Page 19 of Valkyrie Confused

“And he decides it’d be fun to sneak up on me. His brilliant idea yielded him some scratches and a broken flute.” The way Arnlaug scrunches his eyebrows, Pan is lucky he didn’t have to dig said flute out of his own ass.

“When I got my bearings,” Arnlaug says, “I apologized profusely and offered to share my catch with him. He said he’d cook it, and—“

“And the rest, as they say, is history.” Panos leans in between us, to refill our glasses with wine. He moves like he’s made of mercury. It’s mesmerizing to watch him walk away. He’s all fluid motion and sleek lines. A breath of fresh air.

Arnlaug’s sharp intake of breath says he sees it too. The two of them should be together. And I should watch the whole thing and record it in my book for posterity.

I have some more of the rabbit, not letting guilt spoil the exquisite flavor. Arnlaug returns to his food too. Without Panos here, it seems we don’t have anything to talk about.

“He hasn’t changed at all,” Arnlaug mutters between bites. “Still makes my blood boil.” Does he realize I can hear him?

“I don’t know him half as well as you probably do, but he is stubborn,” I say.

“Right?” Arnlaug pins me with his gaze, and when the sun hits his eyes, their blue turns electric. Eyes this color usually seem cold. Unreadable. His are brimming with emotions, frustration topping the rest. “It’s like he hasn’t grown a day since we—”

Broke up?

“—last saw each other.” He says that last part like he’s chewing gravel and it makes his jaw clench.

I draw a heart in the remainders of my mashed potatoes with my fork, then swirl the tines in the shape, to make it unrecognizable. “You know, you don’t have to hide from me.” Am I making a mistake, approaching the matter head on? I hope not. “I can see there’s more to you two. You know.” For an author, I’m not winning any eloquence contests.

Arnlaug sits back, seemingly chill, but his knuckles are white where his fists frame his plate. “More?” he growls. He works his jaw, and the way sunlight plays across his face makes his features shimmer. Like something lurks underneath the surface.

There’sthe author brain at work.

I cover one of his hands with mine, and he tenses more. “Being open about what you are isn’t always easy,” I say, “especially in rural places. But I’m from New York. I’ve seen it all. You know?” And can I squeeze in one moreyou know?

He narrows his eyes, studying my face. “IthinkI do, but then I’m kind of convinced I don’t, so why don’t you quit dancing around the subject and tell me?” His accent is getting thicker.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just—I’m aware that this isn’t my placeat all, but it’s so obvious you and Panos have unresolved issues because you were more than just friends. Whatever the reason your relationship ended, there are lingering feelings there, and I think you should fix what broke you apart and give it another go.”

He blinks slowly, the ice in his posture slowly melting. “It can’t be fixed,” he says. “Our world views are fundamentally different.”

I draw a long breath and let it out, puffing my cheeks. “Well, I’m a professional in bringing together people who at first glance don’t seem like they work, and I say, when two people are in love, no difference is irreconcilable.”I rethink my words. “As long as neither of you is—like—an axe murderer or a racist or any kind of-phobe. Unless you both are, I guess? Anyway, you get my point.”

Arnlaug arches an eyebrow. “Are you a marriage counsellor, as well as a hotelier?”

I grin and let go of his hand, to push my plate back and steeple my fingers on the table. “I am a romance author.”

I expect him to laugh, but he nods, his gaze pensive. “So you believe inmeant to be? Fate? A predetermined chess game we are all pawns in?”

Huh. “Not how I’d phrase it. I do believe there’s a greater plan, but I also believe in free will. If you don’t do what’s expected of you, the plan changes, but if your intentions are good, things work out in the end.” I shrug one shoulder.

He purses his lips, and then takes a long sip of water. “It’s not that easy.”

“What’s not that easy?” Panos leans over me, to refill my glass with water. “And are you done with your meal? Should I bring dessert?”

“It’s not easy to have a conversation, with you hovering about,” Arnlaug shoots at him.

“Perhaps you’re not supposed to have a conversation that doesn’t include me.” Panos fills Arnlaug’s glass, too, andaccidentallypours some in his lap. “Oops.Sorry,” he says in the flattest tone possible. “You’d better go change. You don’t want people thinking you’ve peed yourself.“

I look around. The single table that was previously occupied is now vacant. “What people?”

Panos rolls his eyes. “Seriously, do you have to make everything harder?” he asks Arnlaug.

And on that note… I push my chair back and stand, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning. “It’s time for me to get back to work. I’ll have dessert in my room.” I give Panos a meaningful glance. “And I’m innohurry. Take your time bringing it up.”

“Happy writing,” he replies. “Let me know if you need anything.”

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