“I went swimming in the palace fountain.”
“Don’t remind me. I think you mean, you nearly drowned in the palace fountain.”
“That’s not what happened.” I swatted his shoulder, but he caught my hand and pressed his lips against my fingers.
“Let me take you to lunch.”
I gasped in mock horror. “Are you seriously suggesting a leisure activity? Are you ill?” My palm covered his forehead. “Maybe you’re hearing voices?”
“Neither, so forget about carting me off to the asylum.” He winked. “I just happen to enjoy a nice meal of rosemary chicken and glazed potatoes now and then.”
“Hey…” I nudged his shoulder. “How did you know that’s my favorite meal?”
Derrick shrugged. “Your neighbor told me. Sylvia Trager stopped by my office after she saw the article about us. She said it didn’t matter that I was good looking, well-off, or had a prestigious title, she’d whack me with her cane if I treated you poorly.”
Leave it to Sylvia to get her point across. I stifled a smile.
“Ah, everything makes sense now. You’re scared of a little old lady.”
“Yeah, and you’re scared of her cat, so I guess we’re even.”
“That’s fair,” I chuckled, as he took my hand and walked us back out into the street.
We settled inside the cozy confines of the Spice and Crown restaurant, each placing an order for their roast chicken. I inhaled the delectable scents that wafted out of the kitchen and took a sip of my wine. It was a strange feeling to be seated across the table from Derrick, the same man who, not long ago, I’d considered cursing. In fact, I was pretty sure I had placed a curse on the woman who would end up falling for such an ogre.
Irony certainly knew where I lived.
All around us, other diners whispered, a few even pointing in our direction. Under normal circumstances, I would have ducked under the tablecloth, but not anymore.Take a good look, ladies. This witch is trying to do things differently.
Derrick dipped a slice of crusty bread in a dish of seasoned oil and took a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he sipped his wine then narrowed his eyes.
“So, tell me, which of your suitors did you turn into a mouse? Was it Trevor, the baker’s son, or that other guy, the blacksmith’s apprentice?”
So much for not wanting to climb under the tablecloth. “Neither.”
He frowned and thumped a finger against his wineglass. “If not them, who? Don’t make me open up an investigation.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good use of agency resources, Detective.”
He cleared his throat, and I huffed a breath at his stubborn look.
“Why do you even want to know?”
“It’s one less rival I have to worry about.”
My cheeks were on fire. “Don’t joke like that. People will hear you.”
“Tessa—”
“If you really want to talk about rivals, look around. You can’t move left or right without some overeager debutante fawning at your feet.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me even though I was right. Was he blind? If he threw a breadstick, a suitable candidate would probably catch it in her teeth like a devoted puppy. I groaned internally and forced myself to relax my grip on the wineglass before it shattered.
The corner of his mouth lifted, the smile almost wistful. “You never fawn at my feet.”
“Disappointed?”
“Not as much as I thought I’d be. You’re—”
