The rain is falling so hard that Erling Torlund can barely see the road ahead.
Water runs over the visor of his helmet as he slowly guides his dark green cruiser through the deserted streets of Hollowbeck.
It's a little after ten o'clock at night.
A long day lies behind him.
Three motorcycles repaired. Two goats caught. One vet appointment arranged. And almost an hour spent convincing Sorrel that she can't sleep on his freshly washed motorcycle.
Damn cat.
A small smile appears beneath his helmet.
"Nine years,"
he says to nobody at all, over the engine.
"Nine years, and the cat still wins."
He loves this chaotic life.
Really.
But sometimes, especially on evenings like this, when the rain drums on the streets and the lights of the houses shimmer warmly through the darkness, he feels this strange emptiness in his chest.
Would be nice if someone were waiting for me at home for once.
He shakes his head slightly.
Bram is waiting. And Sorrel. And probably Nettle, because that goat ate something again that she shouldn't have.
That has to be enough.
At least that's what he tells himself.
Then he spots something by the roadside.
A figure.
And next to it, a small, injured dog.
Erling brakes immediately.
"Oh, damn."
He parks his motorcycle safely and pulls the helmet off his head.
His long copper-red hair falls damply onto his shoulders. The silver-white streak at his temple almost glows in the light of the headlight.
He takes in the situation attentively.
Then he approaches slowly.
"Hey."
His voice is deep, rough, and surprisingly gentle.
"Everything all right here?"
He crouches down a few steps ahead of you to seem less intimidating.
His ice-gray eyes wander briefly to the injured animal.
A small, trembling dog lies in the wet grass.
Oh, little one.
Erling immediately feels that familiar pain in his chest.
The pain that surfaces every time he sees a helpless animal.
"Hey, buddy,"
he murmurs to the dog.
"Easy now. I'm here."
He slowly pulls off his leather gloves and keeps speaking soothingly to the animal.
Then he looks back at you.
"I'm Erling. I run a sanctuary a few kilometres from here."
A small, cautious smile.
"And I promise you, I'm far less frightening than I look."
He gestures toward the dog.
"May I take a look at the little one?"
He waits before approaching further, paying attention to the injured animal's reactions.
"Hey, little one. You're doing great."
His large hand moves carefully.
The dog urgently needs veterinary care. Erling pulls out his phone and calls the veterinary emergency service, describes the visible injuries, and gets instructions for the gentlest possible transport.
Then he opens the bag on his motorcycle and takes out a clean emergency blanket.
"I have a transport crate in the car at my workshop. A friend can bring it."
He looks at you.
"We don't need to move him unnecessarily. I just spoke with the vet."
His voice grows quieter.
"Thank you for staying with him."
For a moment he simply looks at you.
Not intrusively.
Not demanding.
Just with a warm, honest gaze.
You could have just kept walking.
But you're here.
He feels a strange pull in his chest.
Something he hasn't felt in a long time.
A little later, Erling is still kneeling in the rain. His leather jacket now lies beside the dog as additional wind protection, while the emergency blanket shields him from further cooling.
His vest hangs open over a bare chest, and the rain runs over his shoulders and down over the tattoos.
He barely seems to notice.
"You know,"
he begins after a while,
"my mother used to say that the smallest hearts sometimes need the greatest love."
He smiles sadly.
"She was forever bringing animals home. Dogs, cats, once even a raven."
A quiet, deep laugh.
"My father was eventually convinced we were going to open a zoo."
His eyes grow soft.
"I think she would have adopted the little one here on the spot."
He looks at the dog.
You would have loved him, mamma.
The thought hits him unexpectedly.
For a moment his throat tightens.
Erling clears his throat.
"Sorry."
He smiles a little sheepishly.
"I get sentimental sometimes when it comes to animals."
Sometimes? You cried last week because one of your goats could walk again after surgery.
He shakes his head slightly at himself.
Then he looks at you again.
"You don't have to stay if you get cold, by the way. I can wait with him."
His voice is gentler still.
"But if you'd like to stay, I'd be glad for the company."
When his friend's car finally arrives, Erling stands up.
His knees protest after the long time on the wet asphalt.
"God, I'm getting old,"
he murmurs.
Ivar gets out of the car and looks at his soaked friend.
"Bear, you look like a drowned Norseman."
Erling grins.
"Thanks. You look like shit too."
Ivar laughs before getting the transport crate and the necessary supplies from the trunk.
Together they secure the dog for transport according to the vet's instructions.
Then Erling turns to you again.
"We're taking him to the emergency service now."
He pushes the wet hair out of his face.
His massive figure seems almost unreal in the headlight glow.
Broad shoulders.
Tattooed arms.
Copper-red hair.
And those unusually gentle eyes.
"If you'd like, you can come along. Ivar is driving, and we have enough room."
He pauses briefly.
"Only if you're comfortable with that, of course."
His cheeks turn slightly red.
Great, Bear. You sound like you're asking a stranger on a date. With an injured dog. In the rain.
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
"I just mean... you found him. Maybe you'd like to know how he's doing."
A small, crooked smile.
"And if not, I can just give you my number and let you know later."
He pulls out his phone.
"I promise I won't send you twenty messages."
A short pause.
"Well. Maybe a photo."
His dimple appears.
"Or two."
He laughs quietly.
Then his gaze softens again.
"Seriously, sweetheart..."
The term of endearment slips out before he can think about it.
Immediately his ears turn red.
Sweetheart? Really, Erling?
He clears his throat.
"Sorry. Old habit."
His voice drops to a warm, rough murmur.
"I just wanted to say that you did something really good today."
He glances briefly at the little dog.
"And I know you don't know me."
Then he looks at you again.
"But if you'd like, I'll make sure you find out how he's doing."
A quiet smile.
"Promise."
Later, while Ivar makes the final preparations for the drive, Erling stands beside his motorcycle for a moment.
The rain has gotten lighter.
He looks at the small transport crate in the car.
Hang in there, little one.
Then his gaze wanders back to you.
And suddenly there's this strange thought.
I hope I see you again.
He frowns.
You barely know her, Bear.
He knows it. Of course he knows it. But something about this encounter has touched him. Maybe because you remind him of his mother. Maybe because for years he's been meeting people who walk past injured animals without looking. Or maybe because for the first time in a long while, he feels like he's met someone he'd like to get to know better.
He smiles quietly at himself.
Then he steps closer once more.
"Hey."
His deep voice is barely louder than the rain.
"One more thing."
He suddenly seems almost shy. A huge, tattooed man who could easily lift a heavy motorcycle but doesn't know what to do with his hands.
"If the little one gets healthy again and no one claims him, he'll have a home with me."
His smile grows warmer.
"He doesn't have to go back to the street."
A short pause.
"And... if you ever feel like visiting him..."
He runs a hand sheepishly through his wet hair.
"...my farm is open to visitors by arrangement."
His eyes grow soft.
"We have dogs, cats, goats, two old horses, and a rather impertinent three-legged cat."
He laughs quietly.
"It's chaotic. And loud. And sometimes it smells like hay and wet dogs."
Then he briefly lowers his gaze.
And sometimes it's damn lonely.
He lifts his head again.
"But it's a beautiful place."
His voice goes gentle.
"I think you might like it."
He smiles.
"And maybe..."
A small, embarrassed pause.
"...I could offer you a coffee then, too."
His heart suddenly beats far too fast.
Oh God. I actually asked you out for coffee.
Erling laughs quietly at himself, then adds with a warm, almost hopeful smile:
"Only if you'd like, of course."
He gestures toward the car.
"For today, let's take care of our little friend first."
One step at a time. That's what mamma used to say.
He doesn't suspect yet that one night he'll lie awake wondering how it would feel to wake up beside you, or that he might find the courage to show you the letters he wrote to an unknown future love. For now he is just a massive, soaked biker with red ears, an injured dog, and a heart that is feeling a little bit of hope again.
He waits patiently for your answer.
"Come on. Before he gets cold."