Page 70 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
Nick looked down at it and laughed. “I’m committed to the process, no matter how terrible I am at it.”
“You’ll be fine. Just watch and learn.”
He picked up Ingrid’s rolling pin and inspected it as if he’d never set eyes on one before. “What is this thing, anyway?”
It was a good thing that their relationship had progressed far enough that she could laugh right in his face, because she did. The man seriously didn’t know what a rolling pin was? She couldn’t wait to introduce him to the wonders of a cookie sheet.
“It’s a rolling pin. We don’t need that until later. Right now, we’re supposed to knead the dough.” Gracie plunged her hands into the mixing bowl and started blending the ingredients together.
Nick peered into the bowl. “Aren’t there mixers for that sort of thing?”
“Sure there are, but the Clarks do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Just like your great-grandmother used to do?”
“Yep.” Gracie’s hands grew still. “Do you want to try?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He unfastened his silver cufflinks and began rolling up his sleeves, flashing a glimpse of his royal forearms.
Gracie did her best not to stare, redirecting her gaze to the mixing bowl. “Okay, just put your hands right into the dough and use your fingers to mix the ingredients.”
“Here we go.” He plunged his hands into the mixture and started working the dough—stretching and kneading it until it began to hold its shape. “Like this?”
“That’s perfect.” Gracie nodded.
He kept going until the dough was ready to be turned out onto the floured counter.
“Here’s where things get a little trickier. Use the heel of your hand to push the dough away from you. Then you refold it and do it again.” She grinned up at Nick, watching her intently. “And again. And again.”
“And again?”
She nodded. “Yep. And then we place it back into a bowl to rise and we do it some more an hour or so later.”
He gave the dough a tentative, wholly ineffectual nudge.
Gracie laughed. “You’re going to have to use way more elbow grease than that, Your Royal Highness.”
His eyes narrowed into a mock glare. “I thought I told you never to call me that.”
“It just slipped out. I couldn’t help it. You just look so—” She waved a hand at the flour covering his shirt. He’d somehow ended up with a smudge of it on his cheek and a generous dusting of white in his hair. “Majestic.”
He puffed out his chest. “I do, don’t I?”
Gracie swatted at him with a dish towel, and for a second, she thought the baking session was going to devolve into a battle, just like their snowball fight.
But it didn’t. Instead, Nick winked at her and then turned his attention back to the dough, kneading it with care.
A lump formed in her throat.
Care. She turned the word over in her mind. Nick really cares. He wants to get this right…for my family. For the Kriegs.
For me.
She’d been wrong about Nick…so very wrong.
Gracie tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat grew threefold, just like the Grinch’s heart did on Christmas Day. Because the prince she’d tried her best to resist had done the impossible—he’d stolen her heart, as surely as that famous green villain had snuck into Whoville and stolen the roast beast.
I’m in love with my Prince Charming.
