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show of utter shock. “Wow, you are good . How… how…” It’s an act, but the way he stutters, seemingly speechless, is dead on and makes me giggle.
    God, even after I’ve just had contact with Bo, Cameron manages to make me smile.
    This morning’s email was short and to the point. I’ve been jittery with a mixture of anticipation and dread the entire day.
    Ingela,
    I’m coming early. Classes start in May—doing summer trimester first—but I need to see you. I think I made a mistake by letting you go. Taking three or four days in Deepsilver. Got the ticket and will be there next Thursday.
    Bo.
    He has no regard for my wellbeing. I could say “no.” And if he still came, I’d make him sleep in a hotel and not in… my bed. My hands are trembling. It’s the overload of adrenaline inundating me again.
    It’ll be okay, I assure myself. I raise my hands to my cheeks, cooling the flush of stress, because I don’t know how to reject him.
    It won’t be okay; Bo rules me. I’ll be in heaven for those days he’s with me. Then, once he leaves, my heart will break again, and I’ll be back at the bottom where I was before leaving Sweden.
    Stitched hearts bleed when handled.
    “Inga, are you all right?” Cameron cups a palm against my hot face. Shit, I can’t take the concern in his voice.
    “Yeah, I—” Even my voice is unsteady. I cover my mouth so he doesn’t see my lips quivering too.
    “Inga. What’s going on?” He’s genuinely worried now. “Was it something I said? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    I shake my head, force a smile that belies my blurring vision; Cameron doesn’t have it in him to upset me. He’s just funny, sweet, or annoying—or all at once. Yes, all at once sums Cam up.
    Crap. He’s linking my neck with his elbow, pulling me into him. I can’t help leaning in, absorbing some comfort, thinking how nice this is as opposed to what Bo instills in me. I—
    Hate my life.
    I lean my cheek against him and catch Leon’s stare from over by the DJ booth. The man misses nothing. The planes of our boss’ beautiful features remain perfectly still, and yet his gaze shifts to Cameron as he nods out a tacit demand: “ Go .”

    I’ve brought Ingela to the promenade down by the river. Its function is to lead the awesome, big-ass cargo ships in from the ocean. Along the cobblestoned street behind us, off-season tourists pull stuffed pirates out of souvenir shops and down green ale, Saint Patrick’s style, even though it’s April. The tourist dives give them whatever they ask for, I guess.
    “Okay. Now. Why were you crying?” I ask what I postponed on the way here. Ingela hides behind hair that’s too short to conceal her, sniffing in response.
    “Come on. I’m your friend,” I say.
    She peeks at me through a platinum-blonde strand. “Never mind, Cam. It’s nothing.”
    “Didn’t look like nothing to me.”
    A ragged-looking old trumpet player meanders past us. He lingers for a moment, narrowing in on Inga. “Pretty girl needs a song,” he decides. I’m not sure he’s right, but he’s not waiting for anyone’s consent.
    I sigh as he lunges into Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton—and really loudly too. Goddammit, it’s a trumpet—of course it’s loud. Ingela crosses her arms. She might be waiting for him to finish like I am. She’s freezing, though, because she shifts to hug herself. It’s my cue to jump in.
    I move up behind her, making sure her back is all the way into me. She’s tall but so slender I have no problem engulfing her entirely. She heaves a sigh, leaning in against me. A cool gust of spring air hits my eyes above her head. As usual when I have the chance, I bury my nose in her hair. She’s so…
    I pass the poor man a fiver. He’s delighted. Unfortunately, he stalks straight across the street to one of the green ale outlets. I watch him until Inga turns in my hold, linking herself around my waist, probably for the heat.
    “It’s Bo, my ex. He’s