When the storm was over and Sören's heat passed, Anthony was able to get his car towed and go back to his apartment. Before Anthony left they exchanged numbers and e-mails. There were no concrete plans to get together again, but there was mutual interest expressed in doing so in a few days after they'd had some time for things to get back to normal after the heat.
Sören tried to be casual about it, but as the days passed, Sören couldn't stop thinking about Anthony. Sören worked as an art museum curator in Portland, which also allowed him to show a small selection of his paintings at any given time, and at breaks from work and when he got home he'd check his phone and e-mail a little more often than usual just to see if there was anything from Anthony, but Anthony didn't call or message him. Sören thought about calling or e-mailing just to say hi, but he worried about coming off as too needy or desperate. It was just sex. You were drawn together because of pheromones. Don't get hung up on this guy.
And yet, Sören felt like they had bonded, in the little conversations they had while cuddling between rounds. There was a spark there, and on Sören's end it had already become a fire. One that he was trying to keep contained, but he was all feelings, all the time, and trying to hide his feelings was like trying to put a lampshade on a volcano. Even though Anthony hadn't claimed him, Sören was still starting to think of Anthony as his Alpha.
It felt almost disloyal to Eiliv, to feel like this again. Sören stroked a framed photo of him, one of the very few he left out in the open, trying not to have too many reminders around that would make him sad. But he knew it had also been three years since the campus shooting - one of those "it can't happen here" scenarios that had come true - and it was time to move on.
Time to find a mate, and not keep spending heats alone.
On Wednesday, Sören finally gave into his ache for Anthony and called Anthony's cell phone while he was on break at the gallery. It went to voice mail, which Sören was not expecting, even though logically he knew Anthony was probably at work. Sören was startled enough that he hit End without saying anything, then he smacked himself in the forehead, feeling like an idiot.
Sören took a few deep breaths, composed himself, and called back. It went to voice mail again and this time when the tone sounded, Sören found his words. "Hi Anthony, it's Sören. Just calling to say hi and... I'd like to get together this weekend if you're free. Please give me a call when you can and let me know what's up. Takk!"
Sören's hands were shaking when he ended the call. He hadn't been this nervous and flustered since he met Eiliv, which was yet another sign he was in over his head with feelings.
The hours passed and there was no return call from Anthony. When it was time for bed, Sören lay there awake, staring up at the ceiling, petting the cat, feeling very, very alone.
Maybe he's busy. Sören swallowed hard. Maybe it was just a one-weekend stand for him.
He didn't want to think that. Have hope, he told himself.
As Thursday wore on, that hope shrank smaller and smaller, when Anthony still hadn't called him back. Sören thought about calling him again, or calling the pizza place, or sending an e-mail, but as his fingers went to type a short e-mail he made himself hold back. You called him twice. You left a voice mail. Don't be a pest. Don't come off like some stalker.
So Sören didn't make another call, or type up an e-mail. He continued to wait... continued to fret. The gears in his mind spun and spun, wondering what had gone wrong. Was Anthony just busy? Was he really not interested? Did he find someone else?
Had Sören read the vibes all wrong?
By Friday, Sören's hopes had shrunk to almost nothing. He didn't sleep well Thursday night and felt utterly exhausted as he arrived at the gallery. He realized Valentine's Day was approaching - it was the eleventh now - and while Americans made a much bigger deal over it than Icelanders did, he'd lived in the States long enough that he couldn't help but notice. He'd been used to being alone the last three years, but suddenly the thought of spending Valentine's Day alone again hurt so much that on his lunch break, Sören let himself in the bathroom and cried.
Sören tried to pull himself together for the sake of professionalism... and his pride. He knew he was acting like a lovesick teenager, and he knew it wasn't really fair to be this attached to Anthony this soon. After all, Anthony hadn't claimed him. It felt, in fact, like Anthony had been deliberately holding back from biting him, as if he understood how radically their lives would change if he took that step.
Sören held the angst in check until he was done with work. He decided he was going to treat himself tonight - take himself on a date, or at least at home, since he didn't feel like going out and dealing with people. He took a detour to the supermarket and bought steak. Even though it was the dead of winter he was going to grill it outside, just like he did in Iceland.
As he drove home from the supermarket the dam finally broke and he started to cry again. He was absolutely sure now that Anthony had ghosted him, and it hurt. Yes, it had been one weekend, it had been just sex... and yet it had felt like more. It had felt like a sleeping limb come back to life. He'd been hoping for more. Having those hopes crushed hurt, and felt like it was ripping open the wound of grieving Eiliv, as well. Alone, shedding unnumbered tears.
Suddenly, as he drove down the cul-de-sac closer to his tiny house, he saw a car parked in front of his house. A familiar car.
A Prius.
As Sören pulled in, he watched Anthony get out of the car. When Sören got out of his own car, Anthony cleared his throat, gave a shy little wave, and Sören noticed his other hand was behind his back. Anthony moved his other hand and he was holding a single long-stemmed red-tipped orange-gold fireflower rose, with baby's breath.
Sören's jaw dropped, not able to believe what he was seeing. For a moment he just stood there, stunned, holding his grocery bags. It was starting to snow again.
"My phone got wet," Anthony said, "and I had to put it in a bowl of dry rice. It finally dried out and I saw you'd called. I thought about e-mailing you but I decided just to show up and explain in-person." Anthony rubbed his chin and then he took a step forward, holding out the rose.
Sören's heart soared... and broke all over again at the same time. He was relieved, and ecstatic - touched by the little romantic gesture - and he also felt a flare of anger that Anthony didn't just e-mail him today, which would have possibly saved hours of panic. Not thinking, just feeling, Sören stooped down, scooped up snow, squished it together in his fist, and then he threw the little snowball at Anthony. "You ass," Sören said, not unkindly.
Anthony ducked but it still got him on the shoulder. Anthony narrowed his eyes and then he saw the grin on Sören's face and he smiled back, cheeks pink. Then he also ducked down, packed a snowball with his free hand, and tossed it. Sören darted out of the way and the snowball hit his front door.
"It's on now," Sören said. He put his supermarket bags down - a few minutes out in the cold wouldn't spoil his food - and then with both hands, he quickly rolled snowballs. So did Anthony. They spent the next while tossing snowballs at each other, sometimes hitting, sometimes missing. When a snowball got Sören on the nose, exploding all over his beard, Anthony doubled over laughing, literally rolling in the bank of snow. Sören pounced on him like a cat and they rolled around together in hysterical laughter, tickling each other...
...and at last, kissing passionately. Kissing like they were starving for each other.
Sören was tempted to rut with him right here in the snow, but he glanced over at his groceries waiting on the doorstep. "Come inside and I'll feed you," Sören said.
Anthony licked his lips, and Sören's face burned. Then Anthony tenderly licked the melting snow off Sören's face, saving his nose for last. "I hope you're on the menu," Anthony husked.
Sören got up, pulled Anthony to his feet, and started dragging him to the front door like a caveman.
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