It was probably an hour before my alarm went off that I finally did fall asleep, so that when I woke up again, I had that sticky panic that I didn’t know where I was or what had happened.

I groan and look at my phone as everything comes flooding back to me again. It’s six a.m., the sun is moments from rising, the dark-gray light of dawn starting to brighten before my eyes. It’s also Saturday, which means the house will be silent until around eight or nine when the first bleary-eyed kids make an appearance. I’m not even working today and normally sleep in for another hour before I get started on the day’s chores, but suddenly I’m all too aware of the foreigner in the house.

I get up, slip on my robe and slippers and silently open my door, padding down the hall. Pike’s door is still closed–so much for him spending the night outside his door with a gun–and I have no idea what to expect if I open the stranger’s door. Should I wake up Pike just in case? Do I need a knife?

I quickly duck into the bathroom and grab one of my razors, the closest thing to a weapon, and holding it in one hand like I’m about to brandish someone with it, I put my hand on the knob and gently open the door.

It doesn’t creak. Everything creaks in this old house but for once the door opens silently and I’m able to take a few cautious steps inside the room.

It’s completely dark inside, so I keep the door open so the light from the hall is able to flow in, a spotlight on his legs that barely illuminates the rest of him.

He’s sleeping, I think. He’s motionless anyway, though I can see the rise and fall of his chest. He’s on his back, which in hindsight wasn’t the best place to leave him since he might have gotten sick in the night and choked.

I realize I’m staring at him like a total creeper, mesmerized by his face even in the low light, the way that the shadows catch the hollows of his cheeks, the depth of his brows, the sharp angles of his jaw.

Then he stirs, just a little.

“Korkort?” I whisper, not wanting to startle him. “Mr. Sverige?”

He mumbles something in some language, his eyes still closed.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” I continue. “Just know that you’re safe and sound.”

God, do I ever sound like a moron.

I reach out and touch his foot.

His very long, very large foot. It sticks straight up off the bed like an Easter Island monolith.

He twitches.

I should probably stop touching his foot.

“Who is that?”

The voice makes me yelp, jump off my feet.

I whip around to see Callum in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and staring at the man.

Then I whip right back in time to see the man wake up.

Sit up.

Startled.

Sees me.

Sees Callum.

Starts yelling.

I don’t understand him, but he is pissed and being pissed in a foreign language always sounds worse.

“Callum go back to your room!” I yell at him, waving him away frantically before I approach the guy, my hands raised, but of course one of my hands is holding the razor and it’s gleaming in the light from the hallway like a guillotine blade about to fall.

The man’s eyes widen and he moves back, rattling the headboard and somewhere down the hall I can hear doors open.

Oh crap. So much for keeping this under wraps.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say, trying to sound assuring though my voice is cracking like thin ice.

“Then why do you have a razor?” he says, speaking English now. That same perfect English from yesterday, his accent seeming to melt away though his voice is booming.

I stare at the razor for a moment while he keeps talking, “Where am I? Did I have an accident?”

I shake my head. “No. No you’re fine. You’re safe.”

“I’d feel safer if you dropped that weapon,” he says, nodding at the razor, his words sounding more polished as he calms down.

I nod and can’t figure out where to put it. I don’t want to put it in the bathroom because I feel like he’ll make a run for it when I do and the last thing I want is for this stranger to come barrelling down the hallway into everyone else, and I don’t want to put it on the bedside table behind him in case this was a tactic on his behalf and then he’ll be the one armed with the razor. And I’m definitely not giving it to Callum who I can tell is still standing right behind me.

So I chuck it across the room where it hits the window and drops to the floor.

“Callum don’t walk over there,” I tell him, still keeping my eyes on Korkort.

“Where am I?” Korkort repeats.

“You’re in our house,” Callum says.

“What is going on in here?” Now it’s Thyme behind me. “Who is he?” she gasps.

I turn to look at her standing there in her pajamas. “Thyme, take Callum to the kitchen now. Please. And wake up Pike while you’re at it.”

“I’m already up,” Pike says, not sounding impressed, not looking impressed. He comes into the room, arms crossed, eyes fixed dangerously on the stranger, Rosemary right behind him.

That doesn’t put the stranger at ease. He immediately gets to his feet and everyone kind of goes whoa and takes a step back. Even though I know he’s tall, he’s just such a looming, formidable presence, he commands the entire room

“I need someone to tell me what the…” Sverige pauses, looks at Callum, “heck is going on here before I call the police.”

“You should be grateful I didn’t call the police on you last night,” I can’t help but retort.

The man flinches slightly, a cloudy look coming across his eyes.

“Now, if everyone will just calm down and I’ll explain,” I go on. “This is Mr. Sverige,” I announce to everyone behind me, gesturing to him. “Mr. Sverige is staying at my hotel.” And at that, a look of realization washes over his face, slowly at first, then like he’s been doused in cold water. I clear my throat. “I was with Annette at the bar last night and recognized him. He wasn’t feeling very well, to put it mildly, so I decided the best bet would be to bring him back here so he could, well, sleep it off.”

I’m pretty sure my mother would have sugar-coated this whole situation to everyone, maybe to spare potential embarrassment on his behalf, but I’ve never been good at sugar-coating.

“Why didn’t you take him back to his hotel?” Rosemary asks.

I lock eyes with him. Even in the dim light, they’re the kind of eyes you get lost in.

Not here, I remind myself. Stay on task.

“Because,” I say carefully. “The hotel doesn’t like the staff and the guests to mingle outside of work hours. I could have gotten in trouble.”

The guy nods, swallowing thickly. I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his neck and feel a low hum in my core.

“Everyone up to speed now?” I ask in such a way that’s basically telling everyone to get out.

I turn to look at them with wild eyes to coax them on their way. Rosemary and Thyme and Callum are still staring at Sverige, both fascinated and scared by him. With a grumble, Pike goes in front of them and attempts to make them backup, ushering them into the hallway.

“You might as well wake up April too,” I call after them.

“April never came home last night,” Rosemary informs me as she disappears into the hall.

“What?!”

“I think I should go,” the guy says, quickly grabbing his leather jacket from the chair, though he wobbles on his feet just enough to make him quickly sit back down on the bed.

I stare at him in confusion trying to make sense of two things at once. “No, I’ll drive you,” I tell him absently while my mind goes over what Rosemary said. April didn’t come home last night? Why is no one more worried about this? Why am I the last to hear of it?

“I can get a cab,” he says, searching his leather jacket pockets for his phone. When he finally locates it, he swears. “Shit.” It looks dead.

“It’s not a problem,” I tell him. “I brought you here, it’s only fair I take you back.”

He looks up at me, his forehead creasing, and for the first time I feel like I’m really looking at him and he’s really looking at me. We see each other, not in some awkward naked encounter or drunken mishap, but actually as two people, two strangers brought together in the strangest of circumstances.

“Is this your house?” he asks after a moment, breaking his gaze to glance at his blank phone again.

“Well I live here, so yeah,” I tell him.

“And those are your…kids?”

“Siblings,” I tell him, not wanting to get into it. “I’m the oldest.”

He nods. “I see.” He’s staring at his hands now, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m really sorry for what happened last night. If I…if I hurt anyone, if I did anything, I can make it right.”

“Hurt anyone?” His words make me stand up straighter.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember any of it and I was at a bar…”

“Well I can’t tell you if that was your first bar of the night or not but from what the bartender said, you took a seat at the bar, ordered a drink and that was that. You passed out. Then my friend and I got there and I can confirm that you didn’t hurt anyone, you were out cold. And when the bar was closing, well it was either I bring you here or the bartender was going to call the cops to put you in a drunk tank.”

His eyes widen somewhat fearfully at that. “It would have been easier for you.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess because I’d seen you earlier in the day…” Pause for awkwardness. “It just didn’t feel right. Look, about that, I’m sorry I walked in on you naked.”

“You are?” he asks, tilting his head ever so slightly to study me through his long lashes. “I could have sworn you enjoyed that.”

Now my brows are raised.