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Lilja’s eyes grew wide as she took in the goods behind the glass. “What would you like?” I asked.

She bit her lip. “I… I’ll have the same as you.”

“Two semlas,” I told Mrs. Viksten since they were the very best she had to offer.

Putting her paint cans on the counter, Lilja slipped her hand in her pocket, but I waved away her coin with my elbow since I was still holding my cans. “My treat.”

“You just paid me.”

“And I bet you have plenty to spend it on.” She didn’t even have her own clothes.

I placed the paint down on a table, then grabbed the two plates Mrs. Viksten handed me, placing one in front of Lilja. She took off Helena’s gloves before she sat, but kept the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. I tried to keep my eyes on my own fork, but again, she pulled my gaze. She managed to look elegant as she ate a bite.

“It’s good,” she said, wiping a bit of whipped cream off the side of her mouth with a finger.

It was good. The bun was flaky, the almond paste with just the right sweetness. “When I was little,” I said, “my father convinced me semlas were cakes just for me because the name is so similar to my own. It’s just two letters switched.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“He was like that. Always trying to make me feel special.”

“Has he been gone long?” She looked at me with such earnestness that my throat tightened.

“About three years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She ate another forkful. “What of your mother?”

“She died of a fever when I was very little. I never knew her.”

“That’s why you have no sisters or brothers?”

“Yes. My father didn’t want to marry again.”

Her smile was wistful. “There’s a sweetness to that, too, I think.”

“I always thought so as well.”

It was a bit odd, sitting here with her. Nice too. Having someone to do this sort of thing with. I had never gone anywhere with a woman who wasn’t Alma or Helena.

“Do you have a big family?” I asked after another bite.

I watched as Lilja cut off another piece of her semla. “I did,” she said, but her face didn’t take on that softness of a fond memory. “My father was cruel,” she said, and there was something both cold and frightened in her voice. “Then I went to live with someone else. She was even crueler.”

“And then you came here?”

She nodded. “Yes. Then I came here.”

“Did you travel far?”

“Very far.”

“It must’ve been a hard journey.”

“It was. And very strange. It’s… it’s so different here.”

“You’re not used to a town?”

“Not at all.”