The Old Town Sauna – Part 1: Snowed In

"Nothing is moving," said Jonas. "Not trams, not buses, not even the pigeons."

"I have a train at nine."

"You have a train in two days, maybe." He handed her a mug of hot berry juice. "Welcome to Estonia in February."

Katrin, thirty-two, a translator from Lyon, stood at the window of a small guesthouse in Tallinn's medieval old town. Snow fell in thick silent flakes over the cobbled square, burying cars and benches under soft white hats. The cafes had closed early. Every street lamp wore a halo.

Jonas, thirty-five, tall, bearded and gentle, ran the guesthouse alone. He had a woollen jumper, a limp from an old bike accident and an unhurried way of moving around the house. "There is a sauna in the cellar," he said. "Small, wood-fired. Mine, really. But the guests are all gone, and you look cold."

"I am very cold."

"Then go. I will bring towels."

The cellar sauna was a tiny cedar room with a stone stove. Steam rose in soft clouds. Katrin sat wrapped in a towel on the top bench and felt the knots in her shoulders loosen one by one. After a while Jonas knocked and put his head round the door.

"May I join? It is my sauna, but you are my guest. If you prefer to be alone, say so."

She smiled through the steam. "Come in. It's your sauna."

He sat on the lower bench, a respectful metre away, and they talked about books, languages and the strange quiet of snow. When he ladled water on the stones and the heat swelled, her towel slipped slightly. She did not fix it.

"Katrin," said Jonas softly.

"Yes?"

"I would like to kiss you. Only if you say yes."

"Yes," she said.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Cold Plunge.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Cold Plunge.