Bright Midnight

So I became friends with the people who run the chamber of commerce. Then I became friends with the couple that run the dumpling hotel. Then the hiking outfitters who take tourists through the park. Through them we made a plan that would benefit all the businesses in town when the tourists came, things like free advertising and discounts and the like.

One of the women who operates the hiking outfitters, Ana, became a fast friend of mine, and she’s also an interior designer. With her help, along with some muscle from Anders and Kolbjorn, we turned the guest cottage into new spaces for our guests, maximizing on that cottage-core hygge farmhouse Nordic chic look that everyone goes crazy for. Now there are four separate rooms, two upstairs and two downstairs, totally self-contained, and each big enough for four travelers. It’s right by the water too, giving them the perfect view of the fjord.

We were then going to turn some of the rooms in the farmhouse into guest rooms as well, but his sisters all complained once they realized their own bedrooms would be transformed. Being that they all visit quite often, we instead set about building yet another guest cottage, which only got finished in October. This cottage has two units, plus one large dorm-style room—a tribute to my backpacking days—since a lot of the people who come here are backpackers, looking to go hiking in the national park.

But even though dealing with guests face-to-face, making sure I’m constantly promoting the place on social media, and running the calendar and bookings takes up all of my time and can be extremely taxing, it helps that I’m good at it. I mean, really good at it. Like, I’ve spent a long time searching for my calling, looking high and low around Europe, hoping to find myself and my purpose, and yet I never thought this would be it.

Anders says I’m a natural. I guess I have the experience of a traveler, but I also know what it’s like to be looking for a home, a place to settle your bones and feel welcome. I want this farmstay to be that for everyone who visits here, and I like to go above and beyond and help make that happen for people, whether it’s giving personalized tours on our new (non-commercial) fishing boat, or letting children bottle feed the baby cows. As long as they leave with a satisfied smile on their faces and a heart full of memories, then I know I’ve done my job.

Of course, with Anders and I being so busy, we have to remember to carve out time for each other. Every night over dinner we check in, then we have a drink, put the phones and computers away, and find ways to just connect. It keeps us in this together, working as a team, not just on the farm, but on our relationship, which is just as important.

It’s not the most perfect relationship in the world. We fight sometimes. We’ve had second chances. We’ve had many rocky starts. Cynics might say that first loves should be left in the past, that we had too much baggage to weed through. But the truth is, I love him and he loves me, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough. There’s nothing better than true love.

So, while our relationship might not be perfect, it doesn’t matter because it’s our relationship. And it’s worth everything.

“Want to go for a ride?” Anders asks me.

I snap out of my thoughts and look over at him. While a lot of the guests are in their winter gear, settling down on the picnic tables with drinks, watching the northern lights, he seems eager to go somewhere. He has that adventurous gleam in his eyes, the kind he gets when he’s about to put me on the back of his motorbike.

“In the snow?” I ask.

“On the spark,” he says. “Come on.”

His gloved hand grabs mine and he leads me toward the driveway where the kick-sleds are parked. He pulls one out and gestures for me to sit down on the seat.

“Sit.”

I do so, resting my feet on the skis, and then he leans over and hands me a bottle.

“And hold this,” he adds.

I turn it over in my hands. A small bottle of aquavit, of course. I have no idea where he was keeping it.

“I don’t know why you insist on me drinking this,” I tell him. “I’m never going to like it.”

“Tastes change, Shay,” he says.

“Mine don’t,” I tell him as he starts to push the sled. I turn my head and grin up at him, the aurora of purples and greens flashing behind his head. “After all, I’m with you.”

“Ha,” he says dryly, and then the spark starts to pick up speed as he kicks faster and faster toward the small hill at the end of the driveway where it goes onto the road.