Page 32 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
He pauses, noticing the empty dining room.
“Don’t worry, Knut,” I say. “We’ll have that tomorrow for lunch. Please apologize to Cook for making him bake it at such short notice.”
I leave the dining room, the back of my neck hot.
I walk alone in the hallway. And even though I’m used to being alone, ever since Sissel passed and Anders became reclusive, my chest hurts.
I frown, then have an idea.
I turn to a corridor I seldom venture down, then knock on a door before I can talk myself out of it.
Max swings the door open.
“I suppose you want to talk, man to man. You better come in.” Max ushers me inside his suite to a set of armchairs. I haven’t been in this room in a while. I’m glad my staff decorated it for Christmas. Max gestures for me to take a seat. “Would you like a drink?”
“Please.”
Max plonks down two glasses on the tiny coffee table. “I have water with bubbles and water without bubbles.”
“With bubbles, please.”
“You’re strange. Who puts bubbles in their drink?”
“We’re pretty strange here.”
Max slips from the armchair. He struggles to reach the water bottles from the cabinet, and I make a note to tell my staff later. Finally, he lugs two water bottles to the coffee table. He tries to open the bottle with bubbles but struggles.
“Want me to open it?”
“If you insist,” Max says generously.
I take the bottle and open it. I pour myself water, then open the bottle of still water and pour it for Max.
Max climbs into his armchair. It takes him a while. Finally, he folds his arms against his chest and scowls. “You may speak.”
“Thank you for coming here with your dad. I know it’s difficult. We’re rather removed from Nevada.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“No?”
“I like traveling. We traveled before, you know. I’ve been to five states.”
“Wow.”
Max shrugs, pleased.
“I also like traveling. I like you too. And your father.”
“My aunt made my dad go on a date last year. He cried when he got back. He pretended he didn’t, but he did. I saw.”
“I don’t want him to cry.”
“You better not. I know where you keep your weapons.”
“I suppose they are rather on display,” I admit. Olav must have taken them through the armory.
“I guess I could have another friend,” Max says finally.
