“Hans Peter? Can I come over tomorrow evening? Can we celebrate New Year’s Eve together?”

He thought about telling her that he had to work at the hotel, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

She came over, and she had taken an effort with her clothes and make-up. He hadn’t remembered that she was so cute. He understood that she had made an effort, just for him, and it made him feel guilty.

They had met at a mutual friend’s place, and had gone out for a while since then. Sporadically. Nothing steady. But she had been one of the women he had taken to meet his folks in Stuvsta.

“You don’t think that I am being too eager, do you?” she asked directly. “A woman is not supposed to take the initiative. Or so they say.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

She had two grocery bags full of food, wine, and champagne. OK, he thought, this is how she wants it.

There was something about her that made him excited, more than he felt with anyone else. Something in her way of putting her head to one side and looking a little bit guilty.

He was frightened of his own strength.

Afterwards, she got right out of bed.

He knew that she didn’t like it, that he had come too soon. He wanted to explain, but couldn’t find the words. We’ll just do it again, he thought. Later.

They set the table together, and she didn’t say much, but after she drank half a glass of wine, she began to cry.

“Sweetie, what is it?” he asked.

She didn’t answer and began to cry harder.

He threw his fork on the table.

“I’m a real asshole!” he exclaimed.

She turned to the side and didn’t look at him.

“Little sweetie,” he said. “Why did you want to come here, anyway?”

“I like you. I was longing for you the whole damn Christmas holidays.”

He got up and walked around the table, took her into his arms, lifted her out of her chair.