Page 18 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

Henry looked past him, intrigued. Anyone Siddeley—a man who wore Christmas ascots—called a character was someone he wanted to meet.

“Damon has generously agreed to host us for our first winter activity.” Siddeley glanced at the door, then back. “He does like to be a tad…grumpy, but don’t take it to heart. He’s all bark and no bite, I assure you!”

Henry nudged Tia. “Just like you.”

She slid him a look. “Who says I don’t bite?”

He swallowed a groan. He didn’t want to push his luck, not after the fountain. When she’d finally smiled at him, he’d felt it: a flicker of old and familiar adoration. It still buzzed in his system as he followed her into the bakery, a happy little hum flirting with his mind.

The space was large, with a long navy counter on one side, half with a chiller cabinet underneath, and matching navy stools tucked beneath the other half.

The rest of the room was taken up by white tables and navy chairs, and vintage posters from restaurants were framed in odd sizes over the white brick walls.

The smell of sugar and coffee hit, making his stomach gurgle.

A man, tall, white, with dark hair and dark eyebrows drawn low, wiped the counter and didn’t look up at Siddeley’s approach.

“Damon,” Siddeley greeted him.

The man grunted.

“We’re here!”

“I got eyes.”

Henry’s eyebrows winged up.

Siddeley floundered for a second. “Shall I introduce you to everyone? This is—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Damon flung the towel over his shoulder and looked up. Steely gray eyes glowered out from under a flop of black hair. His mouth was a slash to match his scowl and he folded bulky arms displayed by a white tee.

Henry noted Mina perk up and glanced at Tia. She didn’t react, not looking at him, though she must have felt his gaze.

“I’m Damon,” the man said, his accent sharp and British.

“This is my business, one I take considerable pride in and will not be happy about you wrecking. So some rules. One, cut the pastry, not your skin, and if you’re stupid enough to forget that, don’t get blood all over the place.

Two, this isn’t a free lunch and what you eat, you pay for.

Three, the ovens are big enough to kill a witch so don’t annoy me and I won’t stuff you inside one. ”

Siddeley’s laugh was buoyant, trying to rise in a stormy sea. “Didn’t I tell you? Such a joker. Now, everyone,” he said, missing Damon’s snort, “for our first winter activity, Damon is going to give us a masterclass in mince pies!”

“Mince pies?” Annaliese wrinkled her pert nose. “Like, meat?”

Damon eyed her. “Are you stupid?”

As Annaliese bristled, Siddeley hurriedly said, “I can see why you’d think that, Lady Annaliese, but these are a classic English staple of the Christmas diet.

Small sweet pies filled with mincemeat, a mixture of sugar, raisins, currants, some brandy and other delicious items. You will love them! Now, has anyone baked before?”

Nobody lifted a hand.

Damon muttered something and stalked out the back through a swinging door.

“I like him,” Tia decided.

Henry side-eyed her. “Of course you do. Must be like looking in a mirror.”

She scratched her cheek with her middle finger and he grinned.

Siddeley didn’t miss a beat. “Excellent, we’re all on a level playing field, then!” He gestured around at the tables. “Damon has already set out the ingredients you’ll need. I thought it would be most fun to be in teams, get to know each other a little.”

Tia perked up. “I’d be happy to bake with you, Lord Archie.”

He preened. “How kind, but I know you’d prefer to be with your young man. I’ll always bend the rules for young love.”

“Don’t look too happy,” Henry whispered as the others duked it out to be Siddeley’s partner. He bumped her with his elbow. “Besides, you got points for saving his dog.”

After hearing their story, Siddeley had all but gotten down on his knees to apologize for Rudy, who apparently liked to blow bubbles in the fountain. Like that was normal.

Tia crossed her arms. “Right. I just looked like an idiot.”

“But a very cute idiot.”

“Shut up.” She watched as Annaliese was paired with Chrichton, Mina with Siddeley, and Griffith with Sawyer. “We need to get closer to him.”

“Stick to the plan. Slow and steady.” Slow and steady , he reminded himself as his gaze moved over her face. He had to admit, though, he kind of liked the prickliness, the hints of softness underneath. Made him feel like each small smile was won and his alone.

“I don’t like going slow.”

“I’ll remember that.”

The look she shot him was irritated. “Would you concentrate?”

“I’m playing into the stereotype of the obsessed lover.” He gave her an exaggerated leer. “I need to distract myself before I lose all control and throw you down in the flour.”

Victory fireworked inside when he saw her lips twitch. “You’re an idiot.”

“Then we’re a matching pair.” He patted her on the head and dodged her swipe. His grin in place, he caught Griffith staring before the other man snorted and looked away.

Damon returned from the back with a large jar of what Henry had to assume was mincemeat. He plonked it down on the counter next to a bowl and ingredients. “I’m not going slow, so get over here and keep up.”

“Think that’s what he says to his lovers?” he heard Mina murmur to Annaliese, who giggled.

Damon scowled at them. “You want to shut up back there? I have bread rising so we’re making this quick and no stupid questions. Here’s what you do.”