Page 49 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“More art galleries?”
“Next?”
He sighed, “There’s always Solvang.”
“What’s that?”
He overset his unicorn in his eagerness to tell me, which was how, three hours later, I found myself walking the cobbled streets of a Danish-themed town that did double duty as a living history museum and secretly led the life of a tourist trap.
* * *
“Wow,another store full of wooden shoes and candle-powered whirligigs,” I said, after the fifth shop exactly like it.
He sped off to another display of hand-crafted wooden toys. “The magnetic kissing cow salt and pepper shakers you got will be a great Christmas gift for someone.”
“No one I actually know.”
“Don’t be such a downer. This is fun, right?”
“Of course.” I wanted to say no, but a lifetime of honesty prevented it.
“You know you want aebleskivers.”
“I know no such thing.” What sounded like an incurable rash turned out to be round pancakes flavored with cardamom. I read the menu, and they didn’t sound bad. “Do I want them stuffed?”
“Trust me, they’re the one thing you don’t want stuffed this weekend.” Heat flooded my face when Epic put his arm around me. “Real aebleskivers are plain with raspberry coulis and powdered sugar. Stuffing them is gilding the lily.”
“I think I saw a potholder with that saying on it three stores ago.”
“We’ll make a convert of you with these. I promise.”
He ordered plates of medisterpolse and round, fried pancakes. “You’ve got something.” He pointed to his face, so I’d know where to wipe, but in trying to correct it, I guessed from his expression I’d made things worse.
He covered his mouth with his napkin. “No. Um. You just—”
“I know.” I dunked my napkin in my water glass and tried again. “Now?”
He shook his head.
“Better?”
“Almost.” He reached out with his thumb and wiped something off the corner of my lips. When he lifted his thumb to his mouth to suck off the jam and sugar, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. My breath shortened. My heart rate picked up. There were busloads of disapproving seniors around us eating brunch, but that didn’t stop my train of thought from heading straight to Sex City, population two.
I put my fork down and sat back as turned on as I’d been in years.
I swallowed hard. “I think I might be having…mood swings.”
“You think?” He looked at me with such empathy I wanted to drown in the blue of his eyes.
“I might have put being sad on hold for a while,” I admitted. “After Luis left.”
“Sadness can be like that. You bury it in the ground and then someone builds a suburban housing tract over it. Next thing you know, all your shit is flying around the house and your kid is trapped in a television.
“No, I think that was the plot ofPoltergeist.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t offer more sarcasm. How did someone so young know exactly when to push and when to nurture? “The wedding is bringing buried grief to the surface, isn’t it?”
“It is.” I reached across the table and laid my hand over his. “I’m so grateful you came with me. I honestly don’t know what I’d have done this morning without you.”
