Page 11 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
By Solberg, does that mean that everyone could tell? Sven? Anders? Glen Garland himself?
Something curdles behind my ribs, and I pour more tea into my cup, even though I hate it, even though the brown liquid looks as bleak as it tastes.
When my hands shake, I regret that I decided to pick up the only item in the room filled with hot liquid.
I shouldn’t have told Olav. I shouldn’t have.
Though to be honest, I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know. He went to school with me. If I heard what people saidabout me, he heard more. Most people are more comfortable talking about you when you’re not in the same room.
Life is filled with pretending I’m not someone I am and pretending I’m interested in things I’m not. It’s feigning disinterest and stomping down emotions. It’s making speeches about things that only sort of interest you, where you’re conscious that people don’t really care for you, and every part of your appearance will be dissected at length, so you better make yourself perfect.
“I know you,” Olav says. “I’ve seen you smitten. I remember when you fell in love with Sissel.”
I huff out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not smitten.”
Olav raises his hands. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were. But I saw the way you looked at him. And moreover, I saw the way he looked at you.”
“He did?” Something sizzles inside me, and a smile swerves onto my face before I force it down.
For a moment, Glen and I are speaking again, and my nerves are alive with the wild energy that makes me unable to stop smiling. The world is umber eyes and a stubbled face and a wide sturdy body. The world is capable hands and a baritone voice with a cowboy drawl.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not romantic.
I don’t pine over cowboys I barely know. I refuse to confuse my nation as I pursue desires I’ve kept locked up.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I got Anders out of his room, at least.”
“That’s something,” Olav agrees.
I want it to be enough.
Sulky teen boys need more than trips to the other side of the world, but I don’t know what to give him. Anders is my son, but the cheerful boy I remember is gone, and I don’t know how to make this new one happy.
And how can he be? His mother died, and the global media is focused on him.
“Do you have another suggestion for tomorrow?” I ask, to show that my nerves are not doing some sort of advanced acrobatic routine, and that I am calm and capable.
“I can always contact the cowboy and ask him to be your fake date.” Olav winks, then leaves the room.
The door clicks shut, and all the thoughts I don’t want to have rush in. Mistletoe sways above me, daring me to imagine scenarios kings have no business imagining.
CHAPTER FIVE
King Erik
After an afternoon of sightseeing and scanning the streets for a certain brown-haired cowboy and telling myself I don’t care when I don’t spot him, it’s time for the restaurant.
I’ll formally announce that I’m dating the countess’s daughter to Lena Haugeland, then we can fly back to Solberg. Obviously, Olav’s suggestion that I fake date Glen Garland was a joke.
Still, I wish I’d seen him.
I shouldn’t feel lonely for a man I barely know.
Mistletoe Springs Restaurant is on Main Street, and it seems as proud of its location as most of the other establishments. There’s Mistletoe Springs Barber Shop, Mistletoe Springs Talent Agency, and Mistletoe Springs Movie Theater.
The restaurant is more crowded than I expected, and happy people wearing cowboy hats chatter and eat. Waiters attired in crisp uniforms wind through the tables, carrying platters of interesting-looking food. Everything is wood and red, as if the owner was determined to fill the place with as much warmth as possible. A large fireplace sits in one corner of the room, flames leaping to the fiddle music streaming from the speakers.
We weave through the tables. Sonja, the airport worker who guided us through the airport, sits at a leather booth. Beside her is a woman with short hair and a green vest... They laugh and smile, their faces close. Clearly, they’re excellent friends.
