“You said you could do this!” I exclaimed, and he took a breath, his expression a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “Oh my God, is my body dead?” I squeaked, and he shook his head, raising a hand in protest.

“Your body is fine,” he said, looking at his hand and the missing digits. “It’s in a private room and I’m sitting right next to it. It’s just…”

My foreboding grew deeper. “What?” I said flatly.

He looked up, grimacing as if in distaste. “It’s a very old charm,” he said. “I didn’t have much choice. You were dying. All I had with me was one very stressed young gargoyle and the ancient texts I’d been playing with. I’ve been studying them for the last six months, trying to find the truth in the, uh, fairy tale.”

“What is the problem, Trent?” I said. I could smell him now, sort of a sour wine, maybe vinegar scent.

“Ah, I think it would help if you kissed me,” he said, not embarrassed, but irritated.

I dropped back a step. “Excuse me?”

He turned away and cut out another cookie. “You know…the kiss that breaks the spell and wakes the, uh, girl? It’s elven magic. There’s no figuring these things out.”

“Whoa! Hold up!” I exclaimed as it suddenly made sense. “You mean like love’s first kiss? That isn’t going to happen! I don’t love you!”

He frowned, seeing that the cookie he had moved onto the tray had vanished. The two I’d placed were still there, though. “It doesn’t have to be love’s first kiss,” he said. “That was someone trying to write a good story. But it does have to be an honest one.” Almost angry, he spun back to me, the pancake turner in his new, awkward grip. “My God, Rachel. Am I so distasteful to you that you can’t tolerate one kiss to save your life?”

“No,” I said, taken aback. “But I don’t love you, and I couldn’t fake that.” Did I? No, I didn’t. I was really sure about that.

He took a breath and held it as he thought about that for all of three seconds. “Good,” he said, handing me the spatula. “Good. So if you just kiss me, we can get you out of here.”

I took the spatula as he held it out, edging closer to move a third cookie to the tray. “Kiss you, huh?” I said, and he sighed.

“Here in your subconscious,” he said. “No one will ever know. Except us.” His eyes met mine, and a small smirk started. “You’ve been doing it in your dreams since you were ten.”

I frowned, setting a fourth cookie on the tray. “Have not. Grow up.”

He set the cookie cutter down, facing me in expectation, and a nervous thrill spun through me. Kiss Trent? Okay, maybe the thought had occurred to me once or twice, but not as anything that I’d ever do apart from curiosity maybe. Because he looked good, maybe more so with the stubble and the heavy weariness on him. There was no way…I mean, he was Trent, and I hated him. Okay, not hated anymore, but a kiss?