Fish Market Morning – Part 2: Soup for Two

Erlend came back the next morning, and the one after that. He brought a loaf of dark bread from the bakery on the corner, a bag of fresh dill from his restaurant garden, and a small notebook in which he wrote down everything Sander said about fish.

"You do not need to write it down," said Sander, stirring the pot.

"I am a very serious student."

"You are a very serious spy."

"I am a very serious man," said Erlend, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

By November, the harbour was thick with mist and the first sleet was falling on the cobblestones. Sander's kitchen was the warmest room in the city. They ate soup at the window, shoulders touching, watching the gulls fight over scraps and the fishing boats wallow in the grey water.

"I have a question," said Erlend, one morning, after the second bowl.

"Ask."

"Why do you never say my name?"

Sander blinked. "I say it."

"You say 'chef.' Or 'you.' Never Erlend."

Sander was silent for a moment, looking at the steam rising from the pot. "Because if I say it," he said slowly, "it will be real."

Erlend set down his spoon. His face was open, unguarded.

"I would like it to be real," he said.

Sander looked at him. The morning light was pale on his cheek, the line of his jaw, the small crease between his brows.

"Erlend," he said, trying it.

Erlend's smile was slow and bright. "Again."

"Erlend."

"That is very good."

Sander laughed, a little breathless. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Are you staying in Bergen?"

"Yes," said Erlend, at once. "I have signed the lease. I was going to tell you with soup."

"You signed it without asking me?"

"I signed it because of you," said Erlend. "I did not want to ask until I was sure."

Sander stood and came around the table. His hands were shaking slightly. "Can I kiss you?" he asked.

"Yes," said Erlend. "And if I say stop, I will wash the pot."

"That is a terrible punishment," said Sander, and bent to kiss him.

It was warm and gentle, the taste of dill and cold air between them. Erlend's hand rose to his face, steady and sure, and the kitchen seemed to fold softly around them. Outside, the first heavy flakes of snow began to fall past the window.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Erlend.

"Green," said Sander. "Very green. Look, Erlend. It is snowing."

"It is the first snow," said Erlend, and leaned against him, and watched the white drift down over the harbour while the soup simmered quietly on the stove.