of participants was a young girl of mixed race, like herself, and she led the way. What was he trying to communicate, that she wasn’t the only biracial person in town?
Heck, half of her family tree was cut off at the very first fork, a blunt and wide cut that ended with a single name—Victor Brown.
“Here come the Fins.” Kent continued his parade coverage, his hands on Steven’s shoulders and the boy’s head resting against him, just above his belt.
Desi couldn’t tear her attention away from the genealogy marching before her. She was made up of just as much of this as the other mysterious side, and today she deeply felt the Scandinavian connection.
“Here’s my favorite, the Icelanders!” Steven jumped in, pointing ahead. “They always wear the funnest hats.”
Besides the um-pa-pa sounds coming from some of the floats, there were others with fiddles that sounded so similar to what Desi knew as Celtic tunes. There was maypole-type dancing between some floats and livelier, showier footwork, knee and shoe slapping, among the boys and men between other floats. Her cheeks soon grew tired from all of the grinning.
As the parade went on, more modern versions of Scandinavian clothing came through. The easily spotted knit sweaters and caps, and stylish sheep-fur-lined boots sported by preschoolers and kindergartners grabbed her attention. A group of teens showed off what could only be described as Scandinavian grunge, complete with famous storybook red braids and raccoon-styled makeup, while doing gymnastics and a little street dancing.
Something was brewing and bubbling in Desi’s chest. Could she see herself in the light faces of these people? Her mother’s Nordic beauty was hard to detect when Desi looked in the mirror, yet it was there—her high cheekbones, the shape of her brows, the expressive eyes. Her mother was inside her—in every cell and in half of her DNA.
Her mother had run away and given up her entire life for Desi. She owed it to her to keep her mind and heart open to this town and all that it was and could offer. She needed to stick around long enough to learn who she was before she took off searching for the other half.
An hour after it had started, the parade came to a close with a final um-pa-pa group, and a small, sweaty hand on hers brought her back to the moment.
“Let’s get over to the booths before the lines get too long,” Steven said, tugging her down the street. So far the weather had cooperated, the earlier gray clouds parting, revealing bright blue sky above.
Kent walked a few feet away from them like a tall, benevolent chaperone giving them space.
“Is this where everything happens in town?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Pretty much. We’ve got a lot of touristy shops for the cruise-line visitors down toward the docks, but most of the travelers like to come up here to eat. We’ve got some great restaurants.”
One redbrick restaurant and bar had a few tables out front and a black-and-white canopy under which an older African-American man sat drinking coffee as they passed. He wore a starched white chef’s shirt and hat placed at a jaunty angle on his head. Their eyes met, as two standouts might, and he tipped his head at her without a hint of a smile. She smiled and repeated the gesture, noticing the name of the restaurant and promising to find her way back at some point. Lincoln’s Place. “Good food since 1984. Live music and Happy Hour specials daily at the bar,” the sign said.
Kent waved and the man lifted his palm in return.
Down the street was a small white restaurant, with a blue-and-yellow canopy out front, called Husmanskost.
“What’s that?”
“They specialize in Swedish cuisine. I’ll bring you some samples from the booths.”
Desi kept walking, but her gaze stayed on the cute little restaurant, wondering what unusual tastes and dishes she’d find inside.
At the food section, the wait at Gerda’s Danish Bakery booth was nominal. Gerda was already there working, and she smiled her greeting, then turned and picked up some already-packaged treats.
“I thought you were going to make the aebleskiver fresh for us,” Kent said with a teasing tone.
“Even an old coot like me knows how to read phone messages. Steven texted you were on your way over as soon as the parade ended.”
Desi shook her head and smiled over Steven’s resourcefulness. Behind the counter on another surface were several grills with small round grooves filled with pancakelike batter. The other cook on hand used a toothpick to move the pastry ball around to cook it on all sides. It looked like a tedious job, and Desi knew she’d wind up with burned pastry if she were in charge.
“I gave you a mixture, Steven,” her grandmother said. “Some have apples inside, others raspberry. Be sure to put extra powdered sugar on them. Oh, and I gave you different sauces to dip them in.”
The fresh apple and cinnamon aroma of the small doughnut-hole-type baked goods made Desi’s mouth water. “I’d like to try one with just the powdered sugar, if you don’t mind.”
Steven’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite, too!”
When they perched at a small table, Steven opened the box. Kent made a quick, stealthy reach right after Steven powdered them and popped one into his mouth.
“Hey, buy your own, Dad. These are for me and Ms. Desi.”
Kent’s brows shot up and, combined with the cheeks full of bakery goods, the vision made Desi laugh. He shrugged and said something completely unintelligible through his full mouth. A crazy urge to lick away some of the powdered sugar from his lips and chin gave Desi pause. What the heck was going on?
Of course she understood that Kent was an amazingly attractive man. It was apparent most of the women in Heartlandia—at least those at the parade who made obvious eyes at him—thought so, too. Besides, she was a healthy young woman who hadn’t had a date in a long time. Of course she’d notice a guy like Kent. But this slow-heat in her lower parts whenever he was around still took her by surprise.
Step away from the merchandise. The last thing she needed was to complicate her circumstances by developing a crush on her grandmother’s neighbor.
Kent slipped away as she and Steven gobbled down the delights. After they knocked off what was left of the dozen, grinning and smacking their lips all the way, Kent reappeared with a couple of containers. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?”
“I brought you some fish balls.”
She didn’t think she could eat another bite.
“Just a taste. Come on.”
He fed her a nibble of the fish ball, and even though it was a stinky fish ball, all the while she thought this encounter was too intimate for a public place. “Mmm, that’s delish.”
“There’s plenty more you’ll have to sample.” She glanced at his mouth and thought she’d like to sample that, too. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a midnight supper.”
That sent her mind to a completely inappropriate place and her cheeks heated up. “I need something to drink.”
“Steven, get Desdemona some water, will you, please?”
Her name seemed to simmer on his lips. Sheesh, he’d better make that ice water. “Thanks.”
“If you’d like, I’ll take you for a proper Swedish dinner sometime.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure you’re too busy with your clinic and all to do that.”
“You know about the Urgent Care?”
“My grandmother couldn’t be prouder of you if you were her own son.”
“Did someone say my name?”
As more helpers arrived, Gerda had