“Desenrascanco,” she said. “It means slapping together a solution with no plan and with whatever’s to hand. It’s a very Fiskare word. You’re all so resilient and resourceful.”

Her hand played in his hair and her heart beat beneath his cheek. His hand slid from her waist, glided over her ribs to curve around a breast. Warm and lovely in his palm. She covered his hand with hers, not thwarting him, rather letting him know this was lagom: not too much and not too little. Just right. Just enough.

“Sleep with me,” she whispered. “A little while.”

So what did you and Astrid do when you realized you were in love? Kennet mused as he drifted away, interviewing his future self.

Why, what any normal couple does. We thought up some words, then took a nap.

He smiled beneath closed eyes. He must never, under any circumstances, let Minor find out.

Fiskfika

The day of the fiskfika dawned overcast, but by late morning the sun was breaking through, and the Fiskares loaded up the Hildur with rods and reels, provisions and cooking gear.

When Astrid came down to the dock in her two-piece bathing suit and straw hat, Minor let out a long wolf whistle. “And whose little girl are you?”

“Oh my God, is that your best line?” Astrid said, laughing.

“I worked a long time on that line. You don’t like it?”

“You sound like a lecher.”

Wide-eyed, Minor put a hand on his chest. “Gosh, really?”

It was a bit of a squash with all the Fiskare siblings, plus Astrid, plus Kirsten, plus the clobber, but they managed. The water looked a little sullen as they zipped out to Grennell Island, green-grey like a badly-erased chalkboard. Kennet thought the western sky was sulking as well, undecided as to what it would do with the day.

“Nick! Nick! Needle in the water!” Trudy and Kirsten cried from the seats, and everyone flung a nail overboard.

The greedy river god was appeased, and the weather held. Once set up at the little campsite on Tre Önskningar, they swam and fished. Late in the afternoon, they built up the fire and made their signature camp supper. First bacon was fried in their one battered pan. Then potatoes were fried in the bacon grease, followed by the fileted fish. Fresh greens were picked from whatever was growing wild—mostly rocket and dandelion. They added chunks of tomato, picked that morning from Marta’s garden, and drizzled the salad with, what else, Thousand Island dressing.

“It’s on the sweet side,” Minor said to Astrid. “And we like how it cuts the bitterness of the wild greens. Except for old sourpuss over here, who likes them plain.”

Kennet plucked an undressed dandelion leaf out of the salad and ate it.

“Yuck,” Trudy said.

“I like things that are kind of bitter,” Kennet said.