by Cassie Mae
Table of Contents
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Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
The Mansions Collection
Mending Fences by Lorin Grace
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
http://cassiemaeauthor.com/the-cassie-mae-catchup/
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The Princess and the Pizza Man
Published by Cassie Mae
cassiemaeauthor.com
Cover Design: Novak Illustrations
Editing: CookieLynn Publishing Services
Interior Design: CookieLynn Publishing Services and Snowflake Press
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2017 Cassie Mae
All rights reserved.
For my suite sisters
The most delicious scent in the world to Will Monroe was a fresh batch of Parmesan and butter covered breadsticks straight outta the oven. A grin spread across his bearded face as he pulled the tray out.
“Wooo-eee, have I got a good one here!” he called out to the overflowing pizza shop. He was a bona fide baker with skills that had the entire town flocking his direction come ‘round five-thirty. He would put on a show for ‘em all, flipping that pizza dough high enough to cause sweet Miss Penelope to put her delicate hand to her chest and hold her breath until it came back down. He’d always give her a genuine wink when he caught the thing and flumped it back onto the table, sending a cloud of flour up into the air. Her cheeks would get all red and adorable, something he’d lived for the moment she’d set foot in Alabama two months ago.
He set the buttery breadsticks down and got settled up front, enjoying the applause he received when he grabbed a roll of dough.
“A’right, y’all. You’ll get your show; hold on to your cattle.” He subtly perused the shop, looking for that heart-shaped face with ruby red lips and a sparkle in her green eyes. The jolt he got when he finally locked gazes with Penelope caused a stutter in his performance, and the pizza dough nearly slipped out of his hands.
“Oh… oh…” he said, quickly chasing after it before it fell to the floor. He made a show of his miraculous save, holding the dough high in the air. The crowd cheered as if it was all part of the act.
When he’d decided to buy the vacant shop a couple blocks from where he’d grown up, the whole town scoffed at the idea of a pizza place in the heart of fried chicken wing county. Will knew it was a darned risk, but he liked to fly by the seat of his pants and see where it took him. This decision had been a win in his pocket, and though he’d been encouraged by his momma to sell while it was still a winner, Will had no plans of ever leaving his roots.
“Heya, Will! Put another slice of philly cheese on my tab, will ya?” Mayor Gibson called out from somewhere in the dining area. Will whistled—his way of acknowledging the request—before he tossed the dough into the air and had another two seconds of flirt with the sweetest gal in the entire county.
Being one of the many local celebrity business owners, he’d had his fair share of romances, but none seemed to stick. Even still, Will set his sights on Penelope, painting many a picture in his head on how he’d finally ask her on a proper date. She seemed shy, and he didn’t want to scare her off with his noisy personality. He and his sister were teased mercilessly for being the loudest family in town. So loud that residents theorized that tourists only stopped in because they heard the laughter and hollers from miles away.
Will had never paid it any mind in the past—his booming voice made things easier to communicate over distances—but since Miss Penelope’s lips were nearly always pressed together softly, as if she had a secret she would be willing to share if only he’d quiet down long enough to hear it, he’d taken his time on asking her out. He could only imagine the fresh coat of blush that would rise in her cheeks if his voice was too loud presenting the offer, and she’d feel obligated to say yes if any eyes turned to watch. No… he needed to ask her if they ever got a chance to be alone. If only she’d stay back some days instead of sneaking out through the crowd.
Maybe I should learn how to whisper, he thought as he shared another playful glance with her. The dough in his hands swung and stuck, end on end, sending all his progress down the crapshoot.
“Ooooh…” a few members of the crowd teased, and he pounded the dough to start over.
“What’d you expect, y’all?” he called out. “Even the experts get distracted.”
He sent a wink over to Penelope for emphasis, and her hand came up over her lips to cover what he hoped was a laugh.
Yeah, on second thought, maybe he’d take the plunge and ask her out tonight. He’d hurry outta there, catch her before she got too far down the street, and ask her for some dinner and dancin’ that weekend. Maybe teach her how to toss dough. He could almost picture her cute flour-covered nose and bright red lips smiling up at him, the place dark and romantic after closing. Just the two of them and the heat from the oven and the obvious sparks between their shared glances.
He nearly let out a holler in the middle of his performance; the fantasy was dang near tangible.
The bell above his door rang, and his equally loud counterpart made herself known right away. “Excuse me, Mister Mayor, coming through. Arms are full here.”
Will reluctantly tore his gaze from Penelope’s flushed neck to Maybelle, his partner in crime—and sister.
She was wearing her signature southern belle dress, lavender with a white trim that extended out in a good three-foot diameter. Her long auburn hair was curled, held back at the nape of her neck as she bounced through the crowd as if it would part only for her—and to her credit, that did happen a lot. She carried a cheese and wine basket in the crook of her right arm and a magazine tucked against her body with the left. Will grinned and started on the sauce, knowing she would rip him away for one of her famous side-bars.
“Bells, I know you want to talk,” he said when she stepped up to the counter, “but I got customers if y’all can’t see.”
“Who said anything about wanting to talk?” she said with an indignant inward draw of her brow.
“Your eyes tell all,” Will said, grabbing a fistful of olives and sprinkling them onto a pizza wi
th flourish. “What can I do for ya?”
She looked over her shoulder before turning back to Will. “Give me two minutes, William. Two is all I need. I’ll talk fast.”
“William, eh? Must be serious,” he joked and slid the large olive and pepperoni into the oven.
“Very serious.” She leaned in close, eyes as wide as the pizza in front of him. “Life or death.”
He let out a long sigh. Bells had a flair for the dramatic, so he knew it wasn’t really that dire of a conversation, but it was important to her, so by proxy, it was important to him.
“Head to my office.”
She squealed her delight, the high-pitched sound causing a few patrons to jump, but most of the townsfolk were used to Bells’ antics. She hurried off, a victorious smile on her face and bounce in her step that only told Will that what she had to say wasn’t so life or death as much as it was something she was about to rope him into.
He finished up the mayor’s order and excused himself as politely as he could. Jeremy could handle things while Bells dragged him off mid-dinner rush.
The moment he stepped through the office door, Bells thrust a thick piece paper into his face.
“You see this?” she asked.
“Not really,” he joked, backing up so his eyes could focus. It was a packet, or brochure of some sort. His brows pinched together, and he took it from her hands. “What am I supposed to be lookin’ at?”
“Frostville. It’s this week-long themed vacation with dances and fancy dinners and big rooms and horses and entertainment all held in this gorgeous town in Michigan.”
“Michigan?” He quickly handed the pamphlet back, but Bells refused to take it, her hands too busy flailing about as she talked.
“Don’t you shrug it off just ‘cause y’all can’t handle the snow. It’s less cold than you think, and it’s the place I’m going to fall in love.”
“Bells…” He sighed, knowing now where the conversation was headed.
“I hear the place is haunted, Will.”
“You still sleep with the light on.”
“Not haunted with scary ghosts.” She took a step forward, getting close like she was letting him in on a giant secret. With the serious look in her wide eyes, Will was sure he wouldn’t be disappointed with her explanation.
“The spirit of Eros,” she said. “Cupid. There has been a romance success story every week since the place opened. And it’s my turn.”
He took the slight pause she gave him to process. He wouldn’t get much quiet time to figure out what in the world she was talking about, but he also knew that it didn’t really matter. She hadn’t gotten to the crux of what she really wanted yet, so he prodded.
“Aaaand, what’s this got to do with me?”
She blinked, lifting her shoulders slightly and tilting her head. It was the look—the ace up her sleeve she’d used all her life to manipulate and twist men to her will. He wished he’d become immune to it, but unfortunately, he wasn’t. In fact, she hadn’t even needed to play that hand; he’d do just about anything she asked. Part of his duty as a friend, brother, and the only guy in her life.
“I want you to go with me.”
All right… almost anything for her.
“You’re outta your dang mind,” he said with a laugh, tossing the pamphlet on the desk behind her. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.” Frostville, yeesh! He’d never set foot outta Alabama, and he was not going to dive headfirst into someplace that was gonna cause hypothermia.
She hitched a hand on her hip—the second ace she played when she didn’t receive the answer she wanted. “Don’t you dare leave me to do this on my own. I’m the town spinster, William! I’m not coming back here without a man, and I need you to keep me from picking up just any ol’ bum from the street. I’m desperate enough that it may just happen.”
“Bells—”
“I am thirty-six years old, and I’m tired of all these southern men turning their necks in other directions just because of my reputation.”
“You don’t have a—”
“And you owe me one. You remember Mr. Dumpling’s lawn? I covered for you, and I’ll march straight over there and tell him you were the one who ran over his brand-new sprinkler system with your riding lawn mower, drunk as a skunk.”
“Bells!” He grabbed her hands before she accidentally hurt herself—or him for that matter. “First off… I’m pretty sure ol’ Dumpling knows it was me, and if he didn’t, he sure as heck knows now.”
His sister blushed and glanced toward the door. He figured she was more embarrassed by her acknowledgment of being the town’s old maid. He didn’t put much stock into that particular rumor, but he knew Bells wanted love, family, kids, and the more the town talked about how she didn’t have any of those things, the more it hurt.
He patted her knuckles and then shrugged his hands into his back pockets. “And second, you had me at the threat of my sister marrying a bum. You really think I’m gonna let just any man get put under Eros’s spell when it comes to you?”
Her mouth split open in a wild grin, the one she wore whenever she got her way. It was seen more often than not. “Really? You’ll come with me?”
Will pushed down the urge to say no again, fighting images of ballroom dancing and salad forks. He’d suffer one week in upper class torture if it would help Bells find what she was looking for.
“When do we leave?”
Winter bounced down the long hallway of her seven-story mansion, bare-footed and light-hearted. The warm, freshly printed papers in her hand waved in the small breeze caused by her speedy pace. The smile she’d had on her face since early that morning doubled when she turned a corner and entered the dressing room on the third floor.
“Look what I have!” she announced proudly, flapping the thick stack of papers as she met the eyes of each of the actors and actresses. Only two of them showed the proper enthusiasm—Michael, the lead actor, who took two strides over and eagerly took his character’s bio, and Mel, the director, who pushed her glasses up and started passing out the rest to the remaining cast. Mel had been around since the beginning, and for good reason. She really was the glue that held Frostville Mansion together, even though it was Winter’s home. And idea. And money.
“Do I get to kill somebody this time around?” Michael asked, his large hands flipping through the packet labeled EX-LOVER.
“Maaaaaybe…” Winter teased, sliding up on a side table and nearly knocking the crystal lamp to the marble floor. Hansen, her loving, albeit overprotective head of security hissed through his teeth and gave her a look as she adjusted to make sure she didn’t harm any more valuables.
She waved him off and flopped her own character bio into her lap, swinging her legs as she watched the reactions of the rest of the cast. Frostville Mansion had been host to the famous week-long murder mystery for tourists since Winter had inherited billions from her celebrity parents. The show only ran quarterly, but she often hired the same cast members because they were brilliant. Michael in particular knew how to put on a good show.
The rest of the year, the place served as a hotel of sorts, and though that was fun, too, nothing beat murder mystery week.
“Wait a minute…” Joshua said from his place in front of the mirror, pulling out his earbuds, taking a break from whatever meditation track he was listening to. The guy was trying to lose weight for his wedding this summer, and he said the tracks were the only things that seemed to help keep him from overeating. But Winter couldn’t help but notice the giant box of Twinkies that sat on his dressing table. Hmm… maybe she could get him to give them to her. For safekeeping, of course.
“Yes, Josh?” Mel asked, arching an exasperated eyebrow in his direction.
“I die in the first act,” he said, swiveling in his chair. “Does that mean—?”
“You’re still getting paid for the full week,” Winter interjected with a wink. “Consider it an early wedding present.”
He
did a hilarious, silent fist pump and went back to his meditation, mouthing words to himself in the mirror while the rest of the cast chuckled behind his back.
“All right,” Mel said, her all-business, no-fun attitude always amusing Winter, who had no idea how anyone lived like that. “We have a few new cast members—”
Winter whooped! and clapped for James and Velvet, starting a round of applause and cheers that—by the look on her face—annoyed Mel to no end. Winter smiled unapologetically. Mel might be in charge of the show, but everyone was employed by Frostville Mansion, AKA, Winter. And she was gonna dang well make sure they knew they were appreciated.
“Yes, we are happy to have you,” Mel clipped, her back straightening as she planted herself directly in front of Winter to continue her address. Winter hid a giggle behind her. “If you’ve done your research, you know that the murder mystery prides itself on the actors never breaking character. So study these final bios like they are your own family history. Spend as much time as you possibly can in character around each other so when the guests arrive, they have the experience they’re paying for.”
“Oh!” Winter popped around Mel so everyone could see her. Stacey, one of the veteran actresses, covered a laugh. “And we have a full house this upcoming performance because a singles group from Ohio booked all but a couple of rooms. So act your heart out, but don’t go falling in love like some people have done.” She pointedly eyed Joshua, who shrugged.
“Couldn’t resist.”
“You nearly ruined the show last year,” Mel said, but there was a rare hint of tease in her voice.
“Worth it,” he said, tapping the wedding invitation taped to his mirror. The room laughed, and Winter shook her head and mindlessly flipped through her packet labeled PRINCESS.
Mel continued explaining how the murders would play out, and Winter kept half her mind on the directions and half on her other job she had this upcoming stay. Not only was Frostville known for the murder mysteries, but for its romantic element. Normally she hung up her matchmaking shoes for the performance week, only attempting to set guests up when they booked on non-murder mystery nights, but with the singles group coming in, she couldn’t help but pounce at the opportunity to once again play the part of Cupid.
