Page 43 of Falling for the King

‘You came up here last night? At the end of the day we’d had?’

‘I thought you’d like it,’ he admitted his voice gruff. He’d wanted to do something special for her and that had overridden everything.

‘I do, thank you, it’s like … heaven.’ And just like that he knew he’d do those stairs a million times over to see the happiness that shone from her brighter than any sunbeam.

She tilted her head back, took a deep breath then another and stretched out her arms like she was filling her lungs with the pine-scented air. ‘I could stay up here all day, I’d never tire of it,’ she said reverently.

‘Lucky I brought some sustenance then.’

She twisted around to him.

‘You brought food?’ she clarified as if he’d told her he’d hand carved the whole tower.

‘And a thermos of tea.’

‘And I thought this surprise couldn’t get any better.’ She smiled and it hit him square in the chest.

Shrugging off his backpack he placed it on the stone bench and quickly poured two steaming cups of tea adding lemon to hers and placing thick slices of Maynetian fruit cake on serviettes.

Her eyes widened. ‘My favourites, thanks.’ Picking up the cup and cake she moved back to her spot, this time facing him.

He couldn’t stop staring at her. He’d never seen her so relaxed, a few blonde strands had escaped from her bun courtesy of the wind, her cheeks glowed pink from the cold and he found it, her, utterly captivating. On a deep sigh he dragged his attention away and instead took a bite of the still warm fruit cake. A riot of familiar flavours exploded in his mouth, apricot, almond, a hint of orange and lime. He’d eaten this cake countless times yet he’d never known the flavours to be as perfectly balanced, to create such harmony. He wondered if it was the cake or being here with Kat.

‘It’s good, Xavier.’ She held up her half-eaten slice to prove her point.

‘Full disclosure I didn’t make it myself,’ he felt compelled to tell her.

‘What, in between your kingly duties and hiking up and down what my legs are telling me are hundreds of stairs, in the middle of the night, you didn’t have time to make a gastronomical delight that no doubt takes hours?’

‘Something like that.’ He smiled again pulling at muscles that felt like they were getting a workout. Surely he smiled. He did, only it felt different with Kat.

‘Full disclosure I’m a terrible baker. I used to insist on making Dad cakes whenever I was home from boarding school but I’d always choose the most unusual combinations. I had it in my head that I wanted to make something different, something memorable, because he had world class chefs at his fingertips. I’d concoct these flavours that were truly horrible. He’d grimace through a mouthful or two then the rest of the cake would mysteriously disappear. We were both relieved when I stopped.’ She finished her cake, dabbed at her mouth with her serviette and put it in her pocket.

‘All right now I have to know, what flavours?’

Draining her cup she placed it on the bench and took a seat stretching her legs in front of her.

‘He loved bacon and peanuts so—’ she shrugged, ‘—I thought I’d make a good cake mixing two of his favourites. It didn’t. Then I tried rum, his drink of choice and,’ she paused dramatically, ‘broccoli.’

A laugh burst from Xavier.

Kat smiled. ‘I know. Big pieces of it, you see I was worried about his cholesterol.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that combination either.’

He laughed again, the stress of the tour, of everything, slipping away. ‘Thanks for the tip if I ever have the urge to start baking, I won’t start with either of those.’

‘That’s a relief, I’d hate to think either of those ever got replicated,’ she said with a twist of her lips before shivering from a gust of icy wind and huddling into her jacket.

He put down his cup and reached for his backpack. ‘I brought a scarf and beanie in case you needed it. The wind chill factor up here is never good, Horace obviously had a taste for the cold.’

She bit down on her lip like she was holding back a laugh. ‘Is that one of those bottomless bags, you know like Mary Poppins had?’

‘I don’t believe anyone’s ever compared me to Mary Poppins, in fact, I’m sure of it.’

‘I don’t imagine they would but you came prepared, thank you.’

She rejected the beanie but wrapped his black woollen scarf over her head and ears crossing it at her neck so that it fell down her back. His heart jumped, something about seeing her covered in his scarf felt … right. He itched to reach and smooth it over her ears to keep the wind out, to rub her hands to keep the blood flowing, to enfold her in a hug to keep her warm. Instead, he dug his hands into his jacket pockets. He couldn’t, wouldn’t touch her.

Instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall feeling the weak sun on his face, freeing his senses. His breathing slowed as he listened to the wind roaring through the trees, felt the pounding of his heart and realised how much he’d missed, needed some time out.