Opening the door, I was greeted by the smiling face of the redhead. He had his elbow resting on the doorframe, and I couldn't have imagined that such a casual pose could make the ground shake beneath me. What was happening to me with this guy?

I had to remind myself that I had been on this island for less than 72 hours, that I had known his name for less than 48 hours, and that things couldn't be like this. I discreetly pinched my forearm behind my back to check that, unlike half an hour ago, this time it was real. And it must have been, because the pinch hurt quite a bit.

—Buenas noches, Andrea, —he said, with the same suggestive tone from my dream.

—Buenos días, Erik, —I smiled, a smile that quickly turned into laughter when his face changed from seductive to amused at his mistake.

—Good... morning, —he corrected, and I nodded—. Good morning. Good morning, —he tried to memorise, shifting his posture and no longer leaning on the doorframe.

—I... I... I don't... coffee, here, —I tried to explain, since I didn't drink coffee and didn't have any at home.

—Oh, don't worry, I came to invite you for breakfast out, —he said casually, looking at me, and I was completely sure he knew I hadn't understood. However, from his gaze, I gathered he was waiting to see if I'd figure it out.

—You and me... are in an English class. Yes?

—That's it, —he smiled proudly, nodding.

I knew breakfast together couldn't be so lovely and straightforward. Well, maybe I needed to reinforce the idea that nothing strange was happening; he was just being kind and wanted to help me with my English.

—One second, teacher, —I said, going to get his coat, leaving him at the door with it open.

When I returned, I locked up, and Erik headed straight for the road, pointing towards the village area where I had gone the previous day to buy things I needed. Great, now I could buy some more stuff, and hopefully, he'd help me carry them. Punishment for what I was about to endure with his darn language.

—Do you know numbers? —he asked me—. One, two, three...

—Yes. And colours... and animals... and a lot of words, —I replied. I didn't know English because I couldn't express myself, but before coming to the island, I had tried to learn a bit and had vocabulary, even though I didn't know how to express myself with it.

—That's good. Do you want to play something else today? —he asked.

—Play?

—Last night we played mimicry and drawing, —he reminded me.

—Oh... okay. What today?

—Mimicry and... words, —he said.

I furrowed my brow a bit, trying to understand what he wanted to play. Erik smiled and pointed at me, then made a gesture with his hands, like holding an invisible steering wheel, and pointed to a car—. You, drive?

Ah! If I drove. I shook my head, and he looked surprised, as if he expected everyone to drive.

—No. In Madrid... good... public transport, —I said, which was true. I didn't need to drive because in my city, there was excellent public transportation, and when I needed something more specific, I had Oliver. Driving had never been a priority for me.

—Okay. Uhm… —he pointed at me again—. Do you have a boyfriend? Husband? —he touched the ring finger of his right hand. It took me a second to understand, but when I did, I emphatically shook my head.

—No, no, no, no, no, —I said, making him laugh.

—Okay, okay, —he laughed.

—And you? —I asked, seizing the opportunity to clear that doubt from my mind since he had brought up the topic. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head softly, somewhat reluctantly.

—Uhm... no. Women are very complicated, —he replied.

—What?

Erik looked at me, pensive, trying to figure out how to explain his words. He pointed to his left hand—Me —and then showed me his right hand— Women.

I nodded, knowing he was going to depict something like a puppet show. He put on a rather funny high-pitched voice with the hand representing women and without saying anything coherent, he began to act out that the right hand talked a lot, the left one sighed, and the right one got angry and yelled.

I couldn't help but laugh, having to cover my mouth. If I wasn't misunderstanding, perhaps he was very calm, which women didn't like, so they always scolded him. Or something like that.

—Okay, — I said, unable to wipe the smile off my face.

—What about you?

—Me... uhm... I, — I pointed to his previous right hand and smiled, leaving it in a puppet position—, My ex-boyfriend,—I pointed to my left hand—, other woman, —I pointed to my right hand.

Erik looked at me, interested, alternating his gaze between his hand and mine.

—Okay, got it, —he said.

—Oh, Andy... I love you, —I commented in a deep voice, moving my left hand in a pathetic attempt to imitate Oliver's voice, kissing Erik's hand with mine—. I love you, —I said, taking Erik's hand by the wrist and moving it.

I withdrew Oliver's hand and, half-hidden between my two hands, began to give kisses.

—Did your boyfriend cheat on you with another woman? —he asked, visibly upset, though amused by the hand puppetry.

—Yes, —I sighed, rolling my eyes.

—What a jerk! That's not okay, —and then he said something with such a deep accent that I could swear it wasn't even English.

—So... no more boyfriends. Cats. Only cats, —I said, sighing with a hint of defeat in my voice.

—Don't punish the rest of the world for a jerk like him. You're very beautiful, nice, and fun. Take your time, but don't give up, — he looked at me, and despite not understanding much, I swear he said something nice, and my cheeks instantly flushed.

—Thank you, —I said as a survival tactic, not entirely sure what he had said.

—You're welcome, —he winked at me, and my heart skipped a beat. I had to look ahead to not appear too nervous—. Repeat after me. You're welcome.

—You're welcome, —I repeated.

—Very good, —he put his hand on my back and gave me a little encouraging caress that lasted barely two seconds, but it was something I knew I would remember all day.

We stayed silent for a few minutes, as I was impressed by the beautiful view of the bay. I never got tired of seeing its turquoise waters, which, despite not shining as much because the sky was gray, were still impressive.

We arrived at the café I had seen the day before, and just like in the pub, he reached out to open and hold the door, letting me go in first.

—Thank you.

—Cheers.

—Cheers? Not 'you're welcome'?

—That's another way to say it. More informal, among friends, —he explained as we entered the small café.

—Are we friends? —I asked interested, once inside the cozy place.

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—Yes, if you want to be, —he smiled, looking at me intently.

Oh, I definitely wanted to be. Honestly, I appreciated his openness and friendliness. I had thought it would be much harder to feel welcomed on this island. Before meeting him, I was completely sure that, being such a small island with a small population, people would be very closed off to foreigners, especially one who didn't speak like them. But I had been pleasantly surprised.

I nodded with a smile as we approached a table. The place wasn't very large, barely six tables, and behind the counter was a woman with a friendly face who seemed to be handling everything herself. She approached and greeted Erik warmly.

—This is Andrea, she's new to the island. She doesn't speak much English, —Erik said, looking at me. The woman also looked at me and smiled.

—Hello Andrea, nice to meet you, —her accent was very different from Erik's. I couldn't quite tell where she was from, but it was clearly not from around here.

—Hi, nice to meet you, —I said, with a shy nod of my head.

—This is Tatiana, she's from Russia. She arrived here 5 years ago, —Erik explained, then laughed when he saw me silently asking him to slow down—. Tatiana. Russia. 5 years here, —he pointed at the table, though I knew he meant the island— Cakes —he gestured towards his mouth and blew a kiss into the air.

—Better, —I said, making the woman laugh.

—You'll get used to it, —she said, amused—. What would you like to order? —She looked at both of us.

—I'll have the usual and whatever you have freshly baked, —Erik said, then Tatiana looked at me. She was blonde, with light eyes and a nose worthy of a doll. Despite being around fifty, she was a very attractive woman, tall and elegant.

—Me… coffee with milk, please. And sugar, —I said, smiling.

—And for food, would you like something? Do you like chocolate?

I hesitated for a moment but nodded—. Yes, please, —I said—. and yes, I love chocolate.

She withdrew and I looked at Erik with narrowed eyes, thoughtful.

—What? —he asked, amused, as if I had caught him doing something mischievous.

—Do you like chocolate?

He laughed and nodded—. I love chocolate. Why would you think I don't? —He moistened his lips, and I couldn't help but look at them. They weren't overly thick, and despite his beard being quite abundant, he had certain areas perfectly trimmed so it wouldn't be uncomfortable to kiss. Drink! I meant to say.

—I don't know. You like coffee alone, —I tried to explain.

—Black coffee or espresso. We don't use the word 'alone' for coffee, —he explained —.Latte for you, espresso for me. —He shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable and casual.

My eyes were tracing the tattoos on his neck, and although I had heard him explain the names of our coffees, I didn't respond because I was distracted by his tattoos. He lifted his face towards the ceiling, allowing me to look at the tattoos without any hindrance, and that's when I realized how obvious I was being.

—Sorry, —I apologized, and he laughed, shaking his head.

—It's okay. Do you like tattoos? —He rolled up his sleeves so I could see his forearms and the tattooed backs of his hands. They all followed the same theme, they looked like Vikings.

—Yes, a lot —I murmured, tempted to trace those black and gray lines that adorned his skin.

—Do you have any? —He leaned slightly over the table, bringing his hands closer to me so I could see them better. On his right hand, he had what seemed to be Mjolnir. I knew a bit about Norse mythology because of the TV show Vikings, which had sparked my interest in it.

—No. I want, but... no, —I said, noticing the tattoo on his right hand. The style was the same, only on that hand, it seemed to be a snake—It’s a snake? —I asked.

—Is it a snake?—he corrected me.

—Is it a snake? —I asked again, this time correctly.

—No. It's Jörmungandr. Do you know who that is? —I looked up at him and smiled mischievously.

—A snake, —I said, making Erik laugh too.

—Yes, well, technically it's known as the Midgard snake, —he withdrew his hand as Tatiana returned with both coffees. A latte for me, an espresso for him.

—Why... Vikings? —I asked.

—Well... my grandparents were from Norway. My father named me Erik, after Erik the Red. Viking explorer and colonizer, —he handed me a small jar of what must have been brown sugar—. Do you prefer white sugar? —he asked, but I shook my head, the brown one was fine.

—Send me a text and... explain why you like Vikings. I can't understand long sentences, —I pouted sadly. I really wanted to, but it wasn't easy.

Erik looked at me with a hint of tenderness and smiled, placing one of his large, tattooed hands over mine and squeezing it gently.

—You'll get there. You'll see, —he nodded, grateful for his understanding, and let go when Tatiana returned with a slice of chocolate cake for me, looking incredibly delicious, and a huge muffin that seemed to have red berries for him, which smelled incredibly good.

I took one of the forks that Tatiana brought us along with some napkins and grabbed a piece of chocolate cake. Delicious was an understatement for how good it was.

—Mmm... ¡Increíble! —I exclaimed in Spanish. Erik looked at me with an excited smile, almost as if he were enjoying it as much as I was, and he offered me a bite of his pastry.

—Try this, —he urged.

I used the fork to cut a piece of his dessert, not wanting to touch the whole thing, and as I tasted it, I rolled my eyes back and sighed. It was also delicious.

—Uhm… Wow, —I said, looking at him.

I couldn't tell if it was just me, but Erik seemed a bit flushed. It could have been the reflection of his beard, but I found it amusing to think that for some reason, he was blushing, and I wasn't the only one. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat softly, and I looked at him, puzzled.

—Are you okay? —I asked, and he blushed a bit more, nodding and bringing his coffee to his mouth.

—Perfectly fine, Andy, —he said, looking me in the eyes.

My name in his mouth sounded too good. Now it was my turn to blush, so I preferred to keep eating, thus avoiding having to talk or stumble through English.

We hardly spoke during breakfast, and truth be told, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. I felt like our gazes spoke better than our lips. It was nice to be there with him without the need for forced conversation.

After finishing breakfast, he gestured with his hand to stop me before I did anything.

—Today, it's on me, —he said, pointing at me with his finger, and I laughed.

—Okay, your turn, —I said, conceding since he let me pay last night.

He got up to go pay at Tatiana's counter, and I took a moment to check my phone. I had a message from Vir, asking if I had written to her.

"Better, I'm finishing breakfast with him" I replied, and then got up to put on my coat.

As we exited, Erik headed back, but I took his arm for a moment, and he stopped, looking at me confused.

—I need… —I pointed to the shop across the street, and he nodded—. If you need to... go… —He shook his head, gesturing for us to cross.

We entered the shop, and the man working there, an older man with a very complex accent for me, started talking to Erik while I took the opportunity to pick up a few more things. Some shampoo and gel, as the travel-sized ones I had would run out soon. Also, some vegetables for dinner that night, and some more meat for variety.

I hadn't taken long, wanting to avoid making Erik wait. I paid, and when the man bagged everything, Erik stepped forward and took the bag for me.

—I can, —I said somewhat shyly, not wanting him to have to carry my shopping.

—So can I,—he smiled, gesturing for us to head outside.

—Thank you.

—Andy, —he turned, looking at me, intrigued—. Have you started writing? —He blinked, not sure what he meant. He made a gesture with his hands as if opening something.

—Oh, my book? —I asked, and he nodded.

—Not yet... I need a... story. —I sighed— I don't know about... what.

—What do you like? —he asked.

—Love. —Erik raised both eyebrows, and I laughed—. I know... no more boyfriends, but I love books about love.

—Then write a love story, —he suggested.

—Well... It's difficult. My experience... I only had one boyfriend. 20 years... and not very good love, to be honest.

Erik came to a sudden stop, so I turned to look at him, wondering what he was thinking.

—20 years and he cheated on you?

—Yes. 20 years of... lies. —I averted my gaze, uncomfortable. He said something that didn't seem like English, then sighed— I'm okay now. Better alone.

—Of course you are. —We started walking again—Are you busy today?

—No, —I answered, understanding that he was asking if I was busy.

—Great. You're coming with me to the lighthouse. I want to show you some books, —he said with a smile.

—With you to the...

—Lighthouse, yes. If you want.

—I want, —I said, perhaps too quickly.

He smiled, looking ahead. He seemed happy with the idea of me going with him to the lighthouse. Perhaps he spent a lot of time alone there, and the idea of having someone to talk to, even if their English was as bad as mine, was appealing to him.

We arrived home, and this time, he followed me inside. He let me put away the groceries without rushing, looking through the dining room window. When I finished, I grabbed my laptop.

—I'm ready, —I said. He turned and looked me in the eyes, remaining silent for a couple of seconds.

Every time he looked at me like that, I felt like the world stopped. Erik had the ability to speed up my heart and slow down time.