Page 104 of Resisting the Grump

I pressed my lips together.

“So if being my queen stops being fun at any point, you have to tell me.” He rotated his slightly golden marshmallow over the flames, revealing the fact that this wasn’t his first rodeo.

I dangled mine over the crackling fire. “So far, so fun,” I admitted.

“For me, too,” he said, his dark eyes finding mine.

And as he held my gaze, I felt held all over, as warmed through and weightless as a roasting marshmallow myself. And as my heart swelled with happiness, I swear I wouldn’t have been surprised to reach up and find I was wearing a crown.

Because I truly felt like a queen.

His queen.

Long may we reign.

E P I L O G U E

My egg timer went off in the kitchen, and I slid my feet into my fuzzy slippers so I could go peek in the oven.

Grace had finally rubbed off on me. I never thought it would happen. The fact that she could bake for fun after spending the whole week puffing pastries and icing cakes seemed like lunacy for a long time. But something had shifted for me. It was as if my skills were finally solid enough that I could be innovative.

It started with my tea service idea being a huge success. We were even talking about trialing it as a subscription offer to reward regulars. Grace loved Oliver’s cookbook idea, too, but we agreed to park it until after her wedding.

So, in the meantime, I thought I’d see if I could come up with a s’mores cookie recipe on my own. Attempting to invent a dessert was a first for me, but it was a fun puzzle, not to mention a tasty one. It was also a great way to keep my hands busy on nights Oliver had to work late.

From outside the lit-up oven, the cookies looked done, but the marshmallows I’d melted on top weren’t the golden-brown shade I was going for yet. I resisted the urge to open the door and get a closer look. If I wanted an accurate cooking time, I couldn’t let all the steam out at the last second. But they were definitely on the brink of baked to perfection.

I set the egg timer for two minutes and drummed my nails on the countertop a few times before my phone rang at the end of it. Grace’s adorable face popped onto the screen a second later. “Hi.”

“Hey, I’m surprised you picked up,” she said. “I was all ready to leave you a message.”

“What were you going to say?”

“I wanted to know if you and Oliver were free for lunch next week,” she said. “It’s a wedding-related request.”

“I figured.”

“We’re tasting the menu from start to finish, and Noah thinks it would be nice to have some second opinion palates on hand.”

“Well, I’m free if you decide I’m free, and Oliver’s not on location next week, so he might be able to swing it.”

“Great!” she said. “See if 12:30 Tuesday or Wednesday would work.”

“I’ll ask him when I see him tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” she said. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Definitely not creating a new recipe for the bakery that I can’t wait to pitch you.”

“Wait—what?” Her confusion was audible. “You’re baking right now?”

“Guilty.”

“On a Friday night?”

I was happy to let her tease me. God knows I’d made fun of her for doing the same thing more times than I could count. “It was this or the gym.”

She laughed. “No decision there. What’s cooking?”

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