“Even if it belongs to a sore loser?” He starts to grab onto another curl, but I smack his hands away.
“Haven’t you heard? To the victor go the spoils.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m not spoiled, isn’t it?” I push off the wall and hold a hand out to him. “Come on, let’s go.”
He makes no move to take my hand. “Go where?”
“You’re one of those people who hate surprises, aren’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it. It’s written all over your fa
ce.” I roll my eyes even as I reach over and grab his hand. “Now come on. I’m in the mood for a dessert that doesn’t have a root vegetable in it.”
“How high maintenance of you.”
“Says the prince with the three bodyguards and the Armani suit.” I tug him around the corner and three storefronts up to a little bakery I discovered my first day in town. The fact that I’ve been back twice a day every day since says everything about how fabulous the bakery is and nothing about the size of my sweet tooth.
Really.
“So, what’s good here?” Garrett asks as I drag him inside.
“Everything! But they close in ten minutes, so you’d better choose quickly.”
“Well, then, we’ll take one of everything,” he says, waving a hand at the display case.
“Umm, actually, we’ll take two of the caramel macarons, Sylvie,” I tell the girl behind the counter. Her eyes are wide as she stares from Garrett to me and back again. Not that that’s exactly a surprise—everyone in the restaurant spent the last two hours doing the exact same thing.
I wait for her to ask for a selfie with him, but there must be some obscure Wildemarian law against asking a prince for a pic, because in the end she just reaches for a pastry box and says, “Of course, Your Highness. I mean, Your Royal Highness. I mean—”
“His name’s Garrett,” I tell her. “He’s not big on titles.”
“Oh, umm, of course.” She turns bright red, then ducks her head and gets to work putting one of everything—and two caramel macarons—into the largest pastry box I have ever seen.
I glance up at Garrett then, only to find him staring at me, eyebrow raised. “What?” I demand, suddenly feeling exposed for no good reason.
“How do you know if I stand on ceremony?”
“I don’t. I just figured if we didn’t speed her along, we’d be here all night. And then I wouldn’t get my macarons and let me tell you, they are to die for.”
“Better than chocolate onion rutabaga tart?”
“I’ll never taste it, so I’ll never know. But my guess is oh my God, yes!” I watch Sylvie as we talk. She’s almost done filling the pastry box, and probably would be if she didn’t keep stopping to cast not-so-surreptitious glances at Garrett. Not that I blame her. It’s not every day your prince walks into your bakery. And definitely not every day that your prince is Gorgeous freaking Garrett.
“Can we have two café au laits to go with the pastries?” I ask her as she finally plops the pastry box down on the counter and starts lowering the lid.
“Make that five,” Garrett says, reaching for his wallet.
“Five?” I start to ask, then remember his three bodyguards. To be honest, I’m a little embarrassed that I forgot them. It makes me like Garrett a little more to know that he didn’t.
Once the coffees are in a carrier, Garrett starts to slide his credit card across the counter to Sylvie, but I beat him to it, slapping my hand down in front of his.
“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes practically popping out of his head.
“My idea, my treat. Besides, I did make you pay for those three horrendous desserts at the restaurant, even though I had absolutely no intention of eating them.”
“Yeah, but—”