by Ellie Hall
“It’s nothing,” I say, not wanting to give Max an opportunity to make fun of me.
He motions at the glass in my hand. “Okay, then. Drink up. Vodka is traditional.”
I take a small sip. “Mmm . . . it tastes like candy canes.”
He furrows his brow. “I thought you didn’t like candy canes.”
“Uh . . . about that.” I take another sip. This stuff is delicious. There’s no way I can go on pretending I’m not crazy about candy canes. I want to finish this drink. So I shrug and say nonchalantly, “I lied.”
“Why?” When I don’t respond, a smile creeps across Max’s face. “I know why. This is because of that flight attendant who gave me the candy cane. You thought I was flirting with her. And in a moment of jealous rage, you made up some ridiculous story about not liking candy canes.”
I finish my vodka, then say, “You’ve got quite an active imagination.”
He smirks, then points at my empty glass. “Want another one?”
I’m torn. It was delicious, but one drink is plenty for me. Two might make things dangerous, especially where Max is concerned. He does look sexy in the hat, despite the goofy dog ear-flaps. Or is that because of the dog ear-flaps?
“No thanks, I’ll pass,” I say, meaning more than the vodka.
When we go into the dining room, I notice that the tables and benches are all made of ice. Personally, I think wood furniture wouldn’t be amiss, but I suppose when you’ve got a theme, you go for it. Fortunately, the benches are covered with blankets, so I’m not freezing when I sit.
As the waiter places steaming bowls of soup in front of us, Lumi tells the group, “This is lohikeitto, a salmon chowder with a light cream broth.”
Before I can try any, Max asks me to hold off for a few moments while he takes pictures. A lot of our readers are real foodies and they love photos of traditional dishes from around the world.
After he finishes, Max sits across from me. As I dig in, he asks, “How is it?”
“Delicious,” I say. “That is, if you like chunks of salmon, leeks, and potatoes.”
“Who doesn’t?” Max savors his soup, then asks, “There’s a flavor in here I can’t place.”
“I heard Lumi say that it’s allspice,” I say. “It gives it quite a unique taste.”
We talk about the different foods we’ve tried around the world while we eat. When our soup dishes are cleared, Max leans forward. “I’ve noticed that you never seem to take any notes.”
I tap the side of my head. “I file it all away up here.”
“How do you remember everything when it comes time to write your articles?” Max asks.
“Good memory, I guess,” I say.
“I could never do that,” Max says. “I have to write everything down at the end of each day or else I forget.”
“Oh, my gosh, do you keep a diary?” I ask with a light mocking tone in my voice. “I used to have one when I was a girl. It was pink and had a little lock on it. What color is yours?”
Before I can tease Max some more, the waiter serves our main course—sautéed reindeer served with lingonberries, mashed potatoes, and pickled cucumbers.
“I know this is a traditional dish in Lapland,” I say. “But I’m not so sure about eating reindeer.”
“You’ve had venison, haven’t you?” Max asks. “It’s probably similar.”
I sample the meat cautiously, then smile. “It’s surprisingly good.”
Max grins. “Told you so.”
As he piles mashed potatoes on his fork, I say, “You’re one of those guys who always has to be right, aren’t you? My ex was like that.”
“Me? I’m rarely right about anything.” He chews thoughtfully for a moment then says, “I was wrong about you.”
I set down my fork and stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind,” Max says.
“Don’t you ‘never mind’ me,” I say sharply. “I want to know what you meant by that.”
“People are staring at us,” Max says in an undertone.
“So?”
“We’re supposed to be head over heels in love,” he reminds me. “Why don’t we change the subject and get back to pretending that we’re a happy couple?”
“Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
“Why don’t you tell me how you got into travel writing?”
“It’s not all that interesting,” I say. “When I studied journalism in college, I thought I would end up working for a newspaper. But things didn’t work out that way. So instead of reporting on politics or world events, I write boring articles about what people do on vacation.”
“They’re not boring,” Max says. “You’re a great writer. When people read your articles they feel like they’re right there with you experiencing what you’re experiencing. That takes talent.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I’m being serious. I’m not right about much, but I am right about this—you’re great at what you do.”
“Talk about mixed messages,” I say. “First you tell me that you were wrong about me, now you tell me you’re right about me. Which is it?”
“I’ve always known you were a talented writer, but I was wrong about some other stuff.” Before I can ask him to clarify, Max holds up his hand. “We can talk more about it in our room tonight.”
I almost choke on the pickled cucumbers I’m eating when I realize what he just said. “Our room? We’re sharing a room?”
Max gives me a mischievous grin. “Yeah, didn’t I mention that before?”
As we wait for Lumi to show us to our room after dinner, I nudge Max. “Why don’t we let someone else stay here? You know, an actual couple.”
“There’s two of us. That makes us a couple.”
“Okay, technically we are a couple of . . . um . . . work colleagues, but we’re not a couple in the romantic sense.”
“Work colleagues, huh? Is that how you see us?”
“We’re here for work. That makes us colleagues.” I look at Max. “Why? What were you thinking we were? Friends?”
Max holds my gaze. “Not exactly.”
“You think we’re more than friends?” I splutter. “Let’s get one thing straight, just because we’re sharing a room doesn’t mean anything is going to happen.”
As Lumi approaches us, she asks, “Is everything okay?”
Max slings his arm around my shoulders. “Zoe is just worried about how cold it’s going to get tonight.”
Actually, my biggest worry is if we’re going to get an unexpected heat wave and the ice hotel is going to melt. Well, that and the fact I’m going to be sharing a bed with Max.
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be snug as a rug in a bug,” Lumi says. “Come, let me show you.”
Max smiles. “I think you mean the reverse—a bug in a rug.”
“Ah, yes. That makes more sense,” she says. “I’ve studied English since I was a child, but I still make mistakes. Do either of you speak other languages?”
“French and a little bit of Italian,” I say.
“Spanish and Tagalog for me,” Max says.
Lumi nods, then shows us our room. When we walk inside, she points out the reindeer hides on the bed. The bed, of course, is fashioned completely out of frozen water. “This will provide insulation from the ice. And these thermal sleeping bags will keep you toasty. There are also lots of blankets which you can pile on top of you if you need.”
Max winks at me. “We can also cuddle and share our body heat to stay warm.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I say. “Those sleeping bags look plenty warm.”
“These might help as well,” Lumi says as she hands each of us a pair of woolen socks. “Compliments of the hotel.”
“They’re beautiful,” I say, inspecting the intricate pattern.
“They’re made locally,” Lumi says. “Now, you remember the way back to the annex where you stored your belongings? Unlike the r
est of the hotel, that building is heated. The bathrooms are located there, and you’ll also have your breakfast there in the morning.”
After checking to make sure we’re all set, Lumi bustles off to get the rest of the group settled.
After she leaves, Max grabs one of the sleeping bags from the bed and places it on the floor.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting some shut eye. We have a big day tomorrow.”
I furrow my brow. “You’re sleeping on the floor? You realize it’s made of ice, don’t you?”
“So’s the bed. It’s basically one giant Popsicle.”
“But it’s covered in reindeer hides and furs. Don’t be an idiot. We can share the bed.” I grab his sleeping bag and place it back on the bed.
“Nah, I can sleep on the floor. I don’t want to tempt you with all this,” he says, gesturing at himself.
“First, there’s nothing tempting about you whatsoever.”
“Not even the smell of my new candy cane cologne?”
“Candy cane cologne? There’s no such thing.”
“Sure is. I got a sample of it at the gift store.” Max removes his scarf, then unzips his jacket. He leans down so that his neck is less than an inch from my mouth. “Can’t you smell that?”
As I inhale sharply, I smell peppermint with faint undertones of something musky. It’s intoxicating. Just a few drops of cologne and Max has turned into some sort of sexy candy cane. I feel myself start to tremble and I’m aching to press my lips against his neck.
Pull yourself together, Zoe, I admonish myself. Stepping back, I say in a bored tone, “Doesn’t really smell like a candy cane to me. More like bubblegum. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, second, even if there was anything tempting about you, it’s freezing in here. What kind of hanky-panky do you think we’d get up to here? And third, I’m not that kind of girl.”
“I’m not that kind of guy either.”
“You’re exactly that kind of guy. You’re a flirt.”
“I’m friendly,” Max says. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, please, you flirt with every woman you come across.”
“Okay, fine, maybe I am a bit of a flirt,” Max admits. “But it certainly doesn’t mean I’m that ‘kind of guy.’”
“Flirting is what’s gotten you into this mess—having to pretend that we’re a couple. Girls like Barbie think you like them.”
“That’s the problem. It’s always the wrong girls who think I like them, never the right ones,” Max mutters.
I give him a questioning look, but he just climbs into his sleeping bag, rolls over on his side and closes his eyes.
I can’t sleep. I’ve been tossing and turning for what seems like hours. Thoughts of Max dressed up as a giant candy cane fill my mind. It’s disturbing on so many levels.
I start to feel warm, as though I have a fever. How is it possible that I’m sweating in the middle of a room made of ice? I fling the blankets off me, then unzip my sleeping bag. Cool air rushes over my body, but I still feel like my skin is on fire. I sit up and inspect my surroundings. Is it my imagination or is water dripping from the corners of the room? Are those puddles forming on the floor?
I shake Max. “Wake up, the hotel is melting.”
He opens his eyes and looks at me blearily. “Melting? We’re in Finland in the dead of winter. It’s freezing. How could the place be melting? Unless you’re having a meltdown. That seems more like it.”
I rub my eyes and look around again. Everything looks normal. What happened to the dripping water and the puddles? Did I just have one of those waking dreams? Considering Max played a starring role as a giant candy cane, it was more like a nightmare really.
Max sits up and puts his arm around me. “Hey, what’s going on? You’re shivering.”
“Just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you.”
“Tell me about it,” he says gently. “It’ll make it less real and then you’ll be able to go back to sleep.”
My eyes widen. There’s no way I can tell him what I really dreamed about, so I make something up on the fly. “Remember the lead dog when we went sledding?”
“Into?”
“That’s the one. I dreamed that I adopted him.”
“That doesn’t sound so scary.”
“Ah, well it turns out he was really a werewolf.”
“So, you’re scared of werewolves and hedgehogs? Interesting.”
I ignore the barb. “What were you dreaming about when I woke you? Do you remember?”
He says quietly, “You.”
“Me?”
He nods.
“So a nightmare,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“No, dreaming about you isn’t scary. Now, my ex, that’s a different story.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard about her.”
“She’s a photographer.”
“Travel photography?”
“Um . . . not exactly.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“She takes photos of shirtless guys.”
“Seriously? That’s a profession?”
“Apparently. You see them all the time on romance novels.”
“Not the ones I read.”
“You like romance books?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I say defensively.
“I never said there was. My mom reads them. I’ve read some of them too.” He smiles. “That’s why I’m so great with the ladies. You can pick up a lot of tips in them.”
“Like not wearing a shirt?” He laughs, then I tentatively ask, “Why did you guys break up?”
“Turns out she likes guys who don’t wear shirts. I came back early from a trip and caught her with one of the models.”
“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It happened a couple of years ago,” he says. “It’s not like we were planning on getting married or anything, so it’s not really a big deal. We actually hadn’t been together that long.”
“Of course it’s a big deal. Cheating is cheating no matter how long you’ve been together.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m such a big flirt now. I never used to be. I only paid attention to girls I was serious about, but now it’s like I’m playing the field in a way. Not literally, though. It’s not like I date a lot.” Max presses his lips together, then looks at me. “So what about you? What’s your story?”
“I don’t have a story.”
“Well, you have an ex, so you must have a story. Why did you guys break up? Is it because he always had to be right?”
“That’s part of it. It’s not like he’s a bad guy or anything. He was just so serious and, well, boring.”
“Then why were you with him?”
“I don’t know. It was easy, I guess. Some mutual friends fixed us up on a blind date and that led to another date and another one and the next thing you know we were a couple.” I sighed. “Then one day, I suggested that we go to the carnival. He refused. He told me that those types of things were for kids. When I got upset, he told me that when we had a family of our own, then we would go.”
“A family? So you guys were engaged?”
“No, thankfully not. That’s when I realized he was not the guy I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It feels like a lucky escape.”
“For what it’s worth, I love carnivals,” Max says. “Especially eating cotton candy on the Ferris wheel.”
I grin. “That’s my favorite too.”
“I’m sure there are lots of guys lining up to take you to the carnival,” Max says.
I shake my head. “In my line of work it’s hard to date. I’m always traveling from assignment to assignment. You know what it’s like.”
“Yeah, I do. I think that’s part of why my ex cheated on me.”
“No, she cheated on you because she’s a bad person, not because you traveled.”
“But that didn’t help matters.”
“I guess it takes a sp
ecial kind of person who understands this lifestyle.” Max locks his eyes with mine, then bends his head toward mine. I can smell his intoxicating candy cane cologne. I can sense his lips getting nearer to mine. I can . . .
“What did that person just yell?” I ask, pulling back. “Did they just say that the hotel is melting?”
5
The Danger of Propane Space Heaters
Turns out the hotel was actually melting. One of the other guests worried she was going to freeze to death, so she smuggled in a propane space heater. Here’s the problem with space heaters—they make ice melt. Apparently, this lady didn’t quite grasp that concept.
Had my dream been some sort of premonition? Possibly. The hotel did melt, after all. I just hope that the part about being dressed up as a candy cane never comes true. That would be way too weird.
Although the manager assures us that the space heater only melted a small portion of the ice hotel, they’ve still decided that it would be safer to send us back to our regular hotel for the remainder of the night.
While we wait for the shuttle bus to pick us up, Max pulls out a soft leather-bound book from his backpack and opens it to a blank page.
“Is that your diary?” I ask.
Max uncaps a fountain pen and says firmly, “It’s a journal, not a diary.”
“Same thing. When I had a diary, I wrote down what happened each day. What do you write about in your diary?”
“Again, it’s a journal,” he says. “I make notations about my observations, incidents, and phenomena in it.”
“That’s basically a fancy way of saying you write down what happened each day. You know what else I used to record in my diary? What boys I had a crush on and if any of them tried to kiss me. Do you write stuff like that in your diary too?”
“For the last time, it’s a journal—”
I hold my hand up. “Fine, we can call it a journal if you want.”
“Thank you.” Max shifts his body away from me and bends over his journal . . . er, diary.
“Are you writing about what happened tonight?” I ask, trying to peer over his shoulder.