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analytic skills to assess the possibilities and decided that the best way to meet and court a woman was on the dance floor. At a Dallas dance school, he signed up for lessons. As with everything else, he studied and practiced. On the floor, Stefan was graceful and intense, and he entered competitions. In love, however, it was a disappointment. Around that time, he did start a new relationship, but it was with a married woman, one who appeared to want him for what he could buy her. She borrowed $70,000 from Stefan to invest in a business and never repaid him.
    Although not earning enough at UTSW to afford such things, Stefan had found some success in the financial markets. Each day, he rose early, checking the stats on the foreign exchanges before New York opened. He then put in his buy and sell orders, and left for work, checking off and on to see how his stocks performed.
    Settled into his life in the U.S., Stefan returned to Sweden once a year, to ride in the annual summer-solstice bike trip he’d helped found while in college. While there, he visited family and friends. Yet Dallas had become his home, and he loved his life in the United States, leading him to, in the mid-nineties, become a U.S. citizen. He saw his future in America, one he hoped would someday include a wife and a family. “Stefan always said he was looking for the right woman,” said a friend.
    The Stefan Andersson his friends knew was a social person, who needed other people. At night, in the clubs, if seated at the bar alone, he talked to the bartender or other patrons. At his apartment, he left his television on, to hear the voices. “Stefan just loved people, being around people. He craved contact. And he loved women.”
    Not far from The Village, Stefan became a regular at Henk’s European Deli and Black Forest Bakery. A little piece of his homeland, it offered herring, Wiener schnitzel, bratwurst, liverwurst, and sauerbraten. On Thursday and Saturday evenings, he claimed a table, and before long became friends with the staff, asking about their families, talking about their lives, giving the younger ones advice, including “always have a Plan B, because Plan A doesn’t always work out.”
    Everyone at Henk’s knew that Stefan had a crush on one of the waitresses, a tall blonde. Although she was married, he indulged in an innocent flirtation, one neither let go further. At the restaurant, he stayed late, talking to the waiters while they cleaned up and set the tables for the next day. Over the years, they all became close. “It was kind of like he was one of us,” said one of the waitresses.
    One evening, he gave the woman he clearly coveted a ride home. As she got into the car, she wondered if he would make a pass or do anything she’d have to reject. But he didn’t. He simply drove her home, then waited for her to open her front door and disappear inside. “Very much the gentleman,” she said.
    M eanwhile, in 1997 in Lund, Sweden, a young woman named Annika Lindqvist was working on her PhD in cellular molecular biology when her faculty advisor asked her, “Where do you see your future?”
    â€œI’d like to move to the U.S.,” Lindqvist said, basing her decision on reports she’d heard of good salaries and important research.
    Musing over the possibilities, her advisor mentioned a friend, a former colleague, Stefan Andersson. “He’s in Dallas.”
    â€œIs it warm there?” Lindqvist asked. As Stefan once had, Annika, with dark blond hair, glasses, and a wide smile, dreamed of an escape from Sweden’s long, dreary winters.
    â€œI think so. I’ll contact him for you,” the woman offered.
    A short time later on her way to a camping vacation in the Grand Canyon, Annika stopped in Dallas. Getting off the plane, she encountered a clear, blue Texas sky and felt the warmth of sunlight caressing her skin. Outside the terminal, Stefan waited in the