Chapter 9 - The Royal BakerySix months later.
The little bakery in Charleston had undergone a massive, beautiful restoration.
The brick exterior was freshly painted, the display cases were overflowing with golden pastries, and hanging above the front door was a brand-new wrought-iron sign featuring a subtle royal crest alongside a rolling pin.
I stood behind the counter, wearing my favorite flour-dusted apron, sliding a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.
The bell chimed.
A tall man in a simple linen shirt walked in, smelling faintly of rain and fresh coffee. He didn't wear a designer suit or drive a sports car. He just smiled that familiar, comforting smile and leaned against the counter.
“Is the baker in?” Leo asked, his eyes twinkling.
“She’s busy,” I teased, handing him a warm cup of coffee prepared exactly the way he liked it. “Running a European duchy and managing international real estate portfolios takes a lot of time, you know.”
May you like
Leo laughed, wrapping his arms around my waist as I stepped out from behind the counter, the silver-and-sapphire bracelet catching the morning light.
“Well, if her royal highness ever gets tired of ruling nations,” Leo whispered against my hair, “she can always come back to baking.”
