She beams as she peers up at him. “Yes. The twin beds are nice. I don’t have to deal with his tossing and turning.”

“And how about you two?” He looks between Simon and my mother, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Like a baby on Ambien,” my mother muses, holding up her magazine to show me a chic barn decked out in white lights and floral arrangements. “What do you think about this venue, Calla? It’s a vineyard in the County. That’s an up-and-coming wine region in Ontario,” she adds for Jonah’s and Astrid’s benefit, her green eyes flittering between them. “They only allow a few weddings a year, but I know the owners. I’ll bet if I contacted them, they would be more than happy to accommodate you two.”

“We haven’t decided where we’re getting married yet,” I remind her as calmly as I can. I was hoping to at least have my coffee in hand before she started in on this. “And the County is two hours outside of Toronto. Everyone would have to travel there.”

“Well, yes, I’m aware, but it’s much easier than your family and friends flying to Alaska, honey.” She’s using that coaxing tone, the one she pulls out when she’s trying to convince me to see that she’s right.

Simon clears his throat.

“Of course, there’s Jonah’s family to think of, too,” she rushes to add, looking to Astrid. “How much family do you have in Norway?”

“Oh, well …” Astrid slides off her black-rimmed reading glasses. “There is my one brother, Arne, and his wife and daughters, and my other brother, Oddvar. He has three children and four grandchildren. No, five grandchildren now. And there’s my one surviving uncle on my mother’s side …”

She rhymes off names as I top Björn’s mug with fresh black coffee and then hold out the pot, offering to fill Jonah’s mug for him.

“Great. A bunch of strangers at our wedding,” Jonah murmurs under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.

“They’re not all strangers. You know Björn’s kids,” I tease, waiting for his scowl.

It comes almost immediately while taking his first sip.

“I’ve mentioned this to Calla before but, with guests spread out from Alaska to Norway, it would make far more sense to choose a central location for the wedding. Like Toronto. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Astrid’s brow furrows. “I suppose so.”

“See, kids?” Mom smiles triumphantly.

“Mom …” I warn. She’s pushing too hard.

“Or they could get married in Oslo,” Astrid counters, flipping through pages of wedding dresses. “Right, vennen?” I note the edge of challenge in her tone. Is she suggesting this because it’s what she’d prefer, or because she suddenly feels the need to have an equal voice in her only son’s wedding?

“I don’t think …” My mom’s brow furrows. She wasn’t expecting that answer. “Well, I guess it’ll be easier to figure out once they choose a date and we draft a guest list. See where the majority of people are located. Agreed?”

Astrid nods slowly. “That sounds prudent.”

I meet Jonah’s gaze and find him smirking. We both know that no matter how many names Astrid produces, my mother will double that number and they’ll all be Toronto based.

And all of this is a moot point because neither of them is deciding where Jonah and I are getting married!

“You know, there’s a way to avoid all this,” he reminds me. He must see the ire in my eyes.

“It’s tempting at the moment,” I admit.

“What’s tempting?” my mother asks.

“Nothing,” Jonah and I say in unison.

Simon holds out an extra crispy slice of bacon with a set of tongs for me. “I think you and Jonah should decide what’s best for you, and we will help make that happen. Right, Susan?”

If he feels her scathing glare at his back, he ignores it, smiling wide at us.

“Thank you—hey!” I squeal as Jonah intercepts the piece. I snatch it from his grasp with a glower, earning his playful grin.

“Is my coffee ready?” Björn hollers from the living room.

That playful grin evaporates instantly. Jonah opens his mouth—no doubt to offer a confrontational retort.

I shove the slice of bacon into his mouth to shut him up, capping it off with a finger waggle of warning.

“Here, I’ll take that.” Astrid holds out her hands to collect Björn’s mug from me.

“Calla, where did you say those eggs were?” Simon holds out an open carton with only one egg inside.

“Bottom shelf. I bought two dozen on Friday.”

“Oh, I used those,” Astrid says, setting Björn’s coffee on the table beside him before patting his shoulder with affection.

“All of them?”

“Well, yes. The Kvæfjordkake and Karamellpudding alone take a dozen eggs. The risengrynsgrøt doesn’t have any, but then there’s the …” Astrid names several dishes I can’t interpret, leaving Simon to scratch his chin as he studies the pans on the stove and the lonely egg.

I sigh. “I’ll run over to Roy’s and see if I can get a few more from him.”

“I don’t want you to go to all that trouble—”

“It’s just down the road. Ten minutes at most. No big deal.” Normally, it wouldn’t be. Who knows what kind of reception I’ll get after our fight the other night.

“If you’re sure.”

“That we can’t have Simon’s world-famous, English-style eggs-and-bacon breakfast without eggs?” I head for the coat hooks and slip on my winter jacket. “Besides, I have to drop off Roy’s Christmas gifts to him.”

“You want me to come with you?” Jonah offers.

I can’t tell if he’s offering because he wants to get away from all the wedding pressure or because he knows I’m nervous about Roy. Either way, it’s best if I approach the curmudgeon on my own. “I’m good.”

I’m tugging on my winter hat when the side door creaks open and Muriel plows through, stomping her heavy boots on the doormat. She must have driven her truck in because I didn’t hear an engine approach.

“Morning, all!” She saunters in, bringing a draft of cold air with her.

I make quick introductions.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty about all of you. Your kids have been counting down the days to have you here.” Muriel’s shrewd gaze halts on the gingerbread house displayed in the middle of the dining table. “Would you look at that.” She marches over to get a closer view, leaving snowy footprints across the floor. We’ve had words about her bad habit of tracking mud and snow across our hardwood floors. She’s gotten better about it. Most of the time. “Calla said you were busy baking the other day, Astrid?”

Astrid smiles. “Yes. It is a passion of mine.”

“Too bad we didn’t have that for the auction, right?” I step into my boots.

“I don’t know. I think people’d feel guilty eatin’ this thing.” After another appraising look, Muriel shifts her attention back to me. “Where you off to?”