eyes are still riveted on one thing, and one thing only, in the room.
Me.
Now I can’t help but smile at him. In fact, I know I’m beaming.
“You look like a ray of sunshine,” Xander says softly.
My heart leaps. “Because I’m wearing yellow?”
“No. Because of you. You’re radiant this evening.”
Radiant.
My head joyfully replays that word, the idea of him thinking that about me spreading through my chest and warming it with happiness.
“Thank you,” I reply, staring up at him. “That’s a beautiful thing to say.”
“It’s true,” Xander says, his eyes locking with mine. “And you deserve to be told so.”
My stomach flutters. The warmth continues to flow through me, all a result of this man and how he sees me.
“Shall we decorate?” I ask, picking up my tote.
“I’m rubbish with art,” he admits. “I anticipate you’ll have your hands full with me this evening.”
I laugh as we walk down the hall together. “If I can teach children how to decorate, I believe I can teach you. I’m quite sure you learnt much more difficult things in the army as Captain Wales.”
“You’re underselling your talents again,” Xander says as we enter the kitchen. He places the box down on the worktop, and I place my tote beside him. He takes off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, and I swoon at the sight of that. My God, he has beautiful hair. How I would love to push my fingers through those jet-black locks of his.
I decide not to get too wrapped up in that fantasy, however, and shift back to his statement instead.
“What do you mean, underselling?” I ask. “You were in the army. Using weapons and leading troops, with lives on the line. Those things are hard. Icing a biscuit is not.”
“You’re an artist, according to Clementine and Liz. You’re talented, and you shouldn’t diminish it. It might not be difficult for you to ice a biscuit, but that’s because you’ve worked hard to be one of the best. I won’t listen to you downplay that you are a brilliant biscuit artist.”
I stare at him in surprise. Much in the same way that I see him as more than the Prince of Wales, Xander sees that being a biscuit artist is more than slapping icing on a biscuit.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that you understand the work behind it.”
“You’d have to be an idiot not to.”
I smile and go about putting out my containers, decorating bags, tips, and scribe.
“Would you open the box for me, please?” I ask.
Xander nods and lifts the lid on the box. A smile appears on his face as he stares down at the round biscuits with a golden-coloured royal icing on top.
“They look like blank emojis,” Xander says, sitting down on a stool.
I sit down next to him. “That’s exactly right! They are the base for the emoji biscuits we sell in the shop.”
“So, I’m going to learn how to make an emoji biscuit?”
“No. You’re going to learn how to make a potato smiley face.”
I wait for his reaction. He blinks, and then I see the understanding register in his piercing blue eyes.
“Smiley faces,” he repeats, his deep voice soft.
“I remembered the story you shared last night,” I explain. “About how your father came to the nursery and ate smiley faces with you and Christian. That says a lot about you, that you cherish this memory so much. Your father means a lot to you, Xander. It speaks volumes about the man he is, but also to the man you are.”
Xander simply stares at me. His face changes, and I think I’ve touched him with my words. I decide to continue.
“So, I thought, why not make something that has such a wonderful memory for you?” I say. “I promise I can make you something more elaborate in the future, like a biscuit of your cottage or a polo horse, but for you to start with? As your first project? Potato smiles seemed perfect.”
He remains silent for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he reaches for my hand. The second his skin makes contact with mine, I’m flooded with heat. He wraps his rough fingers around mine and squeezes my hand gently.
“You’re more than radiant,” he says, his voice rough. “You really are sunshine.”
My heart pounds wildly inside my chest. Because as I stare back into his eyes, these vibrant pools of blue, his stare is unwavering.
And I know, without a doubt, his words are genuine.