Mom grinned at him, tossing her knitting aside and offering him a hand. “Hey. I’m Astrid. You can call me that or Ms. Larssen if you’re inclined. This is my mom, Mrs. Larssen.”

“Mormor will do,” Mormor said. “It’s easier.”

She didn’t stop knitting. Instead, she eyeballed Leaf over her stitches, her eyes narrowed like a sun-swollen cat.

Leaf was not deterred. “Your home is beautiful, Mormor. Like something out of a magazine. I love it.” People often threw compliments that they didn’t mean, especially when they were nervous, but Leaf... The way he delivered his lines was everything. He wasn’t really looking at my grandmother so much as at the art with the crackled paint frames. At the stenciling she’d done herself along the top border of the walls. At the antique curio with the glass front and the country-flavored knickknacks inside. At the Americana swan on top of the TV cabinet.

Leaf meant what he said about enjoying her aesthetic. And it made all the difference.

Mormor melted.

“Thank you! I’ve worked hard to get it to my liking.” She went from wary predator to purring kitty cat in three sentences. I knew my boyfriend was charming, but I was pretty sure that was some kind of record and he might actually be a brilliant supervillain.

“I can tell. Thank you so much for inviting me to dinner.”

He grinned.

Mormor nodded her approval, tutting quietly.

“Well, let’s eat, shall we?”

Ten minutes later, Leaf had his first Swedish smorgasbord, or really, American-Swedish smorgasbord. Mormor told me fish starters were standard at home, but a lot of Americans weren’t big on cold herring and eel, so instead it was two types of bread, soft cheeses, sweet butter and egg dishes, including quiche. There were cold sausage cuts and hot ones, too, with the kok korv. She’d made ärtsoppa for me because she loved me, and the meatballs, and a bunch of hot and cold vegetable dishes. She’d made sweets, which would come later, after we’d digested the mountains of food.

Mormor didn’t bust out the big meals often, but when she did, we had leftovers for weeks.

Leaf tried everything. He even tried it how Mormor told him to try it, meaning a lot of Swedes eat ärtsoppa by dipping their spoons into a sweet mustard first before taking a mouthful of soup. Each new food was considered, savored and at one point, he dropped the ultimate compliment on her meatballs.

“I’d love to learn how to make these, if you have a recipe.”

Mormor bloomed.

“I can write out the recipe for you, but you will want to come over and learn. It’s nice to see someone appreciating good cooking. It is a dying art form. My girls don’t care much.”