I sprinkled flour onto the smooth wooden counter before plopping a new ball of dough onto the surface and pressing my rolling pin on top of it. I didn’t notice when the voices around me faded, so focused was I on making this batch less lopsided than the last.
“Flatter,” a low voice said behind me, hot breath tickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. Bryce’s arms circled me from behind, his hands coming to rest overtop my flour-covered ones gripping the rolling pin. “Like this.”
Slowly, he guided my movements, his chest pressing into my back. As if by magic, the stubborn dough I’d been struggling to roll evenly transformed into a perfectly smooth circle.
I glanced to the side, noticing we were suddenly alone. Everyone else had gone to the sitting room to watch the baby gurgle and laugh over a silly face one of the girls had been making. Thesounds of joy from the other room combined with the closeness of Bryce and the taste of sugar on my tongue sent bliss curling through my heart. Maybe this was what family was supposed to feel like. Maybe this was whatbelongingfelt like.
“How do you know how to make a tart?” I asked, my voice hushed.
“My grandma taught me. I lived with her and Grandpa for a while.”
He reached around me, picking up one of the tart molds and placing it in my hands. I held it as he expertly pressed dough inside with his thumbs, his fingers cradling my hands. Maybe he couldn’t sword fight. Maybe he was scared of horses. But the man could competently make a tart.
“This is nice,” he said into my ear. “Just like a Christmas commercial.”
The more I pieced together of Bryce, the more I realized the universe had not blessed him as I’d once supposed. He was as lost as I. From the clues I’d gathered, it sounded like he had less of a family than I did. At least mine were around, even if they didn’t like me.
I turned in his arms, and he didn’t step back, so my back pressed into the counter. “You weren’t alone last Christmas, you know. I was there too.”
A soft smile touched his lips. “Yeah, I know. I sat against our shared wall so I could listen when you started playing a song called ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Fuck This’ on repeat.”
“I turned it on for you,” I confessed. “I thought you might appreciate the sentiment.”
Flour floated lazily in front of the windowpanes. The smell of cooking tarts rose warmly from the stove. Distant baby belly laughs sounded from the other room, followed by delight and praise. The perfectness swelled, the warm, solid,rightfeeling too much to bear. I was too happy. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to—
“I want to hug you again,” Bryce said simply.
All I could do was nod.
One step, and he was holding me. His arms were sure when they banded around me. I’d never felt so snug and secure, so used to the obligatory featherlight side hugs from my old friends and family. He smelled like warm sugar and soap. I pressed my face into his chest, overwhelmed by everything I was feeling, positive emotions on top of positive emotions. He cradled my head, stroking my hair, tucking his face against my neck. God, he was a good hugger.
“I need to tell you something,” he whispered into my hair.
I nodded against his chest, braced for whatever he might have to say.
“I’ve had the ball for like half an hour, and I think they’re beginning to suspect.”
I peeked over his shoulder to find giggling faces stacked in the half-open door to the sitting room.
“I knew it!” one screamed.
They attacked like wolves, ripping Bryce away from me. When he begged me to save him from their clutches, I only laughed and blew him a kiss.
Too tired after the evening of baking to walk all the way to the castle, we checked into an inn Mama recommended down the street.
“We need a room,” Bryce said to the innkeeper. “I’m sure, what with the tournament in a couple of days, you only have one available, right?”
The innkeeper smiled. “It’s your lucky day! We just had a cancellation. We have two empty rooms.”
“What a shame. Only one room.” Bryce tsked and shook his head.
The innkeeper’s smile faded. “You must have misheard, sir. I said—”
“And, let me guess,” Bryce cut in coolly. “That room doesn’t have two beds.”
I smiled, catching on to what he was doing. Bless Bryce and his fondness for romance novels.
“Of course we have multiple beds available upon request.” The innkeeper puffed up. “We are a reputable establishment, good sir. To only have one bed available?” He scoffed. “Unacceptable.”
