Page 20 of The Christmas Book Flood
“All he needs is for you to try.” Anders set his hand down beside his brother’s.
Solidarity, even if they were so very different.
“Eat your fish, brother. Then go home and apologize to your wife for being an idiot and tell your son you’re proud of him.
Ask to read his story. Joke, if you want to, about how he might need to define any words you don’t know.
Let him feel clever. Make him feel clever.
That’s the only gift he’s ever going to need from you. ”
His brother nodded. Took a bite, chewed, swallowed.
For a minute, they were otherwise silent.
Then Dalmar started to look like Dalmar again.
The uncertainty faded away, and the prankster reemerged.
“You’re not half bad at this parenting thing.
And Mother says you’re bringing a girl with you to Christmas Eve?
” He reached a foot over and nudged Anders’s shin.
“Finally find a woman to make you abandon your bachelor ways?”
Anders blinked. “Don’t you mean ‘a woman who can stand you’ or ‘a woman desperate enough to give you a chance’?”
But Dalmar nodded beyond him. “That her?”
Anders spun, as if he really thought Tatiana had followed him home and somehow snuck in without him noticing.
But then he saw what Dalmar had been motioning toward—the paper on his easel, with her and Elea and the books and the background all sketched out, and the background colors filled in. He relaxed. “It is. And her niece.”
“She’s pretty. Mother said she was, but she was so excited, I didn’t know if I should believe her. She’s convinced this is the girl you’re going to marry.” Dalmar chuckled. “If that look on your face is any indication, I think she’s right.”
No point trying to school his features now, he supposed. Anders sighed. “I hope so. Tatiana is... she’s... I...”
Dalmar grinned. “If she’s rendered you speechless, she must be something.”
He returned the grin. “She really is.” Heaven knew she’d been rendering him speechless since he first met her.
“Good. High time you settle down. And I hope you have a son just like me, and one like Ram, and one like Ul—”
“So my own children can beat me up?” But the smile didn’t fade. “I’d count myself blessed, Dal.”
Dalmar made short work of the fish, then rose to put the plate in the sink. Asking him to wash it was clearly a bridge too far, so Anders just followed him back out to the door.
“If Kristin’s still mad, I might be back. Save a place on the couch for me.”
“It’s yours, but you won’t need it.” Dalmar loved his wife too much to let the day end with this between them. And she was crazy about him. Painting them had been easy, the way they always leaned into each other.
Which made his lips purse. “Do you remember that painting I did of the two of you?”
Dalmar blinked. “Hard to forget, given that it’s staring at me from the foot of my bed.”
A little thrill went through him. “You... you never told me what you did with it. I never saw it out. I thought...”
Dalmar’s brows rose. “You thought what?”
“I don’t know. That you stashed it in the attic or threw it out. You barely reacted when you opened it. Kristin didn’t either.”
Dalmar shrugged into his coat. “Maybe you’re the idiot. We were choked up, you fool. Couldn’t speak around it. And it’s... it’s not the sort of thing we just say .”
Anders’s chest felt warm. Full. “We could, you know.”
His brother shot him a look. And reached for the door. “You know that thing about letting people be who they are?”
Anders grinned. “Dal?”
“What?”
“Why do you always say no when I ask if you want a copy of my latest book?”
His brother squared his shoulders. And opened the door. “Because I buy them, you numbskull. To support you. We all do.”
Confusion warred with the glow. “I’ve never seen them with your children’s books. Anyone’s.” And heaven knew he was acquainted with each and every shelf, as often as he read to his nieces and nephews.
Dalmar looked at him like he really was an idiot. “You think we’d put them there to be torn up and worn out? They’re with the family Bibles.”
With the... heirlooms?
Dalmar rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Anders. See you on Christmas Eve.”
“Night.” He stood there until his brother’s footsteps faded down the stairs. Then he turned and smiled at the half-painted Jolabokaflod . It seemed this Christmas was one of miracles.
The smile lasted until he picked up the post he’d deposited by the door and unwrapped the books from Tandri. Then he read the note.
Anders,
Of course I’d be pleased to sign these books for you and your mother and sister!
You ought to know by now that it’s no presumption.
As I count my blessings in these last few weeks of the year, I’m so grateful to number you as one of my friends.
Thank you again for all the hard work you put into my story.
The next one is nearly finished, and I should have it to you on time.
I hope you and your family have a beautiful Christmas.
Tandri
His smile faded. Wait... no. He set the note aside and flipped open the first book—signed to Gilla.
The next—to Ada. The third... he winced.
To him . “No,” he moaned. He’d known he shouldn’t have included that jest about signing one to him.
No doubt when sitting down to sign them, Tandri had been thinking most about that and had then just skimmed and grabbed the first two names he’d listed.
He sighed and set the three books on his desk. There wasn’t time enough to send him another to sign and get it back before Christmas Eve. So... he’d just have to hope that Elea was right, and the painting would be a good-enough gift.