Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales

by Alethea Kontis

  A tinkling bell ripped me from those grim—or should it be Grimm?—thoughts.

  “Well?” Ms. Dross gave me an expectant look. “Are they ready?”

  “They’re in the back.” I held up a finger. “I’ll just go—”

  “Oh, Daryl, darling. Is that you?” She amped up her smile wattage to blinding. “I didn’t recognize you without your precious little chef coat. We just parted ways. Whatever are you doing here?”

  Her purr made it clear she hoped she was the reason.

  “I clocked out for lunch.” He backed up to the counter. “I’m picking up my date.”

  Mom’s cheeks mottled, but she held tight to the reins of her temper for the customers’ sakes.

  Dismissing his comment as though he hadn’t spoken, Ms. Dross clasped her hands together. “Your cake is marvelous. I can’t wait to show it off. Thank you for being so very accommodating.”

  “No problem.” He kept inching down the counter until he scooted behind it, and then eased behind me. “We should get going, Millie. That hour burns up quick.”

  Forced to look at me to see him, Ms. Dross’s eyebrows winged into her hairline. “You’re going…together?”

  “Young love.” Mr. Dross’s eyes twinkled at his sister. “What better pairing than two such passionate artists?”

  “Artists indeed,” she huffed.

  “We can sneak out the back through the kitchen,” I whispered to Daryl. “Pretend you’re helping me with the boxes.”

  We left Mom assuring the Drosses that her daughter had no designs on the heir apparent of Grimm Design. Though why that was the business of a woman busy planning her engagement party, I had no idea. Without knowing her species, which was rude to ask, I had no barometer for the acceptableness of her behavior. A situation I had no plans to remedy any time soon. The second our backs hit the kitchen door, we burst through and right into Sue.

  “You’ve been sniffing the fumes too?” she demanded from Daryl.

  “Can you bring the Dross order out for me, please?” I steepled my hands. “I can’t face them again. I’m too afraid they’re going to have another family cookie emergency.”

  “Go on.” Sue flicked her wrists at us. “Shoo.”

  “Don’t make her say it twice.” I dragged Daryl through the door and out into the alley behind the strip mall that housed our bakeries. “Mom will figure out Sue is a decoy in two seconds flat.”

  We almost reached the parking lot—I had my keys in hand—when a shrill whistle split the air, and my knees locked from habit.

  “Millicent Ann Marie, hold your horses, young lady.” Mom panted as she jogged around the corner. “Mr. Dross would like to speak to you.” She included Daryl in her appraisal. “You too.”

  We groaned in unison. Nothing good would come of this. I just knew it.

  I cast her a pleading glance. “Do we have to?”

  “Only if you want to be in business this time next month.” Spinning on her heel, she returned to Lookie’s, certain we would obey her command.

  “Are you guys…?” Daryl rubbed the base of his neck. “I mean, it’s hard out there right now for small businesses.”

  “We’re teetering on the brink too,” I admitted. Why not? It’s not like we could conceal the moving vans when they arrived if we lost this contract. “I didn’t know until yesterday. Mom was protecting me. I didn’t mention it, because I’m still wrapping my head around the possibility we really might close.”

  Daryl used our joined hands to reel me in close and wrapped his arms around me in a hug I bet we both needed. Then, proving he had the fear of Mom in him, he led me back to Lookie’s where we faced our fate with the counter between us and the Drosses.

  “Ah. There you are. I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch plans, but I have one last favor to ask.” Mr. Dross bit into a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie Mom must have offered to tide him over while she flagged us down. “You have surpassed all our expectations, and I am certain that Leonard’s will be just as proud of whichever bakery is awarded the contract next week.”

  I squeezed Daryl’s hand on reflex, and he squeezed right back. Solidarity. I could get used to this.

  “But I’m afraid,” he continued, “that the mastery you’ve shown has made my decision that much more difficult. I have pondered the matter, and this is what I propose. You will each bake your best for my daughter’s baby shower. There are no limits or requirements. Do what you feel is best.”

  He didn’t add your bakeries’ livelihoods depend on it, but I heard it all the same.

  “He’s pitting us against each other,” Daryl said under his breath.

  “He has been all week,” I agreed softly. “Just not so openly.”

  Learning of our newly minted coupledom must have inspired Mr. Dross to spare himself unnecessary repetition and address us both at once.

  “When are the orders due?” Mom asked in a stiff voice that told me her patience had worn thin.

  “My wife had planned on throwing the party next week, but baby showers are, by their nature, meant to be a surprise, yes?”

  To the preggo guest of honor, yes. To everyone else in attendance, not so much.

  “Tomorrow is Mumsy’s last night in town. If we don’t have the party then, she won’t be able to attend.” Ms. Dross pouted at Daryl. “I would so hate for her to miss it. It’s her first grandchild, you know.”

  “Raincheck?” Daryl asked so low only I would hear.

  “It’s a date.” I pressed a hand to my queasy stomach. “Oh. I almost forgot.” I passed over one of my cards, the ones printed for special customers with my unlisted cellphone number. “This way you don’t have to run next door every time you want to chat.”

  “I don’t know if what I’m feeling is happiness you finally gave me your number or sadness I’m out of excuses for late-night visits.”

  “What you’re probably feeling is hunger.” My own appetite had evaporated about the time Ms. Dross ignited the latest hoop in their three-ring circus. “At least your shop has sandwich fixings. I’ll be living off chocolate chip cookies and sprinkles for another twenty-four hours.”

  Hard to believe this would all be over tomorrow. That Lookie’s might be over with too. If Daryl asked me out again then, I would know his interest was genuine. If Grimm won the contract and he never called, I would have to thank Mom for her meddling.

  Daryl dropped a sweet kiss on top of my head. “Don’t work too hard.”

  “I won’t,” I lied. This contract meant too much for me to slack on the details.

  As if hearing my fib, he grinned then strolled past the Drosses without glancing back. Ms. Dross, who, despite her engagement, seemed to have difficulty with handsome men not making her the center of their attention, clattered after him on stilettoed heels. Mr. Dross stared forlornly at the case until Mom gifted him with another freebie. This one a mint chocolate chip cookie sandwich with crème de menthe filling.

  Raising his cookie in a toast, he bit down and sighed happily. “I look forward to tomorrow.”

  “I bet,” Mom grumbled. “He ate the entire tray of samples when I went to fetch you. Running off with that boy. A Grimm. Poor Sue didn’t know what to do when he ignored the one cookie per customer sign.”

  “Don’t start.” I held up my hand to forestall her argument. “I still like Daryl. We’ll find out soon enough whether he likes me back.”

  I left her to mind the front of the store and retreated to the kitchen to eat my feelings. I had a pecan crisp fresh from the oven in my hand when a knock on the back door set my heart thumping. I cast a look over my shoulder, checking that the coast was clear, then opened it before I changed my mind.

  “To make up for our missed lunch.” Daryl thrust a brown paper bag that smelled like honey baked ham at me. “Mom made it for me, so there’s mayo and mustard on there. Hope that’s okay.”

  “You brought me lunch?” The sudden urge to crush the bag to my chest in a hug almost overwhelmed me.

>   A shrug was all the answer he gave me before ducking in, stealing another kiss from my cheek and vanishing into the building next door.

  Buoyed by his unexpected thoughtfulness, a definite plus in my book, I perched on my stool and unpacked my lunch. Having never been given the opportunity to taste one of Grimm’s sandwiches, I wasn’t prepared for the fresh baked bread or what my tongue identified as homemade mayonnaise. My eyes rolled back in my head, and moaned around the wrapper.

  “Eating contraband.” Sue clicked her tongue. “You’re lucky your mom went to pick up her own lunch. She’d faint if she had to witness you moaning around what looks like a ham and swiss on rye.”

  “So good.” I made no apologies. “Daryl slipped it to me.”

  She belted out a laugh. “I bet he did.”

  Cheeks flaming, I choked on my next bite. “Perv.”

  “Heads up.” She tossed me a bottled water from the employee fridge. “Drink.” She waited until I drained half the contents. “If Bernadette left ham bone splinters in there, we’re talking attempted murder.”

  “She made it—” I sucked in more air, “—for her son.”

  “Oh.” She wriggled her nose. “So probably not sabotage.”

  “Go.” I waved her off once I was certain I had caught my breath. “Do something that isn’t smirking at me.”

  “Sure. Sure.” She smirked even harder. “Make sure you finish your lunch. Daryl did risk death or dismemberment slipping it to you and all.”

  I finished eating with care then cleaned my station and got to work, mind buzzing on how I was going to pay Daryl back. With that on the backburner, I puzzled over the number of cookies to provide for the Dross’s baby shower and settled on six dozen since pregnant women loved to snack, and friends of pregnant women tended to recall a good cookie when their own due date rolled around. I decided on a simple four pattern set. And then I had a thought and called Mom. “Hey, did Mr. Dross mention if the baby was a girl or a boy?”

  “No,” she decided after a pause. “I don’t believe so.”

  Happy to let her keep playing intermediary, I wheedled, “Do me a favor and find out?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  The call disconnected.

  Five minutes later, I had my answer. Dross’s firstborn grandchild was a girl. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Let me know if I need to call in Beth to help.”

  “Sue and I can handle things.” Thanks to the previous marathon days of baking, we were, for the most part, current on our orders. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  I set about baking my Hail Mary play, all the while I wondered if I shouldn’t call Daryl and give him an update. Except I hadn’t gotten his number. I had given him mine. That left the ball in his court. But this wasn’t a date, wasn’t romantic. It was a matter of life or death for our moms’ bakeries. This hint could tip his design over the edge. If he hadn’t thought of it himself. I wouldn’t know unless I asked, and I couldn’t do that except face-to-face.

  I exhaled long and slow. Daryl had outed us in front of my mom. Apparently, it was time to return the favor.

  I packed up a tray of thank you cookies, all broken, smudged or otherwise unsuitable for sale. Also known as my private snack stash. As a fellow baker, he would get I couldn’t afford to give up the good stuff for free.

  Hmm. There was a double meaning in there. Who knew cookies turned me philosophical?

  Since Daryl had the guts to march into Lookie’s to pick me up instead of sneaking me out the back, I screwed up my courage, which was easier to do without Mom watching hawk-eyed from the register, and strolled into Grimm’s Design with a non-confrontational smile on my face. Good thing too, since Bernadette hovered behind the counter.

  “What does that old bat want now?” She wrinkled her nose at the bag of cookies.

  “Nothing.” I pushed my shoulders back. “I’m here to see Daryl.”

  “No you are not.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s busy. Too busy for you and your—” she gestured at my bag, “—crumbs.”

  Heat stung my cheeks, and I was seconds from bolting when Daryl popped his head out of the kitchen. “Millie?” His grin brightened the room. “I thought I heard you out here.” His gaze dipped to my hands. “You brought me cookies?”

  “And a tip.” I took a tentative step forward. “The Dross baby is a girl. He didn’t mention it earlier, but I got Mom to call him just now.”

  Daryl breezed out to greet me, accepting his treat with a pleased rumble. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I already thought of that. I had Mom call Ms. Dross. She told us her niece is expecting a boy.”

  “Why would she say that?” I untied the bag so he could reach in. “Do you think one of them slipped up?”

  “Or they’re playing both sides against the middle,” Bernadette grumbled.

  “How do we know which told the truth?” I asked her.

  Her lips mashed together in a stubborn line.

  So it’s like that, huh?

  “Come on, Millie.” Daryl guided me by the elbow into the kitchen. “I’ll show you what I’ve got so far.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Bernadette squealed. “She’s a spy for her mother.”

  “Mom, she’s the decorator. If she was a spy for anyone, it would be for herself.” He frowned. “That didn’t sound as supportive as I had hoped.”

  “You don’t have to do this, really.” I placed my hand on his arm. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  “I’ve visited you both nights we had Dross orders. I’ve seen your designs, and you haven’t seen one of mine. For all you know, I’ve been sneaking in to rip you off.”

  I sawed my top lip over my bottom teeth.

  He came up short. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “No.” I believed the word once I heard it out loud. “You take too much pride in your work.”

  “It’s one of the many things we have in common.” He hauled me into the kitchen where he displayed a three-tiered cake cooling in preparation for the crumb coat. The bottom was baby blue, the middle robin’s egg and the top a punch of cerulean. “What do you think?”

  He indicated a tray of toddling babies molded from modeling chocolate. Brushes and paints waited for him to sit down and finish swiping on the details.

  “I’m impressed.” I rocked my shoulder against his. “But then again, I always am when I spot your designs. I don’t suppose you have photos of the others?”

  “You think Mom would let them go without bragging rights? She snapped pics for the album out front. Let me grab them.”

  He returned a moment later, and I got my first look at my competition. “Wow. These are gorgeous. The detail…” I glanced up at him. “That reminds me. Thank you for the jewelry. You invested a lot of time in those pieces to give them away.”

  “They were flawed. Tiny cracks in the stones if you know where to look, and the settings were experimental.” He rolled a shoulder. “It was no big deal.”

  From the way he coveted his cookie scraps, I could tell he got it. So what if we were exchanging our broken bits for a glimpse at the perfect whole? That’s how relationships worked, right? That must be doubly true for bakers.

  “Ahem.” Bernadette tapped her foot in the doorway. “Daryl has to get back to work now.”

  “I should too.” I reached up and brushed a speck of flour off his cheek. “Lunch tomorrow?”

  He caught my hand. “Winner buys.”

  “Deal,” I said with a smile that trembled on my lips.

  I didn’t want either of us to be the loser.

  Chapter 4

  Inspired by Daryl’s cake, I returned to my kitchen and whipped up the cookies that had been mixing in my head since Dross issued his latest challenge. Hoping my instincts were right, I went with my gut and finished sometime after midnight. I collapsed in bed, stole five hours of sleep and then drove right back to work.

  When Mr. Dross arrived less than two hours later, I wasn
’t surprised. Each day he had arrived earlier and earlier. If this carried on another day, I estimated he would be standing outside the door waiting on us to open shop and let him in.

  “I am eager to see what you’ve baked up for me today.” He rubbed his hands together. “I must admit, I’m getting spoiled by these daily treats.”

  Mom, ever the smooth operator, chimed in. “Just imagine how much Leonard’s customers would enjoy access to the same fresh baked goodies.”

  He inclined his head, awarding her the point. She just smiled, and butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  “I’ll handle this one, Mom.” I carried a plate with two plain shortbread cookies on it from the kitchen and sat it on the counter. I had piped winner on top of one and loser on the other. “Go ahead. Try them.”

  He did, biting into the first, the one labeled winner, a grin splitting his cheeks. “You found me out.”

  “I visited Daryl yesterday, and we compared notes. His mother claimed you said the baby was a boy, but you told us it was a girl.”

  Mom, who I had elected to leave in the dark on my Daryl-visiting ways, gaped. “Kindly explain yourself, sir.”

  “Your daughter understands.” Crumbs flew from his lips as he munched. “Don’t you, Millie?”

  “None of it was real,” I explained to Mom. “Not the visiting mother, not the impending engagement, not the baby shower. Mr. Dross was testing us.”

  “What?” Mom exploded beside me. “This is our livelihood you’re toying with, Mr. Dross. I don’t find your game half as amusing as you seem to.”

  “No, Mom, the question is why? You could have placed orders with us at any time or asked for more free samples.” Lord knows the man had eaten a few dozen of those during his visits. “Why the competition element? Were you trying to raise our hopes or theirs?”

  “It was cruel of me, I admit.” He licked the crumbs off his fingers. “It was Lookie’s I wanted all along, but it’s always best to come at a contract negotiation with options. Your rivalry with Grimm’s is well known, and I played on that. You would have taken a lesser offer to spite the Grimms, no? I do apologize, but business is business.” He clasped his hands together. “Now that we have that settled. Would you like to discuss my offer here or…?”