The Vampire's Pastry Chef (ONC 2022)

13 - Rule Three: No Making Out on the Dance Floor

After the Russian woman left her table, the rest of Corbin's guests approached in twos and threes. Within a few minutes, Autumn had to excuse herself to grab more from the kitchen. Honest to God, she thought, where are they putting it all? Especially the ones containing blood. Those simply seemed to vanish faster than she could replace them.

But that wasn't the strangest part of the night so far. No, it was the questions they asked her, all the while examining her like a piece of art on display. What do you think of this political crisis? No, this crisis is more important. What are you doing to reduce your carbon footprint? Are you aware that Corbin doesn't use organic fertilizer in his garden? How do you define happiness? Should we know everything? What's your opinion on string theory? Open borders or stricter immigration practices?

Into the midst of all of this scrutiny walked Corbin like a goddamn knight in shining armor—except he was wearing a suit.

Autumn was in the middle of yet another "Oh, I'm not really into that" when Corbin appeared at her elbow. "No cinnamon rolls?" he asked her with a mischievous grin.

She paused with tongs extended, looked up, and nearly lost her breath. He might as well have been poured into the suit with those broad shoulders straining against his tailored jacket. With both hands in his pants pockets, Corbin stood as if he were casually posing for a spread in GQ magazine. All the other men faded into the background by comparison.

Desire pooled in her belly like warm chocolate. "You ate them all," Autumn murmured, eyes fixed on his face.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You look beautiful."

Autumn flushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. God help her, she was falling hard for him. "Yes, the dress is amazing—"

"I apologize for not stopping by sooner."

Autumn smiled. "You have obligations. I'm perfectly fine here—when your guests aren't trying to make my head explode with their questions."

Corbin straightened and looked around the ballroom. "Ah, yes. They would do that. Remember, I'm the boring one," he told her with a wink.

Boring, right, she thought, shaking her head slightly. "Take these and go mingle," Autumn said, putting one of everything on a plate and handing it to him.

"Do I have to?" He mock-pouted.

"Go."

"She's right, you know," said a familiar voice.

Much to Autumn's chagrin, the Russian woman was back.

"We must open the floor," she pointed out, standing straight with hands loosely linked before her.

Corbin grit his teeth so hard, Autumn swore she heard metal squeal. "Fine, Nastya. Let's get this over with." Leaving his plate on the table, he marched to the dance floor.

But Nastya stayed.

Autumn stared at her. Yes, she was icily beautiful, with a regal bearing that none of the other women appeared to possess. Autumn knew that she was only a baker and hired help at that, but something compelled her to ask, "Did you two date or something?"

Nastya paused and peered at Autumn over her shoulder. "Date? Myself and Corbin? Oh, dear child no! The man is far too dull for my tastes." She began to walk away, but suddenly pivoted and marched right up to the table. "Know this: No matter what you feel for him, you cannot and will not be able to join our world."

Oh, she couldn't be serious. Where did this Hallmark villainess come from? "Child?" Autumn blurted out. "We're the same age!"

Those perfect lips curved into a slow smile. "No, we are most certainly not." With a twitch of her train, Nastya strolled over to the ballroom floor to join Corbin.