Page 1 of When the Baker Met the Dragon

Chapter 1

Kaya

The crickets and spring frogs are still chirping and trilling as I climb out of bed and get dressed, donning a clean white apron on top. By the light of my candle, I knot my hair, then I pad down the stairs, stopping halfway to pick up Athanasios, the first maplecat I adopted years ago. He was already old when I found him in the rain, being sad and adorable; I have no clue how old, but his teeth are longer than any other maplecat’s teeth I’ve seen and I’ve seen many.

“Good morning, Sio,” I say, using his nickname.

I ease him over my shoulder as he purrs and continue down to the bakery’s kitchen. Maplecats’ pelts are a product of the Veiled Kingdoms’ magic. Each of them look as though they are covered in autumn leaves, but when you get close, you see each leaf is made of fur and it’s incredibly soft.

“How was your night, buddy?”

He gives his usual loud meow. I set him down, wash my hands at the pump sink, and begin gathering the ingredients for my cinnamon rolls. The actions of putting the dough together are as familiar to me as breathing, but I still pay close attention. I savor the scents of flour, sugar, and cinnamon.

Aside from time with my friends, Laini and Tully, this is the only activity I truly fall into with my whole heart. I have no desire to gallivant off into the unknown like Cyrus, my friend who owns the pub next door, does from time to time. Neither do I want to risk my neck and climb to the top of this or that mountain like my brother, Renen.

Sio meows again. “You’d gladly follow Renen up the cliffs if I didn’t keep a keen eye on your old arse, wouldn’t you?”

Another painfully loud meow and now he’s doing turns around my ankles. He’s a darling.

I set the cinnamon rolls on the long countertop by the back wall so they can rise while I work on the scones. The sun is rising now too, buttery light pouring out of the windows above my brick oven and through the doorway that leads into the bakery’s eatery and display area. The kitchen is cool and dim and I love how quiet it is. I start the scone dough, then the jingle of the bells on my front door and a familiar voice breaks my reverie.

“Good morning, Kaya!”

My stomach flips. He just startled me, that’s all. It’s not his good looks or rich voice, making me feel that way, right? We have been friends for ages. I lick my lips and tuck a loose strand of my hair back into my bun.

“Back here, Cyrus!”

The dragon shifter ducks his horned head as he strides into the kitchen with his dark green hair still sleep-tousled. His gold eyes shimmer, reminding me of the name of his pub—The Gold Coin. Scales highlight his broad shoulders and proud cheekbones. I lick my lips again, wishing I’d remembered the gloss Tully had given me for my last birthday. My mouth is suddenly far too dry.

I reach for a small crockery cup and fill it at the sink as Cyrus does his usual perusing of my work.

“Looks good, very good,” he says.

“Nothing is ready yet.” I down a few swallows of cool water.

He reaches for the bowl of thyme-orange frosting I made yesterday for the scones and I lean over quickly to slap his hand. Chuckling, he pulls his taloned hand away and gives me a wink.

“What do you want?” I ask, sounding more harsh than I meant to. “You smell like you slept in the brewery.”

“Do I?” He actually looks upset as he lifts his tunic and gives it a sniff.

I laugh. “Yes, you do.” I grab one of yesterday’s lavender lemon bars and toss it at him. “Here.”

“Am I supposed to eat it or wash with it?” He pretends to scrub the bar under his arm.

“Brat. There is nothing soapy about my flavors and you know it.”

“True.” He gobbles the whole thing down in two bites, then rubs his flat stomach. “Delish. As always.” Leaning on the wooden block where I am making the scone dough, he watches my hands at work. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows. Cyrus is strong from years of lifting ale barrels and sacks of flour—he helps me on supply day.

My elbow bumps the measuring cup off the surface, and Sio yowls, dodging the liquid that splashes to the floor. Cyrus bends to pick up the cup.

“What do you need?” I ask, wishing he would leave me alone. He’s a good friend, but I feel more comfortable baking without his eyes on me.

Sio is curling around Cyrus’s ankles now, his right side soaked.

“I was hoping you could sell me four extra baguettes.”

“Sure. I will bring them over early this evening, all right?”