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“Glad you like it.”
“What did you put in this?”
“The secret is lemon zest in the crust and berry mixture. And just a touch of salt.”
“I’m kidnapping you and making you bake this same tart every night. Because I’m about to eat all of this, and I’m going to want more tomorrow night,” I say.
“Excuse me?” She tilts her head as if not sure she heard me correctly.
And that’s the extent of my unhinged, socially awkward flirting repertoire, so she’ll be calling the cops any minute now.
Thank the gods, she laughs it off.
“You think I’m kidding. You’d better get in on this tart before it’s gone,” I say.
I watch her cheeks turn deep pink as she slow-blinks at me, the same flirty slow blink she gave me the night I first saw her at the pub when I was rounding up my idiot brother.
She digs in, and I watch the decadent dessert pass through her full lips. Every cell in my body roils and cries out to touch her.
“This is the only way to eat dessert,” she says, “straight from the pan.”
“Agreed,” I say.
We stuff our faces, and then I clear the table.
“You wash, I’ll dry,” she says.
My intention is to wash all the dishes myself as thanks for the incredible potatoes and dessert, but I rather like the idea of standing next to her at the sink.
“Deal. Then we can go outside, and I’ll show you how to start a campfire.”
“I know how to use a fireplace,” she says.
“I’m gonna make an outdoors lady out of you.”
I hand her a rinsed, clean plate, and she takes it with a smile. “Good luck.”
After several moments of charged silence other than the sounds of dishes in the sink, she asks, “So, why don’t you just tell your parents where you are and that you want to be left alone? That you don’t want the crown?”
I don’t want to talk about my parents, but if she’s sticking around for the next two weeks, I suppose I’ll have to talk about the king and queen at some point.
“Because they would insist I stay in the palace until they arrange a wedding for me.
“I want to marry, but on my own terms. No one they choose will be happy with a match. I’m too different from the rest of them.”
She takes another dish, and her blue gaze unsettles me.
Her fingers brush against mine, and she says, “Youaredifferent from the rest. You’re everyone’s favorite. And now I understand why.”
I plunge my hands into the water. “I have no idea what you could mean by that.”
I hand her a washed pan, but she isn’t taking it. Not yet. Instead, I watch Stasi pull a wad of cash from her pocket. “This is leftover from a recent tip I received at the pub. I used it to pay for this trip.”
“Stasi.”
“No, let me finish. It’s because of you that I’m here at all. Nobody else in the royal family would have made this possible for someone like me.”
This makes me uncomfortable, so I dry the dish myself and put it away. “My parents and siblings donate to charity all the time.”
