"What?" Paige sat bolt upright. She'd missed something, obviously.
"I said, 'Did you kiss him?' From how you talked about him, I can tell something happened."
What was wrong with her mother? "Mamma, no! What would make you even ask such a question? I hardly said anything about Wes!" She stuffed a cookie in her mouth and munched in frustration. Boy, they were good. She’d forgotten just how delicious Farfar’s baking was.
Her mother clucked her tongue. "I know. That's the problem. You hardly mentioned anything about him, but I could tell you were holding something back. So I know you're not giving me the whole story."
Paige could swear her mother was a mind reader. She had thought she'd been so careful to give details without getting too personal. Leave it to Mamma to ferret out things she’d never said. "There's not much story there. He's attractive, yes. But he doesn't like Christmas, and I can tell he has baggage. Plus, I have a date with Michael on Monday afternoon."
"Michael?" Her eyebrows raised. "Is this the same Michael you used to have such a big crush on in high school?"
"The very one." Paige took another sip of tea and chose her words carefully. "We reconnected on Facebook. I quit being on it much, with how busy I’ve been this last year, but I got on again recently. When I posted about being excited to go home for Christmas, he messaged me, and, um, we've been talking."
Her mother frowned.
"No, no. It's nothing like that. We're just old friends who are going to talk about old times." She hoped Mamma would drop it, but she should've known better.
"Sure, old times. You look nothing like old times. He never took notice of you before, but now, when you're filled out up top and grown into your bones, sure, he takes notice. How about the Torgeson's boy—John, is it? I heard he's home for the holidays."
Paige shook her head a little harder than she'd meant to. Ouch. Her neck would pay for that. But no way was she contacting John never-washed-behind-his-ears Torgeson. She doubted he'd changed much since she'd seen him last year. "No, Mamma. Michael's not like that. Anyway, I need to go to bed." She yawned and stretched, only half forcing it. Her mother's line of questioning had woken her right up.
"All right, sweetie. We'll talk more tomorrow. Go rest. Sofie and the kids will be here early." She patted Paige's hand, then got up and kissed the top of her head before taking the teacups to the kitchen.
Paige dragged herself to bed, changed into her pajamas, and fell asleep, dreaming of Onkel Arkin dancing with happy mice in front of the Christmas tree while Michael twirled her around in circles as Wes stood in the corner, frowning.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday, December 20th
“Aunt Paige! Aunt Paige!"
Oh, no. She wasn't ready to be awake. Paige pulled her pillow over her head as her twin nephews began bouncing on her legs. "Wake up!" Ethan tickled her in the ribs, and she tossed the pillow off and laughed.
"My little monsters!" She grabbed Ethan and tickled him while Edgar tried to save his brother. They were a tangled mess of tickling when Sofie came in.
"Boys! Get off Aunt Paige right now!" The twins sat up and stared at her blankly. "I said, 'right now!'" They scrambled down and ran out the door. Sofie sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, mattress creaking under her, and rubbed her swollen belly.
"Baby coming soon, you think?" Paige asked as she scooted over to hug her sister, then put her hand on Sofie's belly and was rewarded with a kick.
"Ugh. Not soon enough. The doctor thinks I have a solid month yet—not that we really know anything, since the twins came early." Sofie frowned. "I'm sorry the boys woke you. We got here early since the other car’s in the shop, and Ben dropped us off. I told them to stay with Mamma while I went to the bathroom, but they escaped."
"That's all right. I'm mostly awake. Plus, I wanted to see this view." Paige stood and pulled the curtain aside to gaze out the window. A soft blanket of snow stretched as far as the trees, then interspersed with dark trunks and a scattering of evergreens. Her favorite view.
She stood there for a long moment before she let the curtain drop. "In fact, you should be the one resting. I can watch the boys while you nap, if you like."
Sofie's face brightened in hope, even as she began protesting. "I couldn't do that! Mamma told me about your getting stuck in Higgins, and I want to hear about it. Plus, I missed you! I want to visit!"
"Sofie, come on. How often do you get to sleep? And don't tell me you aren't tired. You're so pale, your face nearly matches the snow." Paige stuck her thumb toward the window. "Sleep. Take thirty minutes at least. No excuses, all right, Snow White?"
Marti smiled. "You haven't called me that in ages, Sleeping Beauty."
When they were young girls, Sofie's dark hair and pale skin had earned her the nickname of “Snow White” the instant Paige had seen the movie. Not long after that, Sofie had begun calling Paige "Sleeping Beauty," partly because of her long, ice-blonde hair and partly because Paige took such long naps. Then they'd grown up, Sofie went to college and got married, and Paige graduated and went to culinary school. And their brother, Cort? He was a different story entirely.
"Fine. You win." Sofie heaved herself up onto the bed, and Paige covered her with an old, faded quilt that Farmor had made for Pappa when he was little. Sofie was nearly snoring by the time Paige tiptoed out of the room and shut the door.
She spent the rest of the morning playing with Ethan and Edgar. Paige adored her little red-headed nephews, but she wasn't at all surprised Sofie was so tired. In fact, she wondered how her sister could get around at all. Her father came downstairs, and he and Paige visited between playing with toy cars on a homemade track with the boys. Finally, Sofie came down at lunchtime. "Why did you let me sleep so long?"
"You needed it," Paige said.
"And I'm glad you did," their mother said. "You need to rest up for our outing tomorrow night. Now eat, then we can visit until it’s time for dinner."
They spent the remainder of the afternoon sharing old memories. When the front door opened, Paige heard her grandfather's hearty voice. "Where is my little chef?"
She ran to the door and into Farfar’s arms. She buried her face in his coat, cold from the outdoors, but he still smelled of fresh bread with a hint of cardamom, as he always did. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, and she blinked and sniffed just a little.
He pulled her away and held her gently by the shoulders. "Now, now. What's the problem, my sønnedatter?" He smiled kindly, and Paige hugged him again.
"Nothing. I'm just so very glad to see you."
"Me too, my dear." He patted her on the back.
"So, what am I? Chopped Brussels sprouts?" Farmor said, eyes twinkling.
Paige laughed and hugged Farmor. "I’m so happy to see you! And you know I like Brussels sprouts."
"And I'm hungry," Farfar said. "Let's eat."
They had a wonderful meal. Sofie's husband, Ben, came a little late, as he'd been called into the hospital to do emergency surgery, and her father too, since he'd had a faculty meeting over at the college, but soon they all were there and had a marvelous time, eating and catching up.
The hours flew by, and all too soon, it was time for Ethan and Edgar to go to bed. Ben took the twins home, and Farmor and Farfar left, too. Pappa disappeared into his office, and Paige sat with Sofie and their mother in the kitchen, sipping hot cocoa.
Sofie rubbed her belly and gave a big sigh. "So, there's something we haven't discussed yet."
Paige had been dreading this conversation. She purposely hadn't told Sofie about Michael, but she figured Mamma would have. "If this is about what I think it's about, you don't need to worry."
"Yes, it's about your date with Michael. Are you a glutton for punishment? I remember how you pined for him in high school, and it's only been four years. I also remember how he dated practically all the cheerleaders—and some of them at the same time."
Paige so didn't want to talk about this, but she knew Sofie would ne
ver give up. "Look, I know he was a bit of a player back then—"
"A bit? Are you kidding me, Paige? The man was a total player back then. Someone that . . . liberal with his dating, to put it mildly, doesn't change that much in only four years."
"Three. Three years. He was a year ahead of me."
"Because that makes such a difference." Two red spots bloomed on Sofie’s cheeks, which always happened when she got upset. Couldn't her sister just leave her alone?
Paige opened her mouth, but her mother interrupted. "Girls. Don't fight. Sofie, I tried, but she's not a baby any longer. Paige will have to learn on her own. And maybe we're both wrong. Here, have a cookie."
Sofie dunked it into her hot cocoa rather ferociously, but soon calmed down. "I just want the best for you, sis." She bit off the dunked part of her cookie.
"I know you do." Sofie always wanted the best for Paige, whether she wanted it or not. Paige forced herself to breathe calmly.
Thankfully, that was the end of the Michael discussion. After Mamma left to drive Sofie home, Paige went to bed, exhausted, but with a smile. Tomorrow, she'd see Michael, and she couldn't wait. Sofie had her reservations, but Paige would ignore them. She wouldn't tell her mother and her sister, but she was taking Michael with a grain of salt—more than one. Still, he'd seemed sincere when they'd talked, so she really wanted to give him a chance.
Wes’s smile came into her thoughts, unbidden. She pushed the image away and told herself he had no place in her mind. Christmas hater.
Soft guitar music floated up the stairs—her father had switched from folk tunes to old Norwegian songs. She was tempted to go down and visit with him, but the music held her under its spell, soothing her soul. Paige hugged her old stuffed bear, LeRoy, close to her as she fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday, December 21st
Monday morning dragged on, yet flew by at the same time. Paige couldn't figure out how that could happen simultaneously. Her mother flitted around, straightening curtains and fluffing cushions that didn't need fluffing. She refilled the bowl of nuts they kept on the coffee table at Christmastime and repositioned the nutcracker.
"Mamma, why are you doing that if you don't even like Michael?"
"Maybe he's changed. Maybe not. But he doesn't need to come in here and see it a mess."
Paige shook her head. There wasn't a speck of dirt anywhere. And she wasn't planning to let him come in, either, but she knew better than to tell her mother that. "Well, it looks great. I'm sure—"
The doorbell rang, and Paige's heart jumped into overdrive. She smoothed her skirt—a classy gray-and-red plaid—and clicked to the door in her black boots. She took a breath to steady her nerves, then opened the door.
To a Greek god.
The perfection of Michael’s dark hair was only marred by a few snowflakes caught in his perfectly gelled waves. He smiled, and her heart sped up even faster. "Hi," he said with a wink. He stepped inside and handed a poinsettia to her mother. "Hi, Mrs. Sorensen."
“Thanks, Michael.” Her mother watched him intently.
Michael turned to Paige. "You look fantastic! Oh, I have something for you in the car." He winked again.
Mamma balanced the poinsettia on a hip. "Is something wrong with your eye?"
Paige hurriedly put on her coat. "I think we'd better go. See you later, Mamma! I'll be back in plenty of time for the play." She flew out the door so fast, she would've knocked Michael over if he hadn't moved out of the way.
"See you, Mrs. Sorensen! I'll bring her back safely."
"Her father will if you don't!" her mother said in a teasing tone, but Paige knew there was an undercurrent of “I mean it” in her words.
Paige shook her head. "Let's go. Now." They hurried to the car—foreign, black, and expensive—and Michael opened her door. At least he was acting like a gentleman. She didn't care what her family said about Michael—everyone deserved a second chance. Or a first one—for her. Or—whatever.
The “something for you in the car” turned out to be a small stuffed Viking with a red helmet—their high school mascot. Michael had found it on a recent trip to Europe, and Paige was touched by his thoughtfulness.
They drove to Ciatti’s Italian Grill and sat at a private table in the corner. Michael asked the server what she recommended. “Our chicken marsala is quite popular."
Michael said, “That sounds wonderful. Two of those, please.”
A flash of irritation shot through Paige. Why hadn’t he asked what she wanted? But when their food came, she acknowledged that it was a great choice. The cream sauce complemented the mushrooms and chicken perfectly.
They talked about high school times and Michael’s job. He was a language interpreter for corporate business transactions, and his life sounded really glamorous and flashy—way more glamorous than hers would ever be. She laughed at some of the stories he told.
After they finished eating, they drove to the Vesterheim. Paige had loved the Norwegian-American history museum ever since she was a little girl. Her family had been in the area for a hundred years, starting when her great-grandfather, Jakob Frantzen, left Norway to live with his uncle in America.
Michael maneuvered into a parking space on the street. Paige took a deep breath, then said, "I appreciate you coming to the museum with me. I know it probably sounds boring, but I promise there's a lot more to Norwegian sweaters than meets the eye."
He got out and opened her door. "Decorah’s history sort of grows on you. I missed the Nordic festival when I was gone this summer."
The festival was one of the highlights of Paige’s year. She wondered if Wes would enjoy it, then frowned. Why would she think about him when she was with Michael? She swept that thought out of her head and said, "That was the last time I've been here until now. I saved up all the vacation I could so I could come home for Christmas. I'm just glad Gretchen let me—it’s one of our busiest seasons."
They went into the museum as Michael said, "Well, at least it's only a stepping stone to a real career, so you probably don't have to worry about taking time off anyway."
What was that supposed to mean? She was about to ask him that very question when she stopped short at the sign at the front of the exhibit, next to where Gladys sat, filing her nails. Every time she'd seen Gladys since she was a kid, Gladys had been filing her nails. It was a wonder she had any left. But that's not what had Paige frozen to the floor. She stared open-mouthed and horrified.
The sign read: From Underwear to Everywhere: Norwegian Sweaters.
If only the floor would open up beneath her. Underwear? There was another sign announcing several exhibits, including one she was even more thrilled to see: Woodcarved Figures, Nordic Roots, but no, her mother hadn't mentioned that one. Of course not.
Michael chuckled next to her. "Well, well. This will be more interesting than I'd originally thought."
Gladys spoke up. "Hi, honey! It's so good to see you!" She came around the desk and embraced Paige. "I'd be happy to take you on a tour! Unless"—she looked Michael up and down–"you'd rather do it." She winked.
Paige had to get out of there fast. "Oh, um, yeah. I'll be fine doing it. I mean, taking him on tour." If her face got any hotter, she was sure it would burst into flames.
They walked around, studying the sweaters and designs, and reading about the symbolism of each pattern and color. Paige was glad to see that there wasn't much mention of underwear. And the sign was really misleading, as "underwear" basically meant a layer of warm underclothing worn under a vest and coat.
Michael took her hand as they admired the wooden figures exhibit. She had a difficult time focusing on the beautiful carvings as her fingers were intertwined with Michael’s, but she managed.
Once they were done, they got back into the car. Michael said, "I wanted to ask you to go for dessert, but I know you have your family thing tonight . . ."
Paige wanted nothing more than to spend time with him, but a glance at her watch told her sh
e'd better get home. "I wish I could. I really, really do. But the show starts at seven. I need to hurry back to help with dinner and get ready."
He lightly ran a finger down her cheek and tipped up her chin. "I don't think I could ever spend enough time with you." He gazed into her eyes, and she didn't look away.
Someone rapped on the window behind her. There stood Gladys, waving Paige's scarf. Paige rolled down the window, wishing she could disappear.
Gladys handed her the scarf. "With as cold as it is, dear, I thought you'd want this." She stooped and peered at Michael, then stood back up and gave Paige a knowing grin. "But you probably have all the warming up you need."
"Thanks, Gladys," Paige sputtered. "I appreciate it. So much. But we'd better get going."
Gladys waved her away. "Oh, honey. I was young once. You kids hurry on and have fun!" She turned away.
“Uh, thanks!” Paige called. She rolled up the window and wanted to sink into the floor. Michael threw his head back and laughed.
"You ready?" Paige asked.
"Yeah. That was so funny. Are you sure you want to go home?" He winked at her.
"Absolutely. I mean, this was really fun. But I don't want to be late."
Michael drove her home, punctuating the silence with occasional laughter. Paige didn't know what to say, so she said nothing at all. When they got to her parents' house, she opened the door before Michael could get out. He grabbed her hand. "Hey, I know you're probably thinking this is a disaster, but I would very much like to see you again. I had Wednesday night open up. Is there any way you could go out with me then?"
Was he for real? Surely he couldn’t be blind to how awkward the date had been. But she couldn't ignore the pleading in his face, or the fluttering in her stomach at his touch. "Sure. I think that would work. It's Little Christmas Eve, but we're putting up the tree right after dinner, so I should be able to skip out around eight."
"How about I take you out for dessert?"
"Okay."
He raised her hand to his lips, and she smiled, then hurried out of the car. She didn't know what the man saw in her, but she was glad he was going to give her another chance.
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