Page 15 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
Just then, a door opens, and the maître d’ exits.
“Is this where the fancy meeting is at?” I ask.
“I’ll say. Come in. You’re late.” He drags me inside, then I’m in a room with four other people.
I recognize one of them at once.
The King of Solberg sits at the table.
For a moment, he stares at me in shock.
I don’t blame him. I’m not supposed to be in the presence of royals. We just don’t got them in this corner of Nevada, and they don’t seem to want to make the long journey here.
I’ve got no idea why the maître d’ put me in this room, but I know a mistake when I come across one.
I slink back toward the door.
A smile breaks over the king’s handsome face, and he looks beatific, like the pictures in churches of people on clouds, then leans forward and speaks to another guy in a suit. “Olav, you’re spectacular.”
The king winds his way around the table, turning to the maître d’. “We’re all here! Let’s move this to the balcony.”
“Wait! Your Majesty!” Olav, the guy he was complimenting, waves his arms around, but the maître d’ ushers him briskly outside to the balcony.
“I didn’t expect you, Glen,” the king tells me, his eyes soft.
Excellent. I’m not crazy.
“I’m a bit confused,” I admit.
It’s not like the king doesn’t know who I am. Whatever this is, it’s not a case of mistaken identity.
“That’s perfectly understandable,” the king says in a regal voice.
His eyes soften, and I’m not getting lost in those shards of blue and green. I’m not.
“Let’s go,” he says, heading for the balcony.
“You want me to go out there with you?”
“Yes. But don’t worry. I’ll do the talking. Just agree with everything I say.”
“Uh... This won’t take long, will it?”
His shoulders slump, but he gazes at me in a reassuring manner. “I’ll get you out of here soon. I promise, Glen.”
We exchange smiles again, then go outside.
The staff have turned the balcony into a winter wonderland. The balcony has views of Mistletoe Springs Mountains. Lilac and pink streak against the sky.
Winter ain’t most people’s favorite time, but it’s always been mine. There’s nothing like the crisp cool air that causes your nostrils to constrict.
Icicles glisten from the balcony’s railing.
Three people are seated facing a podium. Various Christmas treats are placed before them, and one woman munches happily on a gingerbread cookie.
Reckon they taste better than the kind I make.
“I’ll introduce you quickly,” the king says. “Glen, this is my son, Prince Anders.”
