And the persistent tension in the bond slowly, gradually eased.
It wasn’t gone. The awareness of him was still there, that constant pull like a compass pointing north. But the irritation faded. The hostility softened.
This is temporary, she reminded herself.Twenty-seven days. Then he’s gone.
But right now, watching him carefully align croissants by size, it was hard to remember why that mattered.
“You’re good at this,” he said later, watching her frost cupcakes. Each swirl identical to the last. “You don’t seem shy at all when you’re working.”
Marina’s cheeks warmed. “I’m not shy when I’m baking. The kitchen is safe.”
“I understand that.” He leaned against the counter, watching her hands. “I feel the same about contracts. Clear rules. Logical structures.”
She looked at him, flour on his collar, exhaustion in his eyes, guard down in a way she hadn’t seen before.
A flicker of admiration reached her, his this time, directed at the sureness of her hands, the way she moved through the kitchen like she belonged there.
And beneath that, so faint she might have imagined it, interest.
She turned back to her cupcakes and pretended she hadn’t noticed.
But she had.
Chapter Six
Day three of captivity, and Alessandro was starting to understand why dragons historically lived in caves.
Caves were quiet. Caves didn’t have customers. Caves didn’t have elderly selkies who wanted to discuss their grandchildren’s career prospects while Alessandro was trying to review a merger contract worth forty million dollars.
“And Finnegan, that’s my youngest grandson, he’s just finished his accounting certification. Very eligible. Stable income. Do you know any nice young dragons looking to settle down?”
Alessandro stared at Mr. Callahan across the bakery counter. The old man had been talking for fifteen minutes. The merger contract remained unreviewed. Marina’s amusement drifted in from the kitchen: warm and unhelpful.
“I don’t.” He kept his voice level.
“Pity. He’s a lovely boy. Very good with numbers.” Mr. Callahan leaned closer, smelling of salt water and pipe tobacco. “Between you and me, he’s been lonely since his pod relocated to Nova Scotia. A dragon might be just the thing to spice up his life.”
“I’m not a matchmaking service.”
“No, no, of course not. But you must know people. Important people. Manhattan people.”
I know people who would eat your grandson for breakfast and pick their teeth with his accounting certification.
“I’ll keep him in mind,” Alessandro said, because the alternative was setting something on fire, and he was beginning to understand that Marina had very strong feelings about fire safety. The town had already discussed his near-immolation of her stove at length. Twice. In front of him.
Mr. Callahan beamed like Alessandro had promised to personally deliver his grandson to a dragon’s lair. “Wonderful! I knew you’d come around. Very reasonable fellow, for a dragon.”
I haven’t come around to anything. I’m being held hostage by social convention.
The bell chimed. Another customer. A brownie this time, the fae kind, three feet tall with moss-green skin and eyes like polished acorns. She marched up to the counter with the determination of a small army.
“You’re the dragon,” she announced.
“I’m aware.”
“My niece is looking for a husband. She’s a very talented herbalist. Excellent teeth. Can I give her your number?”
Alessandro’s control, already fraying, snapped.
