Page 38 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
I nod.
I do know.
“You can’t really see it in the dark,” he says, and I frown, because I don’t like him apologizing all the time.
People who should apologize, like Mr. Brenner, never do.
It’s only the kind people who think about everything, who want everyone to be happy, who apologize.
“Reckon it’s mighty nice,” I tell him. “Real special.”
The plants have turned into interesting shapes in the dark. In all actuality, the place is pretty romantic, what with the smells and the moonlight and the quietness. Ain’t gonna tell that to the king, even if he would blush in a mighty cute way, and act like one of those rabbits out in the countryside.
Erik leads me deeper into the greenhouse, past potted plants and raised beds, past interestingly shaped greenery I cannot name, that’s special even in the dim moonlight that paints Erik’s face and hands silver.
“This is wonderful,” I say, and his shoulders square.
“I planted everything myself,” he says. “I wanted something to focus on, to make some little section of the world prettier.”
“This is pretty,” I tell him. My gaze falls on some of the raised flower beds. “I can make new wood casings for you. Add some flourishes.”
“You like wood.”
I grin. He’s too innocent to know he made a dirty joke.
“I think you’ll appreciate this,” he says, taking me to an oak tree.
“It’s big,” I say, unsure where this is going.
“My staff built the greenhouse around it,” he explains. “Maybe you can’t see, but you can feel the trunk.”
The king takes my hand, even though there are no cameras around, and no one for us to impress pretending to be in love for the tabloids.
I shiver under his touch. I should tell him that I don’t date, that I don’t hold hands with anyone, that I’m going to spend the rest of my life alone and that I made my peace with that long ago. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out, and when he rubs my hand over something on the oak tree and I realize he’s not pulling me closer to him, that he’s not trying to kiss me, I feel confused and... disappointed.
My hands brush over something growing on the trunk, some sort of flower.
“Is it mistletoe?” I ask.
“Yes,” the king says happily. “This is the first year I got the berries to grow. They’re parasitic and need the tree to survive.”
“We’re under real mistletoe,” I say in wonder. “I-I always bought it from the store.”
“I saw you hanging mistletoe at the airport,” he says.
“Trying to hang,” I correct him.
“Would have happened if someone hadn’t knocked you from the ladder.”
“Every place needs mistletoe,” I say, my voice hoarse for some reason. “Makes a place ready for Christmas.”
I feel his gaze on me, and my skin prickles.
Because mistletoe isn’t merely a Christmas decoration. It’s a reminder that love is important and can happen even spontaneously. I suddenly think about Casey and her teasing. Maybe I was more ready for romance than I thought.
“I’m from Mistletoe Springs,” I say stupidly, even though he knows it.
“I wanted to see it in person.” He frowns. “I didn’t get to see any mistletoe. Except the kind stuck on your sweater and on your gazebo.”
