What Happens in Stockholm

As soon as I stepped off the plane I could sense the colder temperature, even through the sealed walls of the ramp that would take me to the main airport. I had my carryon slung over my shoulder as I followed my fellow passengers to baggage claim, desperate to find the thicker jacket I had packed in my suit case and my cousin. After making a series of turn and going down a couple escalators I finally came to the familiar baggage picture, leading us to right place.

There, waiting for me, my suit case already off the carousel was my favorite cousin. A broad smile stretched across my lips as I picked up my pace, desperate to be in his warm, safe arms. As soon as the space was clear in front of me, I took off in as fast a sprint as I could manage with my bag. The carryon dropped at our feet as my arms and legs wrapped securely around his strong body, adjusting quickly to my mass attack of weight. His arms supported my body and held me tight to him. I pulled away only enough to examine his face, the one I hadn’t seen in a couple years; he hadn’t changed much.

“I’ve missed you Dougy,” I mumbled, burying my face into the warmth of his neck.

“I’ve missed you too Bri. Welcome to Sweden.”