Page 30 of The Rake and the Cake

She hesitated. Thought of Aisling’s hurry to leave her this morning and insistence that she didn’t need (want?) her help today. That bad feeling, the faint sickness from before crept back into her belly. Something was off, again. Still?

She should bathe, anyhow. Try again later, once Aisling was in her rhythm. Brook lingered just another moment before forcing herself to move on. She was about to make herself disappear—no one needed to see her bed-head—when she spotted a familiar set of broad shoulders. She froze, reaching for her magic and murmuring the words.

Then stopped herself. Took a deep breath. Stood taller and walked right up to him saying, “Sunny.”

Sunny tossed his head like a pony, blowing his hair out of his eyes. When he could finally see her, his eyebrows went directly up. “Oh. Brook.”

“Thank you for the cuff,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “And sorry. About earlier.”

Sunny’s ever-present smile went a little crooked. “Was it the poetry?”

Broke cringed. “You do come on a little strong.”

Sunny nodded. “Understood.”

She snorted. “You’re such a soldier. Anyhow. I’m sorry. I was being full of myself.”

“And busy chasing after that lovely baker. Can’t blame you.” His smile straightened out.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

He held up both hands and laughed, then backed away.

Chapter 8: Aisling

“What can I get you?” Aisling gratefully asked her first customer of the morning. She’d nearly cut her own hand twice this morning, she’d been so distracted by the memory of Brook’s clever fingers and tongue, her grabbable waist, and the way her sweet moans of pleasure vibrated through Aisling’s body, each one a little earthquake.

The customer stared at her, eyebrows high.

Oh, goddess, had she just daydreamed through their answer? She rushed to say, “I’m so sorry—I’m a little distracted by the upcoming competition.”

“Didn’t you already win?”

“Oh, no, I mean the Innovation Awards.”

The elf frowned. “You don’t need to take all the awards, do you?”

Aisling narrowed her eyes. “Today’s special cake is pomegramon cream. What can I get you?”

“Uh, jewelberry cloud cake.”

“Mmm.” Aisling shot them a withering look as her tail whipped the cake off the rack, then handed it off to be unwrapped and popped into the oven by her hands. “Next!”

The lines were unrelenting, leaving no time at all to consider the upcoming competition, let alone get any work done ahead of time. She barely kept her head above water as the lunch rush came and went, and she was completely out of the pomegramon cream cloud cake special before dinner time.

The market was awash with rumor and innuendo—even more than usual, though perhaps it only seemed so because Aisling was seeing it from the inside this time instead of her old rickety stall in the Glaesflod. Impossible engagements, animal-shaped purses, magical musical charms, matches exploding. Aisling tried to focus on those and her work instead of her memories of last night. Tried to tell herself it was just a dream. One of the best nights of her life, and why couldn’t she just be happy with that? Brook had given her so much, not just friendship, companionship, and several orgasms, but also the knowledge that Aisling didn’t have to do everything alone.

Maybe that was why it seemed so cruel that it couldn’t last. That Aisling would go back to Copperford, and Brook to Emberleigh, and it’d be as if it never happened.

As she closed the stall for the evening, Aisling promised herself that she would make the most of what she had learned. She’d win the Innovation prize, prove to her family that her work was just as important as theirs, and almost certainly gain the capital—or at least the patronage she needed to continue development on her oven. Maybe she could sell copies… or maybe she’d keep it a secret for a few decades, until she decided to settle down and stop traveling to the market to sell her wares. Then she could sell it to competitors.

She was making this promise to herself when Brook’s face appeared at the open back door of the stall. “Hello, pretty baker.”

Aisling flushed and looked away, trying to control her physical reaction to those big, brown eyes. Grateful. I’m grateful for the time we’ve had, for the things she’s shown me; I’m not afraid of losing her. “Hi. What’d you get up to today?”

“Slept, mostly. You kept me up, but that’s not a complaint. Want to come back to mine tonight?” Aisling opened the door further and leaned against the jamb with one hip, arms crossed beneath her chest.

“I better not. I only have a few hours to work tonight, and I need to be ready for business tomorrow and the awards the day after. I’ll have to close the stall then, but it can’t be helped if—”