The Princess and the Pizza Man (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Cassie Mae

  He laughed at her expression, and she shook herself out of it and settled a hand on the door. “Speaking of your pizza shop… I want to show you something.”

  “Ah, yes. The surprise.” He let out a long breath. “Guess we get it over with.”

  “Grumpy butt.” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

  His hands went up in defense, and the grin on his face widened. She liked that he smiled when she got bossy. Not a lot of men found that particular personality quirk attractive, but he seemed to find it endearing. It made it easier to differentiate between herself and the part she was supposed to play. The princess was the frail and innocent side of her while her more dominant personality was outspoken and unafraid. She liked that she could be more of the latter around him, and he still stuck around.

  Then again, she supposed they were on a mission here, one that was probably more important to him than he’d let on.

  She waved him inside, the floor plan an open concept so the kitchen was right in plain sight. A long, impressed whistle came from behind her, and she knew she’d struck gold.

  “You like?”

  Will shrugged past her in silence, a look of awe on his handsome face. His booted feet fell heavy on the wooden floor, his hand running over the red brick oven. There was a flutter that rose like a phoenix through Winter, starting from her chest and spreading through her extremities. She’d never seen someone so reverent over an appliance, and a part of her wondered if she looked like that when she saw one of her matches kiss a see-you-later before leaving the mansion.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you like it,” she lilted, dancing her way up beside him.

  “Shh… this oven deserves a moment of silence.”

  “Is it dying?”

  The smallest of smiles touched his lips before he ducked his head inside the opening. His hands hadn’t left the brick, and there was a twinge of jealousy that took Winter by surprise. She’d never thought of herself as a woman who needed a man to touch her in some way, to show the affection he was showing that silly oven, but there was something about the way his rough hands trickled over the cracks and jagged edges of the brick that had her wondering how gentle or firm he’d be if he were holding her.

  She cleared her throat and ripped her eyes away, busying herself with finding a drawer that had an apron in it.

  After she’d opened and closed about five or six different cupboards and drawers, Will pulled his head out with a smirk. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

  “Something to protect this very poor choice in wardrobe.” She ran a hand down the loose fitting eggshell crocheted top. It was comfortable and summery, a world away from her usual attire, but Will was just so… warm. She wanted to match.

  “I’d be more concerned about those.” He nodded to her heels. She pointed a warning finger at him.

  “Don’t knock on Alexander.”

  “You name your shoes?”

  She bit her lip, too amused to let out another comeback. Will sidled up next to her, leaning his butt against the island to gaze upon the majesty of the oven once more. The hairs on her arms prickled with his nearness.

  “It’s gorgeous, ya know.” He nodded at the brick. “I’m comin’ down with a major case of the green.”

  “You can use it,” she said, and her heart jumped when he whipped his head around, eyes wide with hope. “I was hoping you’d make one of those famous pizzas I’ve heard about.”

  An adorable shade of red slowly filled his face, starting from the neck and traveling all up to his forehead. “Uh… Bells may kill you if she has to eat one of my pizzas during her vacation.”

  She belly laughed. “I’ll risk it.”

  A slow smile overtook his face, and the redness in his cheeks receded “A’right,” he said, pushing off the island, “let’s see how stocked this fancy schmancy kitchen is.”

  Winter felt a smile grow on her lips, flattered that Will had found something here that helped him be himself, even if it was just the stocked, large kitchen.

  She finally found a baby blue apron from the corner closet and wrapped it around her waist. When she looked up, she caught his eyes just before they darted back to the dough he was rolling and pounding with his very capable hands.

  “So, do you do this a lot?” he asked.

  Her brow scrunched, and she stood next to him. They weren’t touching, but she could feel the static between the fabric of his shirt and her bare shoulder, and it made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

  “Cook?” she snorted. “Never.”

  His eyes met hers as he tossed the ball of dough back and forth between his two hands. “I meant make paying guests cook for you.”

  She playfully scoffed. “Hey, I feed you every other night.”

  “For a pretty penny.”

  “And I provide entertainment.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and started to fondle the dough with flair. Winter took a step to the side to avoid getting knocked by an elbow.

  When he threw the thinned-out crust into the air, letting it spin like a ceiling fan before catching it behind his back, she covered a laugh, not wanting to let him know just how impressive that was. He obviously knew already.

  “Okay, you’ve proved your point.” She stepped into him again, hip checking him for good measure. A rush of heat ran through her chest that she chose to ignore. “And no, I don’t do this a lot. You’re the first.”

  “Cravin’ the good stuff, eh?” His half smile teased just as much as the glint in his eyes. “Spending so much time with a guy who permanently smells like pepperoni must get your pizza engine revving.”

  “You caught me.” She dragged her finger through a patch of flour on the counter, spelling out her name before wiping it clean. She’d like to pass off the craving for pizza as that, but really, she’d been craving watching him make the pizza, more than the food itself—which was saying something. Food was probably Winter’s biggest passion, next to the mansion.

  Will had started forming the crust, and a part of her had been hoping he’d help her make it. He’d stand behind her and help her toss, they’d bump and flirt and laugh when she royally screwed it up.

  “You still think Garreth is a good match after what happened today?” he asked, and she shook her head free from the fantasy.

  “Sorry?”

  He laughed, and she loved that his laugh made her laugh. “He was wearing his swim trunks on backwards. Didn’t notice?”

  “Ha! No. I was a little distracted.” Her heart thudded into her stomach as the words poured off her tongue, and she hoped he assumed she was talking about their water fight and not that she’d been checking him out the entire morning. That perfect pair of black and red swim trunks he’d been wearing had sat low on his hips, and she’d wished he hadn’t been covered with a t-shirt, but at the same time, she adored how he looked with it on. Every time his eyes had met hers she’d lost all cognitive function, and who knew what she’d said. Mel had given her quite the lecture afterward about staying in character in front of the guests.

  Will clapped his hands, swiping the flour off now that there was a perfectly sized large pizza crust in front of them. He turned to face her, and being the completely silly girl she’d turned into since he’d arrived, she licked her lips, anticipating a kiss that had absolutely no prelude.

  His eyes met hers, and he gulped.

  “Butter…?” he said, and she laughed her entirely unladylike laugh and swiveled on her heel to the fridge. Seriously… she had to get her stuff together; he obviously thought this was just another get-together to help his sister out and not an excuse for a date. What had gotten into her?

  “Well,” she said, relieved that her voice sounded playful and light, even though there was a deep well of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. “About Garreth… Maybe there is something Maybelle is seeing that we aren’t.”

  “Pretty sure all she’s seein’ is his eyes. She keeps talkin’ about ‘em.”
<
br />   “Are they as blue as yours?”

  He paused, his gaze curious as she mentally slapped her hand over her mouth. Usually she wasn’t too concerned with saying her thoughts out loud, but then again, she hadn’t ever thought these sorts of things before. They were just as much of a surprise to her as they were to him.

  She started handing him things from the fridge: butter, sauce—which he shook his head at—cheese, pepperoni, olives, pineapple, bacon, ham… Winter had asked Kasey to stock the thing with the works. Their fingers touched and sparked with every delivery, and when she was done, she laughed at the sight of his full arms and careful gait as he made his way back to their prep counter, and her embarrassment was erased.

  “Bells needs someone to reel her in,” he said finally. “Someone she can bring out of their shell.”

  Winter pffted. “Now you’re playing the opposites attract card?”

  “Well, you may have had a point earlier.” His eyes met hers very briefly before returning to the pizza. “I can see how different people could find each other. Make each other happy.”

  Her heart flew straight out of her chest, and she plucked up an olive from the container and pushed it into her mouth, hopefully keeping her internal squealing thoughts to herself.

  “It does work,” she said around her food. “As long as that partner lets them be themselves and doesn’t force them to be someone they’re not.”

  “Who says they aren’t that person?” He gestured to a cupboard. “Sauce pans?”

  Winter shrugged and let him explore the kitchen for what he needed. He was much better at it anyway.

  “Sometimes it takes a person who sees the world differently to, yanno, make you see who you are,” he continued. Winter raised an eyebrow, wondering if he’d had personal experience, or if he’d suddenly become an expert on love overnight.

  “Deep thoughts, Will.”

  “I’ve been known to have them, Miss Frosty.” He threw her a playful grin over his shoulder as he finally found a sauce pan and set it on the stove. A bubble of excitement grew at the nickname; she’d been envious of the way he addressed his sister, and she wished she had a name that he could have fun with. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from squealing. And he added a southern “Miss.”

  “I’m not sure I agree,” she said slowly, not letting the nickname throw her off. “At their age, they know who they are already, don’t you think?”

  “How old are you?” he asked, his ears going red for a second. “You don’t have to answer tha—”

  “Twenty-seven,” she answered. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it; a lot of people assumed she was either much older or much younger. The successful business had people thinking the former, while the lack of family had people thinking the latter.

  There was a flicker of something in his blue, blue eyes she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Hmm… how old is he?

  “Do you know who you are?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said firmly, but… was that a lie? She didn’t think it was… but when it had come off her lips so easily, it’d felt that way.

  He chuckled, opening the fridge and peering inside. “Actually, I don’t doubt you.”

  She was torn between being flattered and getting defensive. Surely, he knew who he was; he seemed so put together, even if he was a little out of his comfort zone. He was completely comfortable in the kitchen, especially since now he was chopping tomatoes, using tools and food she hadn’t even known were in here.

  “How’d you get into it, anyhow?” he asked. “The whole murder mystery thing?”

  She popped a slice of Canadian bacon into her mouth. “The local theater was shutting its doors, and I had all this money I wasn’t using. So… two birds, one stone.”

  “Why not just save the theater?”

  “Because my house was empty.” She lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to fill it up, give tourists a place to go, give them something they wouldn’t get anywhere else.”

  “And you thought, murder mystery!”

  He was poking fun, and she liked it. She rarely had anyone who would poke fun at her. Mel was too hardnosed. Hansen treated her like a client to be protected—which made sense, considering he was head of security, she had relationships with the actors and actresses that came in and out of the place, but they didn’t really know each other. And they only came around four times a year. It was a happy shock that a man she’d only known for three days was willing to tease the heck out of her.

  “And you thought, ‘Pizza!’ when you decided to open a business in fried chicken land?”

  “Ah, touché.”

  They laughed together, and it felt like the easiest thing in the world.

  “Hey, come here for a minute,” he said, waving her to the stove. Her heart sped as she clacked her way over. He held the wooden spoon to her, keeping the business end in the sauce. “Take this and stir for me, please?”

  She ducked under his arm to take his position. He kept his large, warm hand on hers for a second, demonstrating.

  “Slow S’s, like this.” They drew S’s together for a few seconds that seemed like years, yet not nearly long enough. It took everything in her to not look up into his eyes, knowing she’d most likely burn herself if she lost her focus.

  “You got it?”

  “I know how to write, William,” she teased, and he laughed, but she had to fight a frown when his body disappeared. He gathered more spices and ingredients, tossing them in while she stirred.

  “How did you get into this?” she asked, hoping her mind would start focusing on his words rather than the corded muscles of his arms.

  “My momma lost her right arm when she was about twenty-seven.” He waggled his brow, letting her know that he hadn’t forgotten her age. “I was ‘bout six, and so Bells and I started helping out ‘round the house more, and Bells’ cooking was horrible, Frosty. I’m telling ya, even at six when I would eat a bug, I could not for the life of me choke down her penne pasta and homemade Alfredo.”

  “Alfredo sounds so delicious, though.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought, too before it all came back up.”

  She wrinkled her nose and giggled. Will put his hand on hers and stirred, reminding her to keep doing her job.

  “So, I told her I’d make dinner the next night. Mind you, I was six, so there wasn’t much I could do. No oven, no stove… but I could order pizza just fine. Problem with that is, well, Alabama ain’t known for their pizza, right? So, I asked Momma to teach me how to make it. She’d do the adult stuff, like putting it in the oven and taking it out, but I learned how to get the dough ready, get the sauce—it wasn’t made from scratch back then, but I learned how to do that, too, when I was old enough—and sprinkle cheese, and make funny faces with the toppings.”

  A light started spreading in his eyes, making crow’s feet and tickling Winter from the inside out. It was the most handsome she’d ever seen him, and she prayed he’d keep talking forever.

  “After choking down that Alfredo, Momma had no problem eating pizza for the rest of her days.” He laughed and took over stirring now that all the ingredients were in the sauce. “But I tried to expand my cooking knowledge.”

  “What was her favorite?”

  “Pepperoni and olive pizza.” He smiled—a different kind of smile she hadn’t seen much of. Almost like pride. Or maybe just joy. “But my cookies ain’t bad either.”

  “I want some.”

  He laughed and nodded. “You got it.”

  She did know where the chocolate chips were, so she hurried over to her old stash and fished them out. The amused look on Will’s face that she knew where those were but not a sauce pan was crystal clear.

  “Shush,” she said.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “So… is Momma a frequent visitor at your pizza place?”

  “She is when she’s home, but she’s a world explorer at the moment. Met a man, got an RV, and off they went.” He pointed at her.
“That’s how I know opposites attract.”

  “And I thought it was because you had a thing for a quiet, reserved girl.”

  He jolted back, almost a little too quickly, and a deep sense of dread filled her. Apparently, she’d hit the nail on the head, and she’d only been teasing.

  “Oh, that is the case.” She smiled, but it did not meet her eyes. “What’s her name?”

  She didn’t give a single hoot, but she couldn’t help but ask. Let him confirm what she’d unintentionally inferred.

  Or deny it.

  He let out a shaky breath. “Uh… Penelope.”

  Dang it. “She’s quiet, then?”

  “Very.” He paused. “Almost too quiet.”

  A light flickered in the dark corner her heart was hiding in. “I don’t think you have any problem filling conversation.”

  “No,” he admitted with a small laugh. “But… it’s hard to feel like I ain’t gonna scare her off. Just doesn’t come easy.”

  “Things that are worth it rarely are.” She ripped the chocolate chips open and gorged herself on a handful, not caring how that looked.

  They fell silent, and Winter feared that if he didn’t say something soon, she’d have the entire bag in her belly.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “What about me?”

  He tilted his chin at her, spreading the butter around on the dough. “An expert matchmaker oughta know a thing or two ‘bout love.”

  Not directly. “Those who can’t do, teach.”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t contagious this time. Maybe Winter had fallen into a mood that would not be saved tonight.

  “That funny?” she clipped, and he nodded unabashedly.

  “A little. I’m surprised is all.”

  “Because I have money?”

  “Because you look like that.” He lifted his chin up and down her body, and she nearly choked on her mouthful of chocolate chips. Yeah, any man would totally be into the chocolate smeared on her lips and the stained apron, and the air-dried, probably still chlorinated hair.

  “Love is not just attraction.”