Page 35 of The Princess and the Pizza Man

Her heart flew straight out of her chest, and she plucked up an olive from the container and pushed it into her mouth, hopefully keeping her internal squealing thoughts to herself.

“It does work,” she said around her food. “As long as that partner lets them be themselves and doesn’t force them to be someone they’re not.”

“Who says they aren’t that person?” He gestured to a cupboard. “Sauce pans?”

Winter shrugged and let him explore the kitchen for what he needed. He was much better at it anyway.

“Sometimes it takes a person who sees the world differently to, yanno, make you see who you are,” he continued. Winter raised an eyebrow, wondering if he’d had personal experience, or if he’d suddenly become an expert on love overnight.

“Deep thoughts, Will.”

“I’ve been known to have them, Miss Frosty.” He threw her a playful grin over his shoulder as he finally found a sauce pan and set it on the stove. A bubble of excitement grew at the nickname; she’d been envious of the way he addressed his sister, and she wished she had a name that he could have fun with. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from squealing.And he added a southern “Miss.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” she said slowly, not letting the nickname throw her off. “At their age, they know who they are already, don’t you think?”

“How old are you?” he asked, his ears going red for a second. “You don’t have to answer tha—”

“Twenty-seven,” she answered. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it; a lot of people assumed she was either much older or much younger. The successful business had people thinking the former, while the lack of family had people thinking the latter.

There was a flicker of something in his blue, blue eyes she couldn’t quite put her finger on.Hmm… how old is he?

“Do you know who you are?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly, but… was that a lie? She didn’t think it was… but when it had come off her lips so easily, it’d felt that way.

He chuckled, opening the fridge and peering inside. “Actually, I don’t doubt you.”

She was torn between being flattered and getting defensive. Surely, he knew who he was; he seemed so put together, even if he was a little out of his comfort zone. He was completely comfortable in the kitchen, especially since now he was chopping tomatoes, using tools and food she hadn’t even known were in here.

“How’d you get into it, anyhow?” he asked. “The whole murder mystery thing?”

She popped a slice of Canadian bacon into her mouth. “The local theater was shutting its doors, and I had all this money I wasn’t using. So… two birds, one stone.”

“Why not just save the theater?”

“Because my house was empty.” She lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to fill it up, give tourists a place to go, give them something they wouldn’t get anywhere else.”

“And you thought, murder mystery!”

He was poking fun, and she liked it. She rarely had anyone who would poke fun at her. Mel was too hardnosed. Hansen treated her like a client to be protected—which made sense, considering he was head of security, she had relationships with the actors and actresses that came in and out of the place, but they didn’t reallyknoweach other. And they only came around four times a year. It was a happy shock that a man she’d only known for three days was willing to tease the heck out of her.

“And you thought, ‘Pizza!’ when you decided to open a business in fried chicken land?”

“Ah, touché.”

They laughed together, and it felt like the easiest thing in the world.

“Hey, come here for a minute,” he said, waving her to the stove. Her heart sped as she clacked her way over. He held the wooden spoon to her, keeping the business end in the sauce. “Take this and stir for me, please?”

She ducked under his arm to take his position. He kept his large, warm hand on hers for a second, demonstrating.

“Slow S’s, like this.” They drewS’s together for a few seconds that seemed like years, yet not nearly long enough. It took everything in her to not look up into his eyes, knowing she’d most likely burn herself if she lost her focus.

“You got it?”

“I know how to write, William,” she teased, and he laughed, but she had to fight a frown when his body disappeared. He gathered more spices and ingredients, tossing them in while she stirred.

“How did you get into this?” she asked, hoping her mind would start focusing on his words rather than the corded muscles of his arms.

---