Page 23 of Royal Rising

“Sorry, Bob.” Dillon gives Dad’s shoulder a friendly slap. “That’s ayouproblem.”

“You’ve said it yourself,” Dad says to me. “With Kalle. You can’t see yourself with him.”

“That’s different,” I protest. “We’re friends.”

And because if I started picturing myself with Kalle, that would be the beginning of the end.

I know there have been times Kalle has been tempted to cross the line. I know him well enough to see that. And some of those times, it would have been easy for me to lean in and let things go where they wanted to go.

But I didn’t, because if Kalle and I moved past being just friends, it would put an end to our friendship. It would put an end to everything, because Kalle would never want to end up with me.

He’ll be king someday. And the woman he ends up with will be queen.

And that won’t be the daughter of the former groundskeeper and manager of hisbar.

“About that… How long have you and Maj been friends?” Dillon says, looking up from the paper.

“Sixteen years.”

“Huh.” Dillon banters and teases and complains, but thathuhsuggests he’s got something deeper to say. “Do you know how many lady friends I’ve had for that long? A big fat zero. Do you know how many lady friends I have? Another, even bigger and fatter zero because when I get friendly with a woman, I want more than just to be friends.”

Dad frowns but doesn’t argue with Dillon.

I huff with exasperation. I’ve heard the arguments, the protests that Kalle and I “would be perfect together,” “you’d make him a better man,” and “it’s not natural for a man and woman to be friends like that.” “It’s not like that with Kalle and me,” I say.

Dillon smirks. “I wouldn’t bet the boat on that. I saw how he looked at you last night.”

Dad raises his hand. “Uh, father sitting right here,” he points out. “Who would rather not imagine any man looking at my daughter in any way.”

“You got to wonder though,” Dillon says.

“Really don’t, thanks,” Dad argues.

“We’re not talking about Kalle.”

Why does it always come back to Kalle? Why can’t people leave it alone?

Like I willed him, Kalle steps out of the office. He’s wearing a brown T-shirt—same shirt as yesterday, only a different colour. He must own at least ten of them.

My eyes stray to the area right along the waistband of his jeans covering the patch of bare skin I saw last night.

Why…? I look away. “You opened early,” I say.

“Lineup,” Kalle confirms. “Even with the rain. Lots of guys looking for Skywalker’s eggs this morning.”

“I hope we don’t run out.” I laugh nervously. “We don’t have another delivery for another few days.”

A crack of thunder sounds, loud enough to be heard over the din, and I jump. Kalle puts his hand on my back and gives it a soothing rub.

“It’s going to be a fun day,” he says gruffly.

Customers still, cups and forks held aloft as the rumble continues like bowling balls running the length of Kalle’s apartment and it’s blessedly quiet for a moment before the chattering begins again. The storm will be discussedad nauseam,comparisons to every other storm in Laandia’s history, including hurricanes Igor and Fiona.

Fiona hit Newfoundland hard, but Laandia wasn’t as affected. But I have memories of being trapped in my father’s greenhouse as hurricane Igor swept across the area, the kind of memories that wake you from your dreams.

I don’t like storms.

“I sent Tyler out to FoodMart just in case.” Kalle leans over me to reach the coffeepot and I step back, but not before his scent hits me. Soothes me.

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