Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.
For thirty years, Frode’s had the same dream. Every Midsummer’s Eve since he was a kid accompanying his sister to pick flowers to put under his pillow, he’s dreamed of the same man. A dream he never shares with anyone that makes him wish for impossible things ... like true love.
Then one Midsummer’s Eve, the man of Frode’s dreams stands before him in the flesh. Both men recognize each other despite never having met in real life. Both men are instantly drawn to each other and want to know more.
Who is he? Is he even real? Their questions are many but do the whys and the hows matter? Or should they allow the Midsummer magic that brought them together to lead the way into each other’s arms? Into each other’s hearts?
Traditional Swedish folklore tells you that if you pick seven kinds of flowers in silence and put them under your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry.
Chapter 1Thirty years ago I was ten years old the first time I picked flowers to put underneath my pillow on the night of Midsummer Eve. It all started at the traditional Midsummer’s Eve party at my parents’ house. I was hanging out with my older sister Fia and her girlfriends underneath the apple tree in the corner of our huge garden, away from the talking and laughing grownups gathered around the long table set up on our lawn just for this occasion. It was an unusually warm day, for June, at least. The sun was beating down on our heads, only the occasional cloud floated past us high in the sky, and the leaves on the trees were barely rustling. Mom had worried it was going to rain—it always rains, at least a little, on Midsummer—and that they’d have to set up the party tent to keep dry,
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