Page 41 of When the Baker Met the Dragon

“I know you better now. You’ve proven you are responsible and worthy of trust.”

His eyes pinch and he stares.

“What? Do I have gravy on my chin?” I touch my face and worry that I look ridiculous, doling out kindness while covered in dinner.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“About the gravy or the trust thing?”

He chortles and tosses a pillow at me. I catch it and throw it back. Soon, we are fully at war with the pillows and we’re cackling like naughty children.

The last candle still lit finally snuffs itself with a puff and a trail of smoke. We ease into a silence that feels comfortable. The last thing I hear before sleep is Cyrus’s soft snoring.

Then dreams take me…

“You know,” he whispers, “maybe I’ve been thinking about our relationship all wrong.”

I frown, and my skin feels stretched too tightly over my chest. “What do you mean?”

He sets his satchel on the floor. The glowing log on the hearth fire bathes the room in varying shades of red and gold. I worried the room would smell like sweat and crowds, but the scent of lavender is here as it was downstairs. The whiff of laundry soap touches my nose, too. It’s quite pleasant, and if it weren’t for Cyrus’s cryptic words, I’d be happy to sink into that little bed and relax.

Cyrus approaches me, hands spread wide. “If you only wish to be friends with me, that is fine. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.”

“I agree.”

He stumbles and catches himself on a small round table set with a pitcher and two cups. “You do?”

“We had a lot of fun today.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I mean, sweetness. I thought maybe if you wanted to…” He gives me a tentative look as his big hands cup my elbows. Goosebumps run up my arms and onto my scalp. “I can see that you are physically attracted to me.”

“Blessed Stones. I’m sorry, Cyrus. I know we’re just friends. I don’t want to feel this way.”

His gaze slides to the floor and a wrinkle appears between his eyes. “I understand.”

“We are friends.”

Nodding, he faces me again. “We are. Nothing will ever change that.”

“You have always been so supportive. I appreciate you, Cyrus.”

He has that expression again, the pinched look and the downward gaze, and I can’t nail down what exactly he is feeling. “And I appreciate you, Kaya. So if you want to explore kissing or touching or anything at all, I’m your servant, my lady.”

My stomach flips and I can’t blink. He bows formally, his wings spreading slightly and his tail swishing slowly behind him. His horns catch the moonlight streaming through the two windows. Does he mean what I think he means?

When he straightens, his eyes darken. He cups my elbows again and draws me close. His scent?—

“Kaya.You’re having a dream. It’s all right,” a voice says, waking me.

I open my eyes to see Cyrus looking down at me. He’s sitting on the side of the cot and his weight has me rolling toward him.His thigh is pressed against my arm, warmth soaking into me. His right wing stretches over us like a noble’s fancy canopy bed.

“Oh. Sorry.” My face is one hundred thousand degrees. “Did I say anything?”

His eyebrows lift like my expression is telling him too much, and I’m exposing exactly what I was dreaming about.

“You didn’t.” His smile is kind. “You were tossing and grunting.”

“Like a frustrated pig?”