“Why would I . . . ow! Daisy, why did you kick me?” Miss Violet censured.
“Because Dani asked us to call her if we needed anything. And right now we need a ride, and I have thought of a solution to her problem,” Daisy said as she lifted her eyebrows as wiggled them.
“Her prob . . . oh. Yes, I think I will ask her to pick us up. We will see you there, dear. Thank you for sitting with some old women for a while. Welcome to Keeneston.” Miss Violet patted her hand before pulling out her phone.
“Thank you,” Mila said as she stood up. “Everyone has been so nice and welcoming.”
“You’d better be careful. Once people come to Keeneston, they have a tendency to never want to leave.”
Mila smiled at the women as she headed for the sidewalk. If the cooking at the café was anything like the brownies she just ate, then Miss Lily may be right—she might not be able to leave.
Mila took her time walking to Blossom Café. The town had worked hard to make downtown’s history shine. She read all the plaques that had been put up, smelled the flowers overflowing from the bourbon barrel planters, and window-shopped at the small boutiques. For a town as small as Keeneston, there was quite a bit of art for sale—good art. And tons of antiques.
Mila smelled the café before she saw it. As she grew closer, the aroma of food had her mouth watering. People sat at small bistro tables on the sidewalk as Poppy ran in and out of the door with trays of food and drinks.
“Why hello, Miss Thiessen. I’m so glad you’re joining us for dinner. Abby just got here. You’ll see her inside,” Poppy said as she balanced the tray on her hand.
Mila opened the screen door and was surprised to see the place packed. Every table but one was taken. In the middle of the table was a sign that read Reserved. It must be for the Rahmi royal family, although why they would be eating at a diner was beyond her. The café probably kept it saved all the time, just in case the royals graced the town with their presence.
“Mila!” a voice called over the sounds of excited chatter. Mila looked around and saw Abigail waving next to a hulking man. Mila wound her way to the table. Four chairs sat empty and Mila hoped one was for her as her stomach rumbled.
“Hi, Abigail,” Mila said with as much confidence as she could. Being an interpreter was a strange mix of personalities. Your job was to blend in, to be invisible. Yet, she had to have the confidence to know she was relaying information correctly, especially something that had the possibility to change the world. Even if she pulled off the confident, outgoing persona, it wasn’t really her. She was more likely to try to blend in with the curtains when she wasn’t working.
“Call me Abby. This is Dylan Davies. Dylan, this is the German interpreter, Mila Thiessen,” Abby introduced.
Mila wanted to run and hide. The man politely stood and held out his hand, but there was nothing polite in Dylan Davies’s appearance. He was massive. Tall, muscular, and his hands felt as if they could crush a rock. A tattoo peeked out from the collar of his T-shirt and his jeans were amazingly tight around his brawny thighs.
“Nice to meet you,” Mila managed to say with a shaky smile.
Dylan grunted and Mila swallowed.
“I have a seat here for you, but I see your clothes have just arrived.” Abby nodded to the window where a woman in a beat-up pickup truck was waving at them. “Go on out. I’ll save a seat for you.”
Mila nodded, appreciative for a temporary reprieve from Dylan. He looked deadly, and she couldn’t tell if he was a good guy or the devil in human form. A man held open the door for her, and she smiled her gratitude as she stepped onto the sidewalk, taking in the muddy truck and the woman opening up the tailgate and pulling out garbage bags of clothes.
“Are you Mila?” the woman asked. Her golden-blond hair was pulled into a messy bun and it looked as if she had just come from the farm in jean shorts and a tank top with no makeup.
“Yes,” Mila said hesitantly as the woman looked her over.
“I think I have some things for you.” The woman dug into the bag and pulled out a skirt and tossed it to her.
Mila looked at it and felt her eyes go wide. These were designer clothes. Syd Inc. was a major brand. There was no way the woman with muddy cowboy boots and a twenty-year-old truck could afford these. And if there was one thing Mila had learned, it was not a good idea to take stolen property from the trunk of a car.
“I’m sorry, I can’t take these,” Mila said as the woman tossed the matching shirt to the skirt. Mila wanted to groan. She didn’t own anything that nice. The fabric was so soft in her hands. She had to remind herself it was illegal to take stolen property.
“Sure you can. Here are some pants and blouses as well. I even have a beautiful little black dress in here somewhere.” The women pulled out another bag and began to look through it. In the meantime, Mila noticed she was starting to attract attention. A man and a woman were walking toward them and, crap, a man in a sheriff’s uniform had just come out of the courthouse across the street.
“I can’t take these,” Mila repeated as she tried to shove the clothes back at the woman. If she were arrested, the chancellor would have her fired for sure.
“Yes, you can,” the woman shoved the clothes back at her with a pleasant smile on her face. “Oh, here’s the dress.”
“Look, lady.” Mila realized the deputy was walking toward them, and her voice rose in panic. “I don’t want them. I won’t take stolen property!”
“Stolen? What’s stolen?” the woman asked as she looked around.
“This! I may need clothes, but I refuse to break the law!”
“What’s the problem here?” a deep voice said from behind her.
Please don’t be a cop, Mila chanted in her head. But the voice was a mix between Middle Eastern and American Southern. It was deep and the mix created a sexy, soft tone. She turned around and felt her eyes go wide.
“Your highness,” Mila dipped a quick curtsy. “Please, I’m not taking these clothes. I’m trying to give them back.”
Mila looked up into amused eyes. “You’re the first woman I know to give back free designer clothes.”
“She thinks they’re stolen,” the woman said as she tried not to laugh.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Zain, Prince of Rahmi, asked.
Mila swallowed hard and nodded. To complete her humiliation, the deputy decided to stop at that exact moment.
“Is everything okay here?” The young man was in his early twenties and had more swagger in his little pinky than Mila had in her whole body.
“She thinks these clothes are stolen,” Zain explained to the deputy with the name Gray embroidered on his shirt under the sheriff’s star.
“Please don’t arrest me,” Mila started to plead. Her career flashed before her eyes.
“Now, why would he do that?” an elegant voice said from behind her.
Mila turned and felt her eyes widen even further. Her Royal Highness, Danielle Ali Rahman, stood with the three Rose sisters. Could this get any more embarrassing? Her reputation would be in ruins, and she’d never get another job now.
The woman at the truck held up her hands. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Mila, I thought Abby told you who I was. I can clear all this up right now. My manners have been abysmal; please don’t tell my mother.” The woman stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “Hi. My name is Sydney Davies McKnight. I own Syd Inc.”
“You don’t look anything like your pictures,” Mila blurted before burying her face in the clothes Sydney had handed her. Seriously, this couldn’t get any worse.