Page 45 of When the Baker Met the Dragon

Rychell’s brow furrows and she studies my face. “Oh, right. Good. Okay.”

“In Kingstown, I tasted some sweet buns with purple turmeric. Can you get some of that in stock? I’d love to try it out in a couple of recipes.”

“Why didn’t you buy it there?”

“You’re my supplier, Rychell. I would never buy spice from another soul.”

Her smile is wide and earnest. “Aw, you’re sweet. Thanks. I think I can get some. I have plans for a new trade route, and once I untangle the details, I should be able to get several new spices and maybe even new dried fruits from the southeast coast.”

My heart lifts and I make a squealing sound. “I can’t wait!”

Baking and experimenting with recipes is a simple joy, and I’m grateful to have the distraction of planning that out instead of obsessing over the set of Cyrus’s shoulders and the way he walks and the way he smells and how that quilt looked draped over his trim waist at the Kingstown inn.

Rychell orders a cinnamon scone and a cup of iced raspberry tea. I take her coins and set up her order, positioning everything on a spring green tray. When I deliver it to her table, she thanks me sincerely.

The morning and lunch rush pass quickly, and Rosalind and I are sweating by the time we have the place to ourselves.

“You never mentioned how your trip went,” I say to Rosalind.

Her long, pink fingers are quick as she writes down our total take for the day. The quill feather flicks this way and that. I’m so glad she’s back from her sister’s house.

“It was a tough road after the storm,” she says, “but we made it all right. Did I tell you she had twins?”

“You did. Both are well?”

Rosalind chuckles. “Perfectly healthy. They’re so loud. I was happy to be there for the birth, but I’m glad I don’t live with them.”

I laugh. “I can imagine.”

We wipe every surface down and prep some bread and other items for the morning bake. When we are done, the place practically sparkles, it is so clean. Scents of cinnamon, citrus, rising dough, and chocolate fill the air.

“See you later!” Rosalind calls as she leaves for the evening.

I hurry upstairs to wash up and put on the soft woolen dress Rosalind brought back for me from her sister’s place beyond the Veil in the human realm. It’s a pretty peony pink, and triangular sections of the skirt have layers of fine lace. The neckline is lower than I would have chosen, but it’s May Day. If there is ever a time for cleavage, this is it. I giggle at myself as I brush out my hair. I twist the length into two knots that I pin low on the back of my head. Drawing two locks out to frame my face, I look in the mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe tonight I’ll find someone who won’t break my heart. At the very least, I will learn more about kissing and have a good time. It should be a great distraction for my Cyrus-focused mind.

Chapter 25

Kaya

Music sweeps across the Lord Mayor’s estate. His lovely wife, Nisa, welcomes me at the gate, and their butler, a goat shifter named Zemy, hands me a crown made of braided green ribbons and pink-spotted mountain daisies.

“So the curse isn’t really a curse, eh?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can likely hear him.

“Oh, the ruins’ curse?”

“Aye.”

“Seems like there never was one. Just a few coincidences,” I say.

Zemy purses his lips and studies my face. “You’re certain you and Cyrus both are fine?”

“Definitely. And I heard the dragon kin enthusiast is doing all right as well.”

Zemy rolls his eyes. “He’s here, making an arse out of himself at the maypole.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

Laini, Rom, Tully, and Argos meet me under the big oak tree that lords over the grounds. Tully shoves a cup of something emitting smoke at me.