KARIM.
"Wa alaykum as-salam."
"May I bring this in?"
"Please."
Karim wheeled the trolley inside.
"Leaving Riyadh?"
"Tomorrow."
"Back home?"
Noa laughed.
"Something like that."
"Would you prefer the dining table, Ms. Jameson?"
Noa looked toward the chandelier hanging above twelve empty chairs.
"The sofa's fine."
Steam escaped beneath the silver domes, lifting cardamom and saffron into the air as he arranged lamb kabsa, saffron rice, warm khubz, hummus, labneh, dates, and mint tea across the coffee table.
"Is there anything else I may bring for you this evening, Ms. Jameson?"
"No, thank you."
"Enjoy your meal."
The door clicked quickly shut behind him.
Noa plopped onto the cream-colored sofa facing the gardens. Beyond the windows, fountain lights flickered across the courtyards as evening settled over the Diplomatic Quarter. She pulled her plate closer, picked up the remote, and began flipping through channels.
CNN.
"Markets closed mixed today as investors continue evaluating—"
Click.
Al Jazeera.
"Aid organizations have warned that conditions continue to deteriorate—"
Click.
Weather.
"Temperatures across the Gulf are expected to remain above forty degrees—"
Click.
The screen flashed green and red.
SUPER CUP FINAL
ROSSONERI MILANO vs ANFIELD RED FC MEN’S HIGHLIGHTS
RIYADH
A replay of Theo lifting his medal to the camera filled the screen while confetti drifted through stadium lights. Vaughn appeared a second later laughing about something off-camera before disappearing back into the crowd.
"Absolutely not."
Click.
Back to CNN.
The prayer call began somewhere beyond the hotel grounds.
Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar.
Noa glanced up from her plate. Shadows from the palm trees stretched across the garden pathways below while the fountains glowed gold beneath the evening lights. Beyond them, the sky over Riyadh had deepened into blue, though the desert heat still lingered against the glass.
Just Like A Dream Lykke Li
BUZZ.
MOM.
Noa stared at the screen for a second before grabbing the phone.
"Hey, Mom,” she said, taking the last sip of her mint tea.
“Don’t hey mom me!”
Noa laughed as her mother's face zoomed into the screen, Basil's barks echoing through the speaker.
Woof. Woof.
“Hey, Basil bub.”
"Been too long, Noe," her mother said, adjusting her camera.
Her mother reached down to scratch Basil and his tail thumped against the chair.
“I know. Times zones are not so great.”
Noa tucked the phone between her ear and wandered into the bedroom.
“I do send texts and updates though.”
“Hmm.”
Her mother disappeared from frame before settling back into view with a fresh cup of coffee.
“All this travel can't be so great either.”
“What's the next city? How's the new climate stuff? How are you still doing your regular work?"
“I'm still in Riyadh. I leave in a few hours."
"To?"
"...that's actually why I am calling."
She looked down at the open suitcase instead of the screen.
"I've been asked to officially stay in Europe for longer."
"Officially? You've been there longer than you should've... think we are beyond officially at this point. Don't you think?"
Woof. Woof.
Her mother nodded toward him.
"See? Even he agrees."
Noa laughed quietly.
"Yeah..."
Her eyes drifted to the airline tags still hanging from her carry-on.
"You okay?"
"Yeah... just a bit..."
"So where to and how long?"
"OUR PLANET wants me home based in Stockholm for the next ninety days of the project."
"...and Vivian okay'ed the move so that I have a space to do MARCHAND projects and OUR PLANET without having to be so transient."
Basil's nose suddenly filled the screen.
Woof.
Woof.
"No, Basil, I am talking," her mother said, swatting him away.
Basil pawed at her mother's arm.
"You're very passionate about this conversation, aren't you?"
The phone jolted as Basil bumped it.
"Careful, Bub." Noa laughed as she zipped the bag shut.
"Well... the good news? The good news is you've been working toward this for a really long time."
She smiled and sipped her coffee.
"And I am proud of you."
"...I do wish we'd planned better."
“We should've expected you'd eclipse the sun."
Noa unplugged the curling iron she'd left cooling on the bathroom counter.
"So… Sweden…” her mother said, tossing Basil’s tennis ball across the room. “Any Black folks there?"
"Honestly, not even sure.”
She pulled her pink bonnet from the nightstand and tossed it into her bag.
"Going to call Ayaan and see if she can help with my hair."
They burst out laughing.
“It's apparently a good place to live.”
She sighed and fluffed her curls in the screen reflection.
“But it wouldn't be my ideal location."
"Is anything ever ideal?"
She folded another sundress into the suitcase, only to notice two more draped across the chaise.
Basil climbed into her mother's lap.
"So we should get to preparing, yes..."
"Basil."
Woof. Woof.
"Basil will keep his routine... with me."
Noa blew him a kiss.
"I think we should plan a trip for you so we can get him settled here?"
Basil dropped his tennis ball at her feet.
"It is only ninety days."
Noa reached for her passport and slid it into the front pocket of her carry-on.
"Mom... we should've expected I'd eclipse the sun."
Her mother studied her over the rim of her coffee mug.
"Apartment? What are we going to do about your lease? Is it even worth keeping?"
"Sublet?"
Noa's hand lingered on the suitcase zipper.
"I won't always want to eclipse the sun.”
The smile slipped from her mother’s face as she studied Noa.
"Selam sublets all the time. I'll get her help."
"Okay."
"Mail? Bills?"
"Autopay and Selam will collect it."
"Should I ship more clothes?"
Her gaze caught on the forgotten sandals beside the sofa, then drifted across everything else she'd left scattered around the suite.
"Yes. For now. Then, I guess I’ll buy some here. Let me get you the address."
Her mother grabbed a notepad and a pen.
"I'll start looking at flights. Get the Basil information ready so that I can do my part."
"And Noe..."
Noa stopped packing.
"Yeah?"
"This is a good thing."
"A good opportunity."
"Do you hear me?"
Noa laughed softly.
"We're fine here."
"We'll be fine."
Basil climbed farther into her lap.
"Try to take this in as a good opportunity."
Noa walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down at the city glittering beneath her.
She let out a slow breath.
"...yeah. I will."
A car horn sounded outside and her mother looked toward the window.
"Good,” she said, glancing toward the clock. “Now let me go brag.”
Her mother stood and Basil immediately followed.
“Yolanda and I are off to the local markets today and I gotta get ready.”
Noa laughed.
"Okay... get me some..."
"Nectarines. Copy!"
Woof. Woof.
Basil shoved his nose directly into the lens, whining at the screen.
“Love you Basil, bub!”
She blew a kiss toward the camera.
He barked once and wagged hard enough to shake the camera.
"I love you. I am proud of you.”
Noa smiled.
“Keep eclipsing the sun.”
She pointed at Noa one last time.
"I love you, too. Call you soon. Text you when I land.”
Silver Line by Lykke Li
Noa shoved the last few things into the suitcase, sat on the lid, and forced the zipper closed.
"Shit," she exhaled. "Finally... there."
She looked around the suite one last time and grabbed her phone.
Noa: Life is moving too fast. We need a Zoom soon. I am getting dropped in Stockholm for 90 days.
Selam: Your mom already texted.
Amina: Oh wow! How are you feeling? You’ll be closer to me!
Carmen: Are there Black people there?
Carmen: When we visiting?
Lore: Oh… I have not been there. Let me Google flights.
Amina: This is so cool, Noe…
Patats messages continued stacking across the top of her screen as she opened a separate chat with Selam.
Noa: I need sublet help.
Selam: Your mom already called. Boss la, you are.
Noa tucked her passport into the front pocket, set tomorrow’s outfit across an armchair, then immediately checked that the passport was still there thirty seconds later.
Noa: HA! I haven’t had time to watch an Anfield Red match in ages.
Selam: Too busy being with Vaughn.
Noa collapsed across the duvet, grabbed the remote, and started flipping through the channels.
Noa: Wow.
Selam: Too soon? LOL.
Noa: AHAHAHAHAHA. Never.
Selam: How is that going anyway?
Selam: All your paramours
Selam: All the detours
Selam: Back to Theo…
The television flashed green and red.
Theo appeared on screen with the trophy raised above his head.
"Not again," she muttered, changing the channel.
Noa: About that…
Noa: Can we save that for Tribeca weekend this fall?
As Selam's replies appeared, Noa twisted her curls into her bonnet.
Selam: Always.
Selam: Heart still big though, yeah…
Noa: It’s still beating.
Selam: Good. That’s important.
Noa stared at the message for a second.
Three dots appeared.
Selam: More important. What type of subletter do we want? I usually hate cats… and kids.
Selam: And… cigarette smokers. I draw the line at cigarette smoke.
Noa: Sele!
She turned off every light except the lamp beside the bed, plugged her phone into the charger, and climbed beneath the duvet.
A dubbed version of Ocean's Eleven flickered across the television.
She opened a new chat.
Noa: So… remember when you joked that I haven’t been to London since I arrived in London.
Harper: Yeah…
Noa: Well… apparently I am never coming back… but I am also never leaving you. Hahahaha.
Harper: Confused emoji
Noa: OUR PLANET wants me home based in Stockholm for the next 90 days of the project and Vivian okay’ed the move so that I have a space to do MARCHAND projects and OUR PLANET without having to be so transient.
Harper: EXCUSE ME??? I am literally stranded in Sweden right now LOL.
Noa: What??
Harper: nursing conference
Harper: flight delayed because apparently National Rail doesn’t hate me enough.
Noa: Go look around. Apparently that's my new home.
Harper: I'll leave a full field report.
Harper: First impression: cold.
Harper: Second impression: not London.
Noa laughed, set the phone on the nightstand, and turned off the television.
Utopia by Lykke Li
Noa: Riyadh King Khalid International to Stockholm Arlanda
DING.
“Prepare for landing,” the pilot's voice echoed through the intercom.
Noa glanced out the window as droplets of Scandinavian summer rain streaked across the glass, blurring patches of green forest and gray tarmac below.
The wheels hit the runway hard.
A ripple passed through the cabin as overhead bins rattled and several passengers sucked in startled breaths.
DING.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Stockholm Arlanda Airport. Local time is 10:12 a.m., and the temperature outside is seventeen degrees Celsius. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been switched off. Thank you for flying with us.”
Half the cabin was already standing before the announcement finished.
“Please remain mindful of your fellow passengers while retrieving your belongings,” a flight attendant called with a tight smile. “And please be careful when opening the overhead compartments.”
The aisle clogged within seconds and a suitcase immediately tumbled halfway out of a bin.
The woman beneath it cursed under her breath and dragged her carry-on forward.
Noa bit back a laugh.
A young couple ahead of her spoke in Swedish.
“Tror du att mamma hämtar oss?” the woman asked.
(Do you think your Mom is picking us up?)
“Hon är säkert redan här.”
(She's probably already here.)
Behind them, two friends switched quickly between Arabic and English.
“Bro, I told you we'd make the connection.”
“Wallah, barely.”
“You said that in Riyadh too.”
Their laughter bounced softly through the cabin.
Further ahead, a little boy tugged on his father's sleeve.
“Pappa, regnar det?”
(Dad, is it raining?)
“Ja, men bara lite.”
(Yes, but only a little.)
“Kan vi ta tåget?”
(Can we take the train?)
His mother laughed.
“Först väskorna.”
(First the luggage.)
The line lurched forward one row at a time until the aircraft door finally opened.
She stepped into Terminal 5 with the rest of the passengers.
The terminal stretched ahead in long corridors lined with floor-to-ceiling windows as rain trickled down in tiny silver beads.
A woman pushed a stroller past a display advertising Stockholm's archipelago, the photograph showing red cottages scattered across rocky islands.
Further ahead, a giant poster featured a model in an oversized linen coat standing beneath the words:
WELCOME TO STOCKHOLM.
Noa followed the crowd, listening to a calm female voice drifting from hidden speakers.
“Välkommen till Stockholm Arlanda. Följ skyltarna mot passkontroll och bagageutlämning.”
(Welcome to Stockholm Arlanda. Please follow the signs toward passport control and baggage claim.)
A moment later, the English version followed.
“Welcome to Stockholm Arlanda Airport. Please follow the signs to passport control and baggage claim.”
The stream of travelers funneled toward immigration.
Rows of electronic gates glowed green and white beneath bright overhead lighting.
A border officer waved the Swedish couple forward.
“Hej.”
The woman handed over her passport.
“Var har ni rest från?”
(Where have you traveled from?)
“Riyadh.”
The officer nodded and waved them through.
Next came the two friends.
“Purpose of your visit?”
“Home,” one replied.
The officer stamped the passport.
“Welcome back.”
“Hej.”
Noa stepped forward and handed over her passport.
“Purpose of your visit?” The officer asked, scanning it.
“Work.”
“How long are you staying?”
“A few weeks.”
The officer studied his screen for a moment, then looked back up at Noa. His eyes lingered just a second longer before he handed back her passport.
"Welcome to Sweden."
A green light flashed.
Noa collected her passport as he waved her through, the continuous thud of passport stamps echoing behind her.
Beyond customs, the terminal opened suddenly into the arrivals area where a sea of people stood behind railings clutching bouquets of flowers and holding signs with bold black letters.
“Pappa!”
A teenage girl spotted an old bald man in the crowd, immediately broke into a run, and launched herself into the man’s arms.
Nearby, an older woman pressed both hands against her son's cheeks.
“Välkommen hem.”
(Welcome home.)
Noa smiled at them and kept walking as the rain followed her, tapping softly against the enormous glass walls.
Above her, train departure boards flickered with destinations.
Stockholm Central.Uppsala.Märsta.
She paused for a second to grab her phone from her bag.
Theo: Riyadh King Khalid International to Milano Malpensa
The team bus rolled beneath the canopies of King Khalid International Airport just before sunrise. Two airport security officers were already waiting near the curb, speaking with club staff beneath the terminal lights. Beside them, equipment managers moved toward the luggage compartment before the bus had even stopped completely.
"Let's go, let's go."
The luggage doors swung open and black suitcases stamped with the club crest appeared one after another.
"Thirty-two."
"Thirty-three."
"Thirty-four."
The bus hissed as the doors opened. One by one, players climbed out carrying backpacks and rolling suitcases.
Theo adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and stepped onto the pavement.
"What time is it?" Santi yawned, dragging his suitcase off the bus and nearly walking into a luggage cart.
Malik checked his phone.
“Like 4:30.”
"Too early, still," Fik said, already a step ahead, headphones half on his head blasting UK drill.
"Passports out, gentlemen."
Koni stopped walking, frantically checking his jacket pockets.
"Wait."
Theo looked over.
"What?"
"Where's your passport?" Malik asked.
"I had it."
“And now you don’t." Fik said, turning toward him, laughing.
"I just had it,” Koni said, searching another pocket.
"Every trip," Fik muttered. "Every single trip."
Koni finally pulled the passport from the side pocket of his backpack.
"Found it."
Theo shook his head.
"One day they're leaving you, swear down."
"No they're not."
"Let's go."
The team moved inside, greeted by bright white light and towering marble columns that rose toward the ceiling. Above them, digital advertisements rotated between luxury watches, designer fragrances, and airline promotions.
Arabic calligraphy curved across illuminated signs.
المغادرة
(DEPARTURES)
التفتيش الأمني
(SECURITY CHECK)
البوابات
(GATES)
The check-in counters had already been prepared for them, lined with black equipment trunks.
Staff members weighed bags while coaches compared passenger lists.
BEEP.
“Thirty-eight.”
The baggage agent frowned.
"Sir, this bag is overweight."
The equipment manager sighed as another trunk rolled onto the belt.
The baggage agent stared at it.
Across the check-in area, Coach Mourinho looked up.
"Where's Leao?"
Nobody answered.
A few seconds later Leao appeared from the direction of the café, coffee in one hand and his passport in the other.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"We're checking bags."
Leao glanced toward the counters.
"What, I'm here?"
"Passport."
Malik appeared beside him.
"Alhamdulillah. Almost home.”
Theo stepped through the scanner as watches, wallets, tablets, phones, and designer belts disappeared into identical gray trays.
"Whose belt is this?"
"Probably yours."
"Whose are these?"
Three people pointed at once.
"Wait."
"That’s mine."
"السادة المسافرون، يرجى التوجه إلى بوابات المغادرة."
(Passengers are kindly requested to proceed to their departure gates.)
Beyond security, the airport opened into a sprawling concourse as sunlight crept through the glass walls overlooking the runways.
"That's Theo Aldridge-Wells."
"No way."
Click.
One boy, no older than seven, finally gathered enough courage to approach.
"Excuse me?"
"Can I take a picture?"
"Sure."
“Okay… one, two, three.”
His mother quickly snapped the photo.
Click.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
As they walked away, Theo bit back a laugh as he heard the kid whisper.
"I'm never deleting that."
Fik dropped into an empty seat beside Theo.
"Wake me up when we're in Milan."
"We're not even boarding yet."
"Yeah, still.”
Fik pulled his hood over his eyes.
Across from them, two girls sitting near the windows looked up from their phones.
One girl whispered something.
Her friend immediately covered her face.
"Don't."
"I'm not."
"You're literally looking at him."
"So are you."
Fik opened one eye.
"Fans?"
“Yeah.”
"Flight AZ721 to Milan is now ready for boarding."
The travel coordinator clapped his hands.
"Alright, let's move."
The gate agent smiled as the group approached and scanned boarding pass after boarding pass.
"Entire team?"
The travel coordinator nodded.
"Unfortunately."
Theo adjusted his backpack and stepped forward with the rest of the squad.
Players filled the rows in matching tracksuits, backpacks shoved beneath seats and duffel bags crammed into overhead bins.
Theo reached his row just in time to hear an argument breaking out across the aisle.
"Switch seats with me."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"I'll buy lunch."
"...Fine."
A few rows ahead, Maestro had already fallen asleep, his head against the window before half the team had even boarded.
Leao pulled out a deck of cards somewhere near the back and within minutes, four players were arguing around a tray table.
"I won."
"You cheated."
Theo dropped into his seat and fastened his seatbelt.
Before long, the captain's voice returned over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Milan. Local time is 10:18 a.m. Please return to your seats and ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened."
Theo glanced out the window as green fields stretched beneath scattered clouds and clusters of red-roofed buildings.
The aircraft settled onto the runway with a firm thud before slowing into a steady taxi toward the terminal.
"Benvenuti a Milano."
(Welcome to Milan.)
The seatbelt sign switched off.
"Sit down."
"No."
"We literally just landed."
"I'm stretching."
"You're standing."
"Same thing."
The overhead bins began opening. Theo slung his backpack over his shoulder and scrolled his phone as the players headed down the aisle and exited the plane.rt rt
Italian voices bounced off the walls around him.
"Allora, ascolta..."
(So, listen...)
"No, no, no, aspetta!"
(No, no, no, wait!)
"Ci vediamo dopo."
(I'll see you later.)
ARRIVI (ARRIVALS)
RITIRO BAGAGLI (BAGGAGE CLAIM)
CONTROLLO PASSAPORTI (PASSPORT CONTROL)
