Page 23 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
“Yes.” Nervous energy bounces off King Erik. I want to get him settled on a couch, pour him a cup of hot cocoa, and wrap my grandmother’s quilt around him.
I have a feeling that wouldn’t be appropriate.
I settle at just looking at him, until I realize that’s not appropriate either, even if it’s interesting how his eyes happen to be that light a shade of blue-green. I wonder if they look like the ocean.
I know the world’s filled with more landscapes than just desert and red mountains and cacti.
King Erik’s gaze falls on Dean’s picture. Dean’s holding Max, and I’m squeezed in the frame beside them, one happy family. “Is that...?”
“That’s Papa!” Max exclaims.
“Oh. That’s... Uh.” King Erik looks sort of horrified, and I wonder if he thinks he’s arrived on the doorstep of a married man, and Dean’s gonna show up any moment with a shotgun.
Dean would look mighty silly carrying my shotgun around. He never learned to shoot. Guess he successfully avoided going to the shooting range with me. Huh.
“Papa is in heaven,” I explain.
Max frowns. “And in the photo.”
I chuckle. “That’s right, Max. And in the photo.”
Max does his squaring shoulder thing. That boy is gonna be a handful once he starts lifting.
“Please take a seat, Your Majesty,” I say hastily. I look at his security staff. “You can grab some chairs from the kitchen—”
“We prefer to stand, should a sudden situation occur,” the super bulky bodyguard says.
Max’s eyes widen. “Are you talking about a shooting situation?”
“Or a bombing situation. Or a stabbing situation.”
“Wow.”
“No royal in Solberg has ever been assassinated,” King Erik says. “Or has been the victim of an assassination attempt.”
The bodyguard thrusts out his jaw. “No assassin would dare attack.”
“Cool.” Max stares wide-eyed at him. “Do you know about protein?”
“Sven knows everything about protein,” King Erik says.
Sven nods solemnly. “We are built of protein.”
Max and Sven seem to be involved in some sort of nodding competition. They’re definitely silently communicating.
“Perhaps we could talk outside?” King Erik whispers.
“If Sven doesn’t mind answering questions about protein.”
“He definitely doesn’t mind that,” King Erik promises, and his eyes do some sort of shimmer thing that I like way more than the sad thing he had going on earlier tonight.
After I tell Max and Sven where we’re going, King Erik and I wind up outside.
The sky is fully dark. Snow flutters down, the snowflakes sparkling in the glow of the Christmas lights I strung.
“Wanna walk to the gazebo?” I seem to get extra energy around King Erik, and I don’t think I can stand beside him without my heart doing some wild beating thing, like a broken jackhammer that won’t switch off.
King Erik nods, and we stroll toward the white-painted gazebo. I’ve strung it up with white bulbs and hung it with garlands. I’ve even set up a Christmas tree in one corner.
