Page 49 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
For the first time in years, I wake up with someone splayed around me. Though Erik is no longer literally on top of me, our legs are tangled together, and his head is on my chest.
His eyelashes flick up, and his green-blue eyes gaze at me.
“Morning,” I say.
He sighs delightedly and squeezes me to him. My lower region is definitely wide awake, and it’s everything I can do to resist the temptation to spend the morning showing him exactly how appreciative I am of him.
“Reckon I should get back to my room in case Max checks on me.”
He nods slowly.
“Then I’ll shower and see you soon at breakfast?”
Erik brightens. “Maybe we can spend the day helping set up for tomorrow’s ball.”
I grin. “Sounds perfect, Your Majesty.”
“You can call me Erik.”
I shrug. “You’re sort of fancy.”
Then I jump out of bed and pull him against me. I kiss him hard, until he’s doing that quivering thing, then I grin and dress hastily.
Erik looks at me all stunned and dazed when I leave, and I chuckle.
I hurry down the corridor and make my way to my bedroom. Fortunately, Max isn’t pacing inside or anything. I shower, dress in different clothes, then knock on Max’s door and we head down to breakfast.
Erik beams at me across the breakfast table, then looks down hastily. I must be acting similarly strangely because Anders’ eyebrows fly up.
Fortunately, Max chatters away.
“Let’s bake something today,” Erik says.
Max shakes his head. “That won’t work.”
“Oh.” Erik frowns. “Why not?”
“My dad is a terrible baker. Like, really awful. You might not like him after you bake with him.”
Erik chuckles. “He can’t be that bad.”
“You would think that,” Max says, and I consider ducking under the table.
“What about if we bake Solbergian treats, and I lead the baking?” Erik asks.
“That could work,” Max says. “If you want to risk it. He’s even bad at stirring. No one is bad at stirring.”
Erik and Anders look at me strangely, clearly pondering how anyone could be bad at stirring.
The back of my neck heats. “I’ve made some tough pastry in the past.”
“I’ll monitor your father carefully,” Erik promises Max.
“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Max says.
“I’ll make it my mission,” Erik vows.
After breakfast, Erik and Anders lead us to the royal kitchens. Max’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops. I think I manage to be too worldly to have my jaw drop in the face of giant walk-in refrigerators and pots that would feed hordes of people, but I’m not sure.
