Page 34 of Bookshop Cinderella

Sensing his scrutiny, she slid her gaze sideways, meeting his, and her smile turned rueful. “The bride didn’t share your opinion, I fear. The party was canceled, and so was the wedding.”

“The groom’s loss is our gain, then. I take it Escoffier and Ritz already approved this idea? Then it’s settled,” he added as she gave a nod. “Arabian Nights it is.”

He picked up the sheet of notes on the desk and glanced over it. “Since this will be a full banquet, we’ll need to give Escoffier a few more suggestions than what you have here. For one thing, we need a soup. And a fish course.”

She reached for pen and paper, dipped the pen in the inkwell, and began taking notes. “Anything else?”

“Perhaps a dessert, since I think we need something more than fruit, cheese, and Turkish delight. And two sorbets.”

She laughed, causing him to look up. “Sorbet is amusing?” he asked.

“Rather. I doubt they eat much sorbet in the desert.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, laughing with her. “But in my defense, allow me to point out that not all of the Middle East is desert.”

“Well, that’s true enough. I’ll do some research on it and see what I can find.”

“Would you stop volunteering to take on more work?” he chided in good-natured exasperation. “We are trying to make this as easy as possible, since you are on holiday. Are there any native flavorings you can think of that would be good for sorbet?”

“Peaches would do for that, wouldn’t they? Or rosewater. Or orange water. Or,” she added as he began to laugh, “there’s a mint tea that could work—why are you laughing?”

“We only need two sorbets, Evie. Peach will do nicely, and perhaps the mint. What about dessert?”

“Hmm...” She paused to consider. “I wonder if Escoffier has ever made knafeh?”

“Nothing would surprise me, given that he’s made birds’ nest soup, but we can try. What is this knafeh?”

“A flaky pastry stuffed with soft cheese and syrup and covered with pistachio nuts. Or, if Escoffier doesn’t like that, we could suggest baklava. Or perhaps atayef.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone before who possesses such a vast knowledge of Middle Eastern desserts.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Or is this knowledge due to research for another of Delia’s party plans?”

“No, I just read a lot.”

“I thought I was a pretty fair reader myself, but if someone had ever asked me to name a dessert of that region beyond Turkish delight, I’d have had to admit immediate defeat. And I’m a member of the Epicurean Club, too. I feel so ashamed, they might have to rescind my membership. Yet here you are, rattling off knafeh and balaklava, and all sorts of whatnot.”

“Baklava,” she corrected, laughing. “It’s a pastry, layered with nuts and honey.”

“I shall take your word for it.” He shook his head in admiration. “Really, Evie, you’re a marvel.”

She shifted in her chair, clearly unaccustomed to compliments. “Well, I do own a bookstore,” she said, laughing a little. “I’m one of the few people who actually reads a Baedeker without being a tourist.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, a fierceness in his voice that surprised even him. “Don’t hide your light under a bushel.”

“I don’t...” She paused, staring at him, clearly nonplussed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a well-read woman. Don’t downplay your accomplishments or feel you have to explain them away. Oh, I know women are raised to be all maidenly modesty, but as a man, I find that one of the most infuriating things about your sex.”

In the wake of this little speech, they stared at each other as if neither knew what to say next. For his part, he supposed he’d said quite enough.

“Heavens,” she said after a moment. “You do speak your mind, don’t you?”

“One of my many faults, as we both know.” Still irritated and oddly off-balance, he took a deep breath and forced himself to veer off this topic. “Either way,” he said, striving for a nonchalant air, “you must remind me to enlist your help the next time I want to have an extravagant party at Idyll Hour.”

“Idyll Hour? What’s that?”

“My ducal estate. It’s in the Cotswolds.”

“The Cotswolds?” she cried. “I should love to see the Cotswolds. I’ve heard it’s lovely.”

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