Page 29 of Royal Icing

“So about the raccoons,” he prompted as he pocketed his change.

Emma took a sip, and the warmth flooded her body all the way down to her toes. Citrus, spice, and red wine. “God, this is good. What’s it called?”

“Glühwein.” He smiled, maybe pleased that she was enjoying something from his hometown.

“I love it. You’re not getting out of the racoon story,” she said as he steered her in another direction.

She should have been annoyed that he was steering her all over the place like some kind of catamaran. But his touch was a lick of fire, even above the forty layers she had on.

“I should have realized that was not an anecdote that would make sense overseas. Last summer, my mom and I went to a block party. We brought some deviled eggs. Long story short, I looked over during the party and saw a raccoon perched on the buffet table, scooping as many deviled eggs as he could hold into his tiny little hands. We chased him away, but he came back twice, and only for deviled eggs.”

Leo seemed to be considering this information. His lips were tight like he was trying not to laugh. “She hates fondant,” he finally said.

Emma stared at him. How would he know?

“My mother, I mean. Not that specific raccoon. Probably.”

“Oh. That helps, thank you.”

Any cake features without fondant would be challenging. It was just as well, though. Fondant sucked.

They started walking again.

The town was impossibly adorable. Lampposts decorated with bows were connected by string lights and garland, and children pointed in wonder at the two-story Christmas tree in the center of it all. It felt a little bit like home. But cleaner.

“Are you rewarding my charming raccoon anecdotes with fun facts about your mom?” she asked to cover the silence.

“Maybe. How about you tell me a little more about yourself, and I’ll tell you a little more about my mother.”

“What else can you possibly want to know?”

“Anything. What made you want to be a baker?”

Emma considered in silence for a moment.

“My mom, I guess.”

He nodded. “Does she bake as well?”

“No. But she is—was—a florist. She can grow anything, even in our minuscule backyard. She made incredible arrangements for high society weddings and events. Like she was born to do it. I didn’t have a knack for flowers. I’m not even allowed towater the ones at home anymore. But she got me an Easy-Bake Oven when I was eight, and something just…clicked. There’s something so powerful about turning a pile of ingredients into something delicious.”

“You have a true gift.”

She pulled her scarf up to hide her smile.

They joined the end of the line at the roasted nut stand. A couple people in front of them turned around and whispered.

She took a half step closer to him. “Do you not have a security detail?” she whispered.

It seemed awfully cavalier to allow members of the royal family out in the world with no protection. There could have been a dozen kidnappers in the crowd, ready to take him for ransom.

Leo snorted, then straightened like he was expecting to be reprimanded.

“In case it hasn’t become abundantly clear yet, the monarchy doesn’t really mean anything in Lynoria,” he said.

“No?” she asked.

Interesting.