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The Tram Conductor – Part 2: End of the Line

Mature & Silver·EN·2 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 2 of 2

Lars's flat was on the fifth floor of an old building near the harbour, a snug, book-lined place with a kitchen that smelled of dill and butter. The table was laid for two with a white cloth and a single candle. Snow fell softly past the window.

"It is not fancy," he said.

"It's lovely."

"I'm out of practice."

"So am I."

They ate fish soup with rye bread, and drank cold white wine, and talked about everything. His wife, who had died seven years earlier, a nurse, brisk and funny. Her husband, a quiet man who had read her poetry every night at the end. They did not cry. They did not need to. They simply listened.

"I was lonely," said Karin, after a while. "And then I ran for a tram."

"I was lonely," said Lars. "And then a woman ran for my tram."

They laughed. The last tram rumbled past below, its lights sliding over the ceiling, and for a moment the whole kitchen glowed gold.

"Lars," said Karin. "I'd like you to kiss me. If you'd like to."

"I would like to," he said, "more than I can say."

It was a slow, gentle, grown-up kiss, tasting of white wine and dill. His hand cupped her cheek, rough and careful. She slid her arms around him, felt the thick warmth of his jacket, and thought, with some amazement, I had forgotten how good this is.

"The bedroom is warm," he said, hoarsely. "I turned on the radiator. I thought... I hoped."

"I'd like to see it," said Karin, smiling.

The bedroom was small and neat, with a wide bed under a patterned quilt and a window facing the harbour lights. They undressed with care and a great deal of humour, laughing at hooks and knees and the sensible practicalities of age, and under the quilt they found a warmth that took them both by surprise. It was slow and tender and unhurried, a gentle conversation in touch, while the snow fell silently past the glass.

In the morning, a pale sun lit the harbour. Karin woke to the sound of coffee and found Lars in the kitchen, buttoning his jacket.

"The number three," he said. "I am on the early run."

"I'll be on it."

"I know." He smiled, and kissed her forehead. "I will wait."

More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom

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