Page 27 of Royal Icing
“Ruby’s wonderful,” Emma said. “So smart and kind. She loaned me this outfit.”
Right. His eyes drifted down. She wasn’t wearing her stitched-up jacket. Was there money trouble at home?
“She’s the best,” he agreed. “Definitely the family favorite.”
She side-eyed him. “There must be a significant age gap between the two of you. Unless you’re secretly a very wise and mature twenty-one-year-old.”
“I was fifteen when she was born. John was sixteen. She was a surprise, but a welcome one. She’s the only one who can convince my mother to do anything. Hence, you’re here.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll be honest, I thought all of this was a scam. I was convinced we were going to touch down in Spain and get kidnapped and tossed in a trunk. Why pay room and board for a couple international randos when you could support a baker from your own country?”
Leo smiled. “I might have said something similar. But my mother’s very concerned about image. She was impressed by your Instagram.”
“Good,” she said flatly.
“I’m sorry if she made you feel like your desserts weren’t up to par,” he said.
She paused like she was debating on saying something. “I do wish she had provided a little more direction.”
Emma must have been crippled under the pressure, especially considering the queen’s lukewarm reception.
“For what it’s worth, I thought everything you made was more than spectacular enough on its own,” he said.
She perked up. “Really? Which one was your favorite?”
“The raspberry tart. Even though it almost killed me. Honestly, worth it.”
She looked pleased. “Can I quote you on that? A royal endorsement would be a boon to my future business.”
“Future business? Are you not planning on staying with…what’s her name?”
Emma bit her lip. “We have some…differences of opinion that make it challenging to work together. I do all the baking,” she explained.
He could have guessed. Maya didn’t even seem to know the name of half the things they had offered.
“Well, I’m so glad we caught you before you struck out on your own. Oh, careful—” he pointed to a patch of black ice, but it was too late.
Emma’s boot hit it, and in a split second, she was falling backward.
He lunged sideways and caught her before she hit the ground. Her eyes were wide, mouth frozen in an O as he held her.
Even with the puffy coat in the way, the feeling of her in his arms was like a hot shower after a long day. They froze that way for a moment, snow falling on them. He had an absurd, almost irresistible urge to kiss her. The music, the snow, the beautifulwoman in front of him. It was like one of those kitschy snow globes sold by shops in the village.
He was being weird.
He tugged her back to her feet and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you so much,” she said. Her cheeks were flaming. “Maya would have killed me if I got a concussion.”
Leo frowned. Maya seemed like a pill.
Emma stopped in her tracks and sniffed the air. “Oh, it smells amazing.”
“Roasted nuts. They’re my favorite.”
They had reached the outskirts of the winter carnival. People teemed through the cobblestone streets, ducking into local businesses and perusing jewelry and wood-carving stands while shopkeepers stomped their feet to keep warm. The scent of onions and butter drifted over from the pierogi stand. A band was playing on the newly fixed stage at the park. At least the new boards were holding.
Emma started toward the elaborate wooden archway that marked the entrance to the market, but he grabbed her wrist.
