It was a windy day, and she was glad she’d chosen her warm quilted jacket. She had also opted for her wool hat, mittens, and thick socksinside her boots. She had made a special effort; she wanted to be warm, but she also wanted to look good.
Henrik was wearing a gray quilted jacket, jeans, a red wool hat, and heavy winter boots. The lumberjack vibe suited him. For the first time she was looking forward to the day’s filming. This wasn’t going to be about her and her shortcomings; they were just going to buy a Christmas tree, and she couldn’t possibly be criticized for that.
“Ready?” Ted said. “I thought we’d start out here. The Christmas lights are already up, and you’ll stroll down the main street. We’ll film a few scenes with the two of you walking and chatting before we reach the square.” The camera operators took up their positions, two in front of them and one behind. Ted waved his hand, and Nora moved a little closer to Henrik. “Off you go,” said Ted. “It doesn’t matter what you talk about, there won’t be any sound. This is just for background and atmosphere.” He clapped his hands and filming began.
They set off and turned onto the main street, which was bathed in misty winter sunshine. The street was adorned with white silk ribbons and enormous silver-colored snowflakes.
“Beautiful day,” Henrik said, squinting against the low sun.
“It is.”
They continued in silence.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Henrik asked eventually.
Nora nodded and smiled. “Yes ... well no, not really.” Her expression was skeptical. “Are you really interested, or are you just asking because they’re filming?”
He laughed. “I’m really interested.”
She laughed, too, and shook her head at the absurdity of the situation. “I’ll be spending most of my time at the patisserie.”
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Not the work itself, but working such long hours is hard. And of course not knowing if I’ll last the month is exhausting. But I’ll keep fighting, because I love it.”
Henrik nodded thoughtfully.
When they reached the square, a young girl yelped with delight when she saw them. Filming stopped, and the girl hurried over to ask Henrik for a selfie. Meanwhile Nora looked around the square, and was completely blown away by the Christmas world before her.
Elnaz came over to join her. “Our events company worked their magic,” she explained, looking pleased with herself.
A proper Christmas market had appeared, with small red booths selling handmade gloves, wooden candlesticks, and other crafts, and plenty of Christmas trees. Fairy lights were looped between the booths, and the sweet smell of roasted almonds hung in the air.
Filming resumed, and Henrik served them both steaming mulled wine from the thermos. They took a stroll around the square so that Nora could inspect the trees. They stopped by a long row propped against a wall.
“How about this one?” Henrik held out a tree.
“Too thin at the bottom.”
“Right.”
They kept going. The smell of the firs, the dry air, and the taste of mulled wine made it feel exactly like the beginning of Advent. The classic mulled wine Henrik had chosen was perfect for the occasion.
“This one?”
Nora took a sip of her wine, then examined his offering. She sighed. “Too top heavy.”
After the sixth tree, Henrik was the one who was sighing. “I’m going to need plenty of energy to get through this.”
Elnaz was beaming, delighted that they sounded like an old married couple bickering over the choice of tree. Even Ted looked pleased. And Nora was having a lovely time, much better than she’d expected. Once again she had to remind herself that this wasn’t real. But there was nothing wrong with enjoying it; it was a whole lot better than feeling angry all the time.
Henrik went over to the booth selling roasted almonds. A woman in a thick fur coat tipped two scoops into a brown paper cone and handed it to Henrik. He held it out to Nora, who helped herself as shecontinued toward the next batch of trees, totally focused on her goal. She glanced at the Nordmann firs, their needles gleaming silver-blue in the sunlight, then continued on to the Norway spruces.
She stopped. “That one.”
She had found the perfect specimen—bushy from top to bottom, not a single branch out of place. She pulled it out so that she could examine it in all its glory.
“Fantastic,” he agreed. “Like something out of a painting by Jenny Nyström.”
