Bright Midnight by Halle, Karina (latest books to read .TXT) 📗

things have been kind of stressful these last few weeks too. Anders took losing the boat hard. I know that it symbolized his father for him, and that he never got a chance to really grieve his dad after he died. Losing the boat meant he had to face that grief all over again, and that’s not an easy thing to do. He has his highs and his lows, his moods swinging one way or the other, but at least he’s not pushing me away anymore. When I offer to help him, to let him talk, to let it all out, he doesn’t hide the darkness from me. He lets it out and he lets me in and that’s making all the difference in our relationship.

Because, yeah, this is a relationship now. Our relationship. Something familiar, and yet fresh and new. Though Anders is hurting over the loss of the boat, he’s also opening up to the new possibilities for his future. He needs to make money to help the farm out, but he no longer has to be a fisherman. He doesn’t have to live his father’s life anymore. He can carve something out on his own, something that he wants to do.

We just don’t know what that is yet, which is why Anders is holding this family meeting.

After the boat sank, he sat down with Per one evening and went over their budget, looking at what he needs to bring in to keep things afloat. To be honest, it’s a little less than Anders thought, which took a big load off his shoulders. It’s still something, though.

But there’s no reason for Anders to have to take all of this on by himself. This is the family farm for a reason. It’s as much Astrid’s, Lise’s, and Tove’s, which is why he asked them all to fly back home and talk about the future of the place.

So far, it’s been a riot. I’ve missed having Astrid and Lise around, and even though Tove has a biting dry sense of humor that cuts a little deep sometimes, I get along with her too. There’s been a lot of beer and cider (and whisky, Tove’s choice), and Tove’s son Harry is an absolute menace, which I find hilarious. He’s always getting into trouble and listens to no one. He reminds me a lot of Anders.

Right now, he’s bouncing around on the couch in the living room, after he just ran around the kitchen table five times. He’s hooting and hollering in Norwegian, but everyone is focused on Anders at the head of the table. Forever a captain and taking command. Be still my heart.

“Anyway,” Anders goes on, looking everyone sternly in the eye. “As you know, the reason you’re all here isn’t to drink and party like a bunch of loons, but to come together and figure out what to do with the farm.”

“Well, we’re not selling it,” Lise says, folding her arms.

“No one said we’re selling it,” Anders tells her. “We’re figuring out what to do so we don’t have to sell it.”

“Well, you’re getting a job, aren’t you?” Tove asks.

Anders gives her look that could cut glass. “I already have a job,” he says icily. “It’s called running the farm. Per can’t keep doing this on his own.”

“I could start contributing,” Astrid says, after she has a sip of cider. “Start a fund for the farm. I get paid enough, and sometimes people are really generous.”

“Me too,” Lise speaks up. “Karl and I were going to save up to buy a new car, but perhaps we can lease instead.”

“Well, I have a kid,” Tove says, just as Harry comes tearing back in the room making airplane noises, arms out like wings, knocking over Lise’s beer.

“You don’t say,” Anders says dryly, while Lise grumbles, wiping up the spill.

“Hey,” I say softly. Everyone looks at me. “I have an idea. Maybe one that’s better than everyone having to pitch in. What if we could make the farm make more money?”

Anders folds his muscled arms across his chest and I try not to ogle him. “How so? Getting more animals in? They cost a fortune and I’m not sure we’ll make up for it, not with the big dairy farms in the valley.”

“Kind of. What about goats? And donkeys? Llamas?” I ask.

Astrid laughs. “You’re going to milk donkeys now?”

I shake my head. “No. Not milk them. Just have them. As a tourist attraction.”

Lise snorts. “People don’t come here to look at llamas and donkeys and goats. Maybe in New York they do, but…”

“That’s not the attraction,” I tell her. I gesture to the house. “This is. The house, the farm. Look, I know my tourism stuff by now. This place is at the edge of getting discovered, of being on every Instagram traveler’s radar. People are always searching for the next best thing. Well, this is the next best thing. Todalen has it all. The beautiful valley, the farms, the mountains, the hiking, the fjord, the fishing.” I lean forward, pressing my fingers into the table. “Look. Let’s turn this place into a farmstay.”

Anders frowns. Silence fills the room.

Except for Harry and his airplane noises.

Finally, Per asks something in Norwegian, probably along the lines of “what the hell did she just say?”

Anders answers him in Norwegian, then looks back at me. But he’s no longer frowning. Something like realization is coming over him. “A farmstay,” he repeats, slowly running his hand over his beard. “That could work.”

“A farmstay?” says Astrid, looking between the both of us. “You really think that could work?”

I shrug. “Worth a shot, isn’t it? There are a ton of rooms upstairs, not to mention the old guest cottage out back. With a little fixing up, it could make nice accommodations for people. Total cottage-core hygge farmhouse chic. Look, I know travelers and backpackers. They want to discover a new place, not just because it’s free from crowds, but because posting pics that no one else is gives them