“…that’s not easy to find,” he finishes for me. Voice gentle. His hand squeezing mine.
I look at him then. “No. It’s not.” I read understanding in his gaze. And something else. Approval? Agreement?
“I don’t believe in supernatural things, Frode. I don’t believe in premonitions or ‘the sight.’” I can hear the air quotes in his voice. “But I’m one hundred percent sure that I dreamed of you all these years. Not someone who looks like you. And you feel so familiar. Like I know you already.”
“Tell me more about the dreams.”
“I’ve never done the whole flower-picking thing you have. I can’t pinpoint when they started exactly, I just realized in my late teens that I’d had these recurring dreams once a year on Midsummer and I thought it was f*****g weird. So I never told anyone.”
I chuckle. “I
