Chapter 43: The Golden Dawn in the North

Chapter 43: The Golden Dawn in the North

Tuesday dawned with a light unlike anything I'd ever seen before. In northern Iceland, when the sun finally decides to break the horizon line, the sky doesn't just lighten; It transforms into a canvas of pale gold, pink and silver-blue that reverberates over the cold waters of the fjord. Light began to filter slowly through the cracks in the wooden shutters, drawing golden lines on the white sheets and warming the air in the room.

I woke up before any alarm went off, but I didn't move. I stood motionless, suspended in perfect stillness, sheltered in my man's arms. Ethan was wrapping around me from behind, his broad chest tucked to my back, transmitting a constant warmth that seemed to chase the last winters from my soul. His breath was a slow, deep beat against the back of my neck. Feeling the solidity of his arms around my waist, clinging to him as if it were the most valuable thing in his world, brought me an absolute certainty: I was safe. The north was no longer an exile of ice; It was my home.

Slowly, so as not to break the charm of the morning, I turned my body in his arms to face him. Ethan opened his eyes slowly. Those blue eyes, which once on the beach in Vik reflected a desolation identical to mine, now looked at me with a clear clarity, lit by the golden light of dawn. There was no need for words of good morning. My hands, moved by an instinct of pure devotion, began to run over his skin. With my fingertips I caressed his face, outlined the curve of his lips and lost myself in the texture of his rough beard. It was an awakening impregnated with his wife's caresses, touches charged with care and care that were born from the depths of his chest. Ethan responded to the touch with a long sigh, sinking deeper into my hands, enjoying that unhurried surrender.

"Good morning, writer," she whispered in her husky morning voice, catching one of my hands to kiss her palm.

"Good morning, editor," I replied, shortening the distance to seal the greeting with a soft, slow, warm kiss that tasted of peace.

We stayed like this for a while longer, trapped in the complicity of the sheets, ignoring for a few blessed minutes that the outside world continued to turn. When we finally woke up, the energy of the house was completely different. Preparing breakfast was no longer a choreography of survival; It was a celebration of our new life. Norwegian coffee steamed in the cups, fresh fruit glistened in the kitchen light, and laughter hung in the air from the green roofs.

As we went out to the street on our way to the publishing house, the dry cold of Akureyri hit our faces, but this time it did not penetrate my bones. We were holding hands, walking at a safe and steady pace. We had to face the second day of work, but we no longer did it like two castaways dragging their feet in search of shelter. Now we walked through that wooden door with a renewed energy, an electric force that came from my belly and pushed me directly to the desk. I knew exactly what I had to do. I was going to open my new laptop, look at that flickering cursor and let my fingers set fire to the pages of my novel, because my heart and Ethan's were still beating in the same perfect synchronicity