Erling and Jude (4)

The air conditioning in the exclusive private beach restaurant was, without a doubt, the best thing that had happened to you all day.

Outside, the Spanish summer blazed with an intensity that, to you, barely a year old and with your father Erling's distinctly Nordic genes, felt like personal torture. You were the spitting image of your Norwegian father: the same determined gaze, the same fair hair, and that absolute intolerance for the heat that left you in a foul mood.

An oasis of freshness

Sitting in your high chair, you were in your own little world of mild indignation. You were wearing short swim trunks, a light t-shirt, your sun hat, and, of course, your pacifier clutched tightly in your mouth. With one arm, you hugged your comfort toy, your inseparable battle companion, to your chest, while with the other, you tried to coordinate your newfound walking skills by squashing a slice of cold watermelon on the tray.

To your left, Erling looked at you with a mixture of pride and amusement. He, too, was wearing swim trunks and a loose t-shirt, his hair pulled back in his usual style. "Look at that face, Jude. It's exactly like mine when they forced me to go out in the sun," Erling remarked in his characteristically leisurely tone, spearing a prawn from the enormous seafood platter he was sharing with his partner. "Tomorrow at this time we'll be in Norway, kid. Fresh air, mountains... we're almost out of this Caribbean torture." To your right, Jude , impeccable even in beachwear and with that bright smile that usually disarmed everyone, burst into laughter as he took a sip of his cold drink.

“Please, the weather in Spain is glorious,” Jude replied, reaching out to gently wipe away some watermelon juice that was running down your chin. “But you’re right, he’s got the thermostat of a Viking. Look at him, if looks could kill, he’d have frozen the restaurant by now.”