Sephia was unfazed by his doubt. “There’s no salt in this kitchen, is there?”
He made a disgusted face.
Right. The fae don’t like salt.At least some of Nana Rosa’s stories were true, it seemed. And this truth was especially unfortunate, considering how quickly salt could douse a fire.
“Okay, next plan: I need a damp towel or something. Quickly!”
The flames were growing steadily out of control. Panic still did not make an appearance within Tarron’s expression, but hedidmove more quickly than Sephia had ever seen him move.
He disappeared but returned to her side within seconds, carrying several wet towels, and together they tossed them over the fire and turned it into nothing more than steam and smoke.
Sephia waved that noxious cloud away from them. “There...see?” she said in-between coughs. “We didn’t need any help.”
“Yes— it seems you have plenty of experience putting out kitchen fires, for some reason.”
She grimaced as a series of memories flashed through her mind. “I… I might have caught a kitchen on fire once or twice in the past.”
Or five or ten times, maybe…
Tarron shifted one of the damp towels and wrinkled his nose as another cloud of smokey steam erupted. “I thought you said you were an expert?”
“Yes, well, it happens to the best of us.” She went back to the other stove. Her sauce had bubbled over. With a sigh, she started to clean this mess up as well.
She sensed Tarron behind her a moment later, come to inspect the second disaster for himself.
“Messy, like I said.” She tilted her head toward him and offered a sheepish smile that he didn’t return. “And you’ve officially madeyourfirst cooking mess, so…”
He glanced over his shoulder at that still-steaming mess. “So I’m making art, now?”
She tensed at the growling tone of his voice.
His eyes were shining strangely. From the steam and smoke, perhaps, but there was something else in them as well—an emotion she couldn’t quite name. She held her breath, waiting for it to erupt into his usual pompous, arrogant irritation.
But then helaughed.
The sound was…intoxicating. Like a warm breeze on a crisp spring day, it washed over her skin and settled there like a spell.
And soon, she was grinning herself.
She turned her attention back to her berry sauce attempt. Slid a finger through it and then tasted it. It wasn’t completely ruined, she decided; bits of it had caramelized with the excess heat, which made for a texture that was…interesting, at least.
“Disastrous,” Tarron said, gazing once more at the pile of soggy, smoke-stained towels. He looked back at her after a moment, and then to the bubbled-over sauce and the sticky trail of it covering her hand. “Simply disastrous.”
“It isn’t all a disaster,” she insisted. “Here—taste this and see for yourself.”
It happened so quickly that neither of them realized what they were doing until it was too late; one moment Sephia was running her finger along the edge of the sticky pan. The next, her body was nearly flush with the prince’s, backed against the messy stove. Her finger was raised, and then his lips were against it, softly tasting the tangy yet sweet—and slightly scorched—concoction.
Oh.
Her mind momentarily blanked. Her mouth couldn’t form words. Her fingers seemed to move on their own, trailing along his lips, tracing the spaces that she suddenly wanted to press her own lips against. A pleasant shiver cascaded through her.
What was she doing?
She’d wanted to get closer to him, but this…
This wastooclose.
And yet she didn’t pull away. She stood there, hardly daring to breathe, even as he reached for her hand and pulled it away from his lips.
