“I prefer the rolling pin,” Bobby shot back, a playful glint in his eye. “And I know how to use it. Don’t test me, Barnaby.”
The troll snorted, a sound like a steam vent.
Sylvie stepped smoothly between them before they started hurling culinary insults like seasoned pastry chefs. “I’m opening a bakery in Honeybay,” she said. “And I’m looking for an apprentice.”
Bobby’s expression bloomed like he’d just been handed a golden whisk. “That’s blooming fantastic! I’m Bobby.” He was already practically vibrating with excitement. “I just learned how to make the best impish macarons. Mostly. If you don’t mind the occasional bang.” He wasted no time on self-advertising.
“You’d have to make human pastries too,” she warned, holding his gaze. “Sugar, butter, flour. No explosions allowed.”
“That’s fine! I love human pastries. I just never had the chance to learn properly from someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“Great,” Sylvie said, a sense of relief washing over her. “Welcome aboard, Bobby.”
His grin nearly split his face. He turned to the troll and shouted, “Give me something human—that calls for celebration!”
“That would be RAL 6015 to 7005,” the troll murmured, scratching his head.
When Sylvie stepped back onto the street, the rare book tucked securely under her arm, she let out a long breath and looked up at the darkening sky. The first drops began to fall—cool and sharp against her flushed cheeks.
The last forty-eight hours had brought her two new employees, an enchanted unicorn with an attitude problem, and one very annoying, very hot dragon with a complicated past and deeply inconvenient hoarding instincts. Her quiet new start was officially a chaotic mess. And she hadn’t even turned on the ovens yet.
God help me,she thought, a small, reckless smile tugging at her lips.I think I’m going to like it here.
Chapter 8: Rhavor
He didn’t need another problem.
Rhavor muttered it under his breath as he scrubbed his hands beneath the old iron pump in his kitchen. Cold water ran over his skin. It did nothing for the heat sitting under his ribs.
He braced both palms on the sink and bowed his head.
Sylvie.
She looked like trouble.
She smelled like trouble.
And after last night—yeah. She tasted like it too.
He’d almost claimed her in that dark corridor.
Almost lost control.
The dragon had surged up so hard it rattled his bones. One more second and he would’ve pinned her to the wall and marked her as his in every damn way that mattered.
And for a dangerous, reckless heartbeat, he’d thought—
Do it.
Maybe if he claimed her, the pressure would ease.
Maybe the restless edge scraping inside him would finally go quiet.
But he felt this was different.
The dragon didn’t only want to take.
It wanted to guard.
