The Prince and the Pie Maker (The Rebel Royals 2)

“What do you mean?”

“You froze when you got out of the car.”

She took the seat across from him, fiddling with the safety straps before responding. Alex waited patiently. They had hours left sailing in the sky before they reached their destination.

“I just didn’t expect there to be a crowd,” she said finally. “Or for them all to be looking at me and stuff.”

He knew that wasn’t all. But she wasn’t ready to tell him. They had time. They had a lifetime.

“Why don’t we talk menus for the restaurant?” he asked.

And so, as Alex and Jan flew across the pond, they began to plan their future together.

Chapter Twelve

“Best dish I ever had was in Oaxaca, Mexico.”

“Mexico?” said Jan. Her brows shot to her hairline as she eyed Alex. They sat across from each other on the private plane. She was strapped in. He was sprawled back in his seat, arms stretched over the headrest, long legs outstretched just inches from hers.

“What’s wrong with Mexico?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “I just expected you to say some fancy, exclusive restaurant in France where you ate snails with truffle sauce.”

“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed at his chin, looking far off out the plane’s window. “I’ve been to that place.”

Despite herself, Jan laughed. When they’d first met, Jan had thought the Prince of Cordoba an entitled wastrel who lumbered from five-star restaurant to Michelin star restaurant. She was learning he wasn’t that at all.

They’d spent the first hour of the flight talking about the menu of her dreams for their restaurant. There wasn’t a single dish that Alex questioned or said was too expensive or too exotic. No, his eyes lit up and his mouth watered with each new ingredient she put forth.

The conversation easily morphed into their favorite dishes. She’d leaned forward, only to be held back by her safety belt when Alex began telling her about his culinary adventures in Kenya. His description of the dish known as ugali had titillated her senses. It was a simple dish of cornmeal and maize flour. But to hear Alex tell it, the mashed-potato-like dish would easily be favored at an American Thanksgiving served with a side of kale greens and fish straight from something called a hydroponic.

Jan had heard of hydroponic gardens before. In fact, she remembered reading an article about the technology helping poor areas in an African country. It might have been Kenya?

The urban gardens were all the rage in some urban areas in America. She’d been interested in installing one at the pie shop. But, of course, Chris had shot that idea down. She wondered if Alex might be open to it out in the back of their restaurant?

“I walked the markets of Oaxaca,” Alex said as he leaned back in his seat. “Just walking the streets was a fiesta for my nose. I caught seafood with my own hands—”

“You caught your own food?”

He scrunched his nose up at her in mock affront. “Do you want to hear about the dishes or not?”

She did want to hear more about his culinary travels. These were the best stories she’d heard in weeks. Definitely better than her girls’ nights watching romcoms with Esme. But still; Prince Alex? Getting his hands dirty?

Jan didn’t relent on the skepticism inherent in her raised eyebrow.

“Fine,” Alex sighed dramatically. “I was just off the beach. In a yacht. With a fishing pole cast over the side. But yes, I caught my own seafood.”

That sounded more like it. Though she now had a vision of Alex without his shirt, flexing his muscles to haul a fish on the line. Jan gave herself a shake to get rid of the sight. It grew tenterhooks and clung to her mind’s eye.

“When the local chefs cooked, they used recipes that had been handed down for thousands of years.” He closed his eyes and groaned as though he were in ecstasy. “The moles, the chili, the chocolate, the chapulines.”

“Ugh.” Jan grasped her belly. “You ate grasshoppers?”

Though she feigned disgust, Jan had a fascination with people who dined on abnormal fare. Not that she would try any herself. It was horror stories for cuisine. The thrill came with the shock factor.

“They were sweet and crunchy,” Alex insisted.

She covered her face and groaned. However, the smile on her lips made the sound come out as a half laugh. “What were you even doing in Mexico in the fall? I figured you’d be there for spring break. Was there a fashion show or something?”