Chapter 1 Brook #2
Aisling smiled at her patrons, murmuring apologies for the wait and using that dexterous tail of hers to select paper-wrapped pies, cakes, and breads for them from a shelf.
Her tail passed the little parcel into her hands, which unwrapped and placed them in a high-up rack in her oven.
Then she whisked them back out and re-wrapped them with her hands while her tail was snagging the next baked good to go into the oven.
She was like one of those machines in the Innovation Awards, wheels and gears and metal that helped one elf do the work of two or three. Except it was just her, just this pretty Aisling and her strange oven and her flour-dusted cleavage.
Wait, no, the cleavage had nothing to do with it. It was just distracting, was all.
Brook joined the queue, stomach growling now she could smell the baking of dough, a sweet scent like berry preserves, and something savory and earthy she suspected was coming from the golden squares of bread.
She watched the smiles on customers’ faces as Aisling called out orders—Forest mushroom fougasse!
Jewelberry cloud cake!—and the way they enjoyed that first inhale of fresh-baked goodness.
By the time Brook reached the front of the queue, Aisling wore a charming little trickle of sweat near her right temple. Brook leaned against the counter indolently with one hip and said, “What do you recommend?”
Aisling replied as if by rote: “Savory or sweet?”
“Sweet,” Brook decided with a little smirk that she hoped would make it flirty.
“Cloud cake. I have jewelberry every day, and today’s special is stone fruit. It’s very bright-tasting, so it pairs well with the cake.” Aisling pursed her full, pink lips.
Brook didn’t bother pretending not to stare at them. “And that’s what you named your stall after? The cloud cake?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” She finally lifted her gaze to meet Aisling’s lovely, large eyes again.
Aisling lifted her chin. “I invented it.”
Absolutely adorable as well as gorgeous and capable. Well, well, well. Brook leaned over the counter to show off her own far less generous cleavage.
Aisling’s gaze fell to take it in. Ah, so she was buying what Brook was selling, too.
Brook smiled as their eyes met again. Aisling flushed. Brook said, “I’ll take the special cake, then.”
Aisling’s tail, which had been reaching back to the shelf of baked goods already, swirled and lashed fitfully.
Funny, how often Brook hated being seen in her own home, with her own people. But once she got a beautiful elf in front of her, she absolutely loved it. A little thrill ran through her middle and then out through her extremities, warming them.
“Mama, I’m so hungry! You said I could have a jewelberry cake!” whined a child halfway down the queue.
Aisling startled like someone had stepped on her tail.
Still flushed, she turned to take a pie out of the oven while using her tail to pick up another package from the shelf.
“Copperford pie!” she announced, leaving the piping hot pastry on the counter.
Then she took the package from her tail, unfolded the paper to reveal a small, exquisite little cake, and placed it into the oven.
She brought out a, “Mushroom fougasse!” and asked the next person in the queue, “What can I get you?”
Brook took the hint and sidled off with the others waiting for their lunches.
For just a moment, she enjoyed being one of the hungry crowd, let the sounds and sights and smells of delicious things from every corner of Everend take her away.
But her gaze kept flitting back to the serious-faced, sweet-lipped baker working away behind her counter.
When Aisling retrieved Brook’s cake from the oven, she opened her mouth to call it out. But Brook was already there, her fingers brushing Aisling’s even as she set the neat parcel down. “It’s beautiful,” Brook murmured with what she knew was her most charming smile.
Aisling licked her lips and nodded. Then looked to her next customer and asked, “What can I get you, today?”
Vaguely disappointed but even more determined, Brook took her cake and returned to the market pathways, this time joining the crowd visibly.
She resisted an urge to look over her shoulder and watch Aisling buzzing around like a busy little bee at her hive.
Instead, she took a bite of the cake. It was delightfully fluffy (and yes, cloud-like).
It was filled with stone fruit preserves spiced with something exotic, and just barely iced with a honey-flavored cream that was sticky without being overly sweet.
It melted on Brook’s tongue, leaving her salivating for more.
“Huh. I think I’m in love,” she said to herself with a little laugh, slowing to a halt.
A strange elf beside pushed past her and said, “Good for you. But some of us are looking for an elf to marry, not a pastry, so if you could get out of the way…”
Brook forgot all about Raylen. She had to know more about Aisling and her lovely little Cloud Cake stall.
She asked around but quietly, casually. Aisling was from Gearwick, apparently, and though her family had no surname Brook could discover, they seemed to go by “of Copperford” if necessary.
Gearwick society was far less particular about names—and nobility, for that matter.
Other than that, it was mostly talk of her delicious cakes, breads, and pies, and how excited everyone was to try her specials every day.
Also, her family was in attendance at the market, inventors of gadgets of some Gearwickian stamp, something about steam.
But about Aisling herself, personally—her likes, her dislikes, her romantic interests, just for example—nothing.
Was that because Aisling never dallied with other elves while at the market? Perhaps she wasn’t interested in lovers?
When she returned to the Webbed Foot Inn later in the day, Brook found her father in the sitting room. He had a book now, oblivious to the outside world, and a glass of wine.
Brook entered, picked up the wine, sipped it, and settled on the arm of his chair. “What are you reading?”
“A romantic adventure novel,” he said with a smile, shutting the book in his lap.
“Don’t let Mama find out.”
“Did you find Raylen?” He looked up at her.
She chuckled. “How’d you know I was out looking for him?”
“It’s only logical. You need someone to marry you and set you free.”
The smile slid off Brook’s face. “Funny way to put it.”
Papa cleared his throat pointedly. “Perhaps an engagement. A long one?”
Wait. Was he saying what she’d been thinking all day? Brook considered her options, then admitted, “I did meet someone interesting today.”
“Someone you’re interested in?”
“Yes.” Then she corrected herself hurriedly, “Well, not to marry, but a potential fascination.”
“Ah, yes.” He nodded sagely. “The traditional summer fling.”
“Hopefully. But even if she’s not interested in that, there’s something about her. She’s so unlike anyone we know.” In particular their rich, pampered, and patently silly family. Including Brook herself.
Papa said, “Well, perhaps she’ll do for a long engagement, if nothing else.”
“Perhaps.” Brook would find a way… assuming Aisling was the least bit interested. She just needed a foot in the door to work her charm, generally speaking. “Thanks, Papa.”
How lovely to have a co-conspirator in the family, for once.