Page 86 of The Dandelion Princess
“What kind of answer was that?” Ella laughs when he goes.
“Was I supposed to tell him that I can’t wait to play your games?”
“Even when I’m dressed like a grandmother?”
Even in ripped jeans and a hoodie. Even in flannel pajamas. “Stop acting like you don’t know I’m wrecked by your work clothes. Is your mother happy about this change?”
She looks down, frowning at her trousers, and twists in the narrow chair, her pointed heels peeping from the wide-legged hems. “She’s too tense about Freja to be happy about me.”
I lean against the bar. If Noah doubles back he’ll see me standing too close and this game will be over. I reach past Ella for a pistachio, feel the leap in my blood as the distance between us narrows, peel the shell away, and tuck it between her lips.
“You don’t look like a grandmother,” I tell her.
She chews quickly and swallows. I watch her lips purse and want to kiss her. Nothing new. “A Lauza Erdo blouse is not exactly earth shattering.”
Lauza Erdo deserves an Order of the Dragonslayer.
“Maybe it’s the glasses,” I say.
She half-removes them, looking at me over the tortoiseshell rims, and the wooshing sound in my ears must be all the air being sucked out of the North Sea Confederation.
I brace my hands on the arms of her chair until we’re practically lip to lip. “What are you doing? Put them back on. Or take them off. You look like—”
She laughs. “Someone with mild astigmatism?”
A light cough sounds, and we look into the urbane, faintly disapproving look of the head waiter. His expression reads, “I had hoped it would not come to this.”
“Will you be needing anything, ma’am, sir?” His tone is dry. “A room, perhaps?”
Ella’s nose wrinkles at the ‘ma’am’. “I could use a private booth to work, Arne.” She glances at our booth.
“Work?” he echos, a little squint in his eyes. “Of course.”
He makes a discreet series of movements with his head, summoning staff forward to clear the place settings and situate her workspace. A notepad is placed at one side with a sleek fountain pen. A bottle of Vestfyn is decanted next to a tall-necked glass. A pillow is brought forth to support her back.
She flips it down and sits on it instead, adjusts her ergonomics, and looks up with a smile, “Thank you.”
I move forward and the head waiter shoots me a quelling glance. “For you, sir? Will you be needing separate accommodations of your own in another part of the club, perhaps?”
“It was a one-time thing, Arne,” I insist. “I can be relied upon.”
His head tilts up, as though deep in his memories. “I wish I had the innocent, trusting nature of a younger man,” he observes.
“I could do with a coffee,” I say, sliding in next to Ella as she opens her laptop.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. “You’re going to get us in trouble again, and I really am working.”
I slide my arm over the back of the booth and let gravity do the rest. My hand lands lightly on her hip. “In Minty’s? What are you up to?”
“You won’t like it,” she warns, adjusting herself to my embrace.
“This is pretty basic tech,” I say, tipping the computer up, examining the brand and specs. “Is this…a burner laptop?”
She nods and I continue my examination. “You’re being awfully careful and you’re nowhere near the palace.”
Again, she nods.
“Ella.” My tone is level but she lifts her chin.
