by Erin Johnson
I tried not to enjoy his muscled, heaving chest pressing against my back too much. After all, I’d almost been kidnapped… again… and savoring resting my head against his strong jaw would be silly right now. So I only enjoyed and savored a little.
Besides, I had nothing better to do at the moment. The portal sealed behind Horace, leaving only a normal mirrored reflection. I sat still, torn between what I wanted to do and what I knew I should do. I should get off the lap of the engaged prince.
Hank and I found each other’s eyes in the reflection and we stared. But I wanted to lean back into his broad chest, pull his arms around me, and kiss him. As I thought it, the golden threads that had connected us the last time we kissed (actually, almost kissed) spun between and around us like a glowing cocoon. I hoped the threads weren’t springing only from me.
When he slid his calloused hand under my chin and tipped my head toward his face, I knew he felt it, too. I shifted, and turned toward him, reaching to the side of his face. He stroked my cheek with his thumb as he parted his lips and stared into my eyes.
I swallowed, still torn. “Well.” I swallowed again. “You definitely saved my life this time. We’re even now.”
He stared at my lips and I moved closer, tingles playing up and down my arms, the glow around us brightening and pulsing. I traced a finger down the side of his neck, feeling the roughness of stubble, and his breath caught. His other hand cupped my hip, and his strong fingers tightened around it.
Our faces drifted closer till we paused, barely an inch apart, his large nose brushing my cheek. “I almost lost you again. Imogen, I can’t—”
“Never fear, your majesty, the police are here and you are safe!”
Hank pulled away, throwing his head back, eyes closed. He let out a low groan. I scooted away, my cheeks burning hot as Inspector Bon leapt up the steps into the caravan, a few officers right behind him. I looked out over the swaying tall grasses; tens more officers swarmed around the field and the caravan.
“We got your signal, Prince Harry and came as quickly as we could.”
Hank pulled his broad hands down his face, muttering, “And yet you’re somehow both too late and intruding too early.”
I snickered, and Hank peeked a twinkling eye out at me between his fingers. I sucked on my lips to stifle my smile. It was probably a good thing that the inspector showed up when he did. Hank and I had been about to do something we’d both regret. I mean, I really wanted to do it, but it would have made a complicated situation even more so.
Bon stomped around the crowded caravan shouting orders—he pulled the screaming kettle off the stove. “Can’t believe that wasn’t driving you two crazy.”
I smiled at Hank. “We were a little distracted.”
Bon shook his head, then seemed to really notice me. His eyes narrowed. “Trouble follows you everywhere, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t disagree.
30
Working Together
I dragged the heel of my hand through a springy round of dough, flipped it, and repeated. It felt good to move, good to do something productive and simple. As I fell into rhythm with Maple’s song, my mind cleared. Like meditation, with less of an achy back.
Standing a few feet down the long butcher-block table, Maple kneaded her own bread and sang.
“Sprinkle some water,
Dust with flour,
Make it moist,
And not too sour,
Rise and work,
From an early hour,
A’making bread we go.”
I looked up as the heavy wooden door to the royal bakery banged open, expecting K’ree, Sam, Annie, or Yann. I’d arrived early after a sleepless night, mulling over a big decision.
My jaw dropped as Wiley jogged down the white marble steps, an apron already slung around his neck and his hands behind his back, tying it around his waist. I glanced at the large copper-rimmed clock on the wall above the ovens. I gasped—he was five minutes early, and one of the first to arrive. Which, considering he usually deigned to saunter in about two hours late, seemed like a miracle.
I pinched myself. Nope, not dead or dreaming. I shot Maple a wide-eyed look, but she kept her eyes on her dough. A shiner of a black eye darkened the right side of his face.
He bowed his head toward Maple. “Chef.”
My knees buckled and I nearly fell over. I gripped the edge of the table with my flour-caked hands and tried to catch Maple’s eye, but she continued her song, kneading away. Had I wandered into another dimension? He set up across the table from Maple and dumped out a pile of flour, cracked a couple of eggs, and dumped some water into the mix, mashing up the dough between his big hands. As Maple sang, he whistled along to her jaunty tune.
This got her to glance up. Oh, so she’ll look at him, not me? And smile? Did they just smile at each other? What the what? Maple kneaded and flipped and sang with Wiley whistling accompaniment.
The door banged again and Annie and Yann wandered in, followed closely by Sam and K’ree. All four froze in their tracks. Annie turned pale, Yann grinned, K’ree flushed, and Sam batted his pale blue eyes behind his glasses.
Okay, at least I wasn’t the only one in a state of shock over the incomprehensible new dynamic between Maple and Wiley. It certainly wasn’t warm and fuzzy, but it was miles from the disrespect he’d shown her before and her utter frustration with him.
With plenty of side-eyed glances, the others grabbed their aprons and began prepping for the day. Maple continued to sing with Wiley whistling, ignoring me kicking her foot under the table.
“Set it aside,
And let it rise,
Under a towel,
Till it doubles in size,
Cut on the top with
A sharp knife crosswise
A’making bread we go.”
From the other side of the room, Yann clapped in time as he woke up the oven fires. I’d let Iggy sleep in.
The little guy’s eyes sprung open and he gasped, his flames leaping. “What? What?” He scowled when he spotted Yann. “Who claps to wake people up? Especially with those bear paws.”
I grinned over my shoulder at him and he frowned back. I widened my eyes and darted them first to Maple, then to Wiley. Iggy squinted, then his eyes flew open and he mouthed, “What?”
I shrugged and shook my head, then turned back to my dough. I bit my lip and dipped my chin to hide my grin. I didn’t know what was going on, but frankly it was fun. I stomped my foot in time with the song. Maple grinned over at me and I lifted my brows back.
“Into the oven,
Into the fire—”
Sam, blushing, clanked a metal spoon against a copper mug. Tick tick-tick tick-tick tick-tick. I nodded at him, my foot still stomping, and Annie and K’ree jumped in with a shaker fashioned from a jar of salt, K’ree, also blushing, harmonizing. This was one of Maple’s more popular song spells, so we all knew it by heart.
“Hurry bakers, we’re
Under the wire,
We knead and bake,
And never tire,
A’making bread we go.”
Maple finished and sucked on her lips. She stared down at her dough, her cheeks and neck flushing pink. Annie gave a last rattling shake of her salt, and silence fell on the kitchen.
I lifted my dough-covered hands and clapped, sending up a cloud of flour. Wiley put his fingers in his mouth and whistled—loud. My eye twitched as Sam, Yann, Annie, and K’ree applauded and laughed. I threw an arm around Maple’s shoulders.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
Still grinning, she nodded and let me lead her over to one of the darkened alcoves lined with copper pots, utensils, and baking sheets. The others chatted happily and went about their business. I’d never seen the bakery so chipper and harmonious. Once we were out of earshot, I glanced over at Wiley, absorbed in his work.
“What is going on?” I whispered.
“With?” Maple batted her lashes at me.
> I flashed my eyes back and she laughed. “I know, I know—just keep your voice down, all right?”
I pointed at my eye. “He’s got a black eye. Did you beat him into submission?”
She laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Shh! He’ll hear.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “What is happening here?” I looked around.
She waved her hands at me, beckoning me closer, and lowered her voice. “Last night… well, it was more like one this morning, I got an urgent message delivered from the Rusted Wreck about Wiley. Apparently he’d started a fight, hence the—” She pointed at her eye.
I nodded. “Okay. Sounds like the Wiley I know. So did that one get abducted by aliens and replaced by this guy?”
She grinned. “No. But they said he also owed a hefty bar tab and wanted to garner his wages.”
“Wow. What’d you do?”
“Well… I was angry at first.” Her brows pulled together, a little crease forming between them. “And I planned to fire him. I was so nervous, but it was the last straw. But I also didn’t want to leave the bar in the lurch, so I went down there—”
“By yourself? At one in the morning?” I planted my hands on my hips. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Maple sighed. “First, I didn’t wake you ’cause you’ve had a rough couple of days. You were almost killed the night before last and then almost abducted yesterday morning. I wanted to give you some rest.”
“Psh.” I rolled my eyes. “I hardly slept. Had too much on my mind—you should’ve knocked.”
“It was fine. Look, one of the guards at the gate was getting off duty and escorted me down there.”
I wagged my brows. “The cute one?”
She blushed.
“Ooh, the extra cute one.”
She clicked her tongue. “I’ll never finish my story at this rate.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my grin, and folded my hands across my apron. “Apologies. Please continue.”
She nodded primly. “Thank you. So I went to the Wreck and had the bartender pull up the tab. It went back months, but he grabbed the list back from me and crossed off the first entry. When I asked him why, he said that was the night after Nan died and Wiley’d been so busted up, the bartender decided it was on the house. Apparently, that’s when Wiley started drinking and showing up late, etcetera.”
“Oh.” I leaned against a prep table. “So Iggy wasn’t the only one upset by her death.”
“No. Right? It makes sense.” Maple nodded. “We walked back up to the jail to see him, me, and the guard. And he kept trying to talk to me, but I was too distracted. I kept thinking about when my grams died, how she and my little brother Oak had been close. He started having a hard time in school, acted up, and started getting into fights. His teacher said he was numbing out—trying not to feel the pain with distractions.”
I nodded. “So you think Wiley was doing the same thing?”
She nodded.
“What helped your brother?”
She raised her blond brows. “That’s where my mind went, too. Our parents had him talk to that teacher—just the talking seemed to help him a lot. I’d talk to him, too, when we’d work in the bakery together. My parents also got him a dog.”
I gripped the edge of the prep table and leaned forward. “Did you give Wiley a dog?”
She looked away. “Not exactly.” She waved her hands. “I’ll get to that. But I did visit his cell and talk to him. He was defensive at first—and still drunk. He told me I was wasting my time and that I should fire him, already. But I kept asking him questions—and finally he confessed that he hasn’t been able to sleep since Nan died.”
“Wow.” I darted a glance at Wiley. Why hadn’t I noticed the dark bags under his eyes before? Poor guy.
“So… I made him a deal.”
“You’ll bang him over the head with a frying pan each night and he’ll sleep like the dead?”
She chuckled. “No. But I know this lullaby spell that puts my kid cousins to sleep, like that.” She snapped her fingers. “So I said if he comes to work on time, I’d garnish his wages to clear his bar tab and front the bail money from future earnings. In exchange, I’d sing him the lullaby.”
“And he agreed?”
She nodded.
I shook my head. “Wow. And here he is? Can I just say, you are extremely energetic for someone who was up all night?”
She grinned. “I’ve had lots of caffeine.”
“Ah.”
“Also, I loaned him Cat. Just to keep him company for a little while.”
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. “What? I thought you were trying to befriend the guy?”
She hiked up her shoulders. “I am. What? The dog helped Oakie, and I thought Wiley might like a little friend to take care of and love and cuddle with.”
“If he cuddles with that thing, which I would like to again emphatically assure you is not a cat, it might scratch his face off.”
She shrugged. “Cat seemed to like him. I dropped him by Wiley’s room this morning and he didn’t screech once.”
I blinked. “It… screeches?”
Maple waved me off. “Come on let’s get back to work.”
I followed her, but she stopped right at the edge of the alcove and turned again. She whispered. “Oh! And I saw Wiley’s intake form. Did you know that’s not his real name? Well, it’s his last name.”
I frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah, don’t tell anyone, but”—she cupped a hand over her mouth—“his real name is Peter.”
“Peter?” I mouthed. Peter Wiley. Huh. Superweird. “Well, I’m glad you and Peter have worked things out. I hope he keeps showing up on time. I could get used to this.”
We looked over the cheerful, bustling, smooth-running bakery. “Me too.” Maple nodded, and I followed her back to the table. Wiley glanced up and grinned at her. Despite the bags under his eyes, he did seem way perkier and in a much better mood than usual. Half an hour later, a knock at the door startled me. We all paused our work and looked around. No one ever knocked at the bakery door—everyone just walked right in.
Maple looked at me and I shrugged. She cleared her throat and called, “Come in.”
A messenger in a blue cap and matching jacket jogged down the stairs holding a maroon paper box. A white enveloped lay tucked under the gold ribbon that wrapped around the box and ended in a big bow. “I’m looking for—” He consulted the envelope. “Maple White?”
Maple’s cheeks flushed pink and she lifted her hand. The messenger strode across the marble floor and handed her a clipboard to sign. She handed it back and took the box. The messenger jogged back up the stairs and closed the door behind him.
K’ree inched closer. “It looks like it’s from the Fire Kingdom—those are the colors we use when sending a special gift.”
I smiled at her, then at Maple. There was only one person I knew from the Fire Kingdom who’d be sending Maple a special present. My friend turned almost as red as the box as Yann and Annie gathered around the table. Wiley watched with a serious face.
Maple pulled the gold ribbon, untying the bow, and then lifted the lid with both hands. The heavenly scent of sugar and orange blossoms wafted out. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
“Qatayefs.” Maple grinned from ear to ear.
“You’ve got quite a few there, dear, enough to share I think?” Annie snagged a couple and handed one to Yann. She winked at Maple and they moved off to do their work again, munching happily on the desserts.
Maple gestured to the goodies. “Please, everyone, help yourselves.”
K’ree reached into the box to take one, her hand covered in elaborate, looping tattoos that reminded me of henna. Maple and I reached in after, and I took a big bite of the fried round pastry. I moaned. “Hmmm… pistachio. This is delicious.” I tilted my head toward the envelope and grinned. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
Maple bit her lip and set
down the rest of her dessert. She licked her fingers clean of honey, and tore it open. She unfolded the card, scanned it, and closed it again, holding it against her chest. Her eyes shone. “It’s from Wool.”
I laughed. “Obviously. What’s it say?”
“Who’s Wool?”
I’d forgotten about Wiley standing across the table from us. Everyone else had gone back to their work, but he stood still, his face serious.
I grinned. “Just someone Maple and I know from the competition.” I winked. “She was fond of his qatayefs, if you know what I mean.”
Wiley paled, and Maple flushed and bumped me with her shoulder. I chuckled. “Sorry. I’m just teasing.”
Maple gestured to Wiley, then to the box of goodies. “Why don’t you have one?”
He cleared his throat and took a couple steps back. “I’m going to stock the pantry.” He stomped off.
I frowned after him, but got too caught up in the letter to pay him any more attention. I squeezed Maple’s shoulders and bounced behind her, looking over her shoulder. “So what’s it say?”
Still smiling brightly, she held up the letter and read.
Maple,
I’m so sorry for the delay. I’ve been trying to get word out to you for two weeks now, but the monsoons have come early to the Fire Kingdom this year and all travel in and out is delayed, including the post. Please find my recipe for qatayefs enclosed—feel free to make it, but I must beg you not to share it. It is my grandmother’s and she would turn me into a frog if she knew I’d given it to anyone outside the family.
I gasped. “He gave you his grandma’s secret recipe.”
Maple bit her lip and read on.
I have accepted the job in the kitchens of the royal bakery, thank you for remembering. I hear congratulations are in order for you as well, on becoming the next royal baker for the Water Kingdom. I know of no one who deserves it more. And now that our princess is engaged to your prince, I suspect more meetings between their royal staffs, including the bakers, will occur. At least I hope so. It would be very good to see you, very good.