The Prince's Single Dad: A Royal Instalove Low Angst MM Romance (Royal Bachelor's Club Book 2) by D Alex

Author:D Alex [Alex, D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-10-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twelve

Sam

“Uncle Ian, did your mum teach you how to cook?” Asher asked as we all gathered in the kitchen, peeling potatoes together.

Ian hummed thoughtfully, his hands deftly working the peeler. “Not quite. My mum’s the queen, so she was far too busy with her royal duties to spend time in the kitchen. We’ve got a team of staff at the palace who handle all the cooking.”

“Then how come you’re so good at peeling potatoes?” Asher asked, his small hands fumbling with the peeler. The potato slipped from his grasp and tumbled into the bowl of peelings.

Ian chuckled, sharing a knowing look with me. “Well, I spent quite a bit of time in the kitchens when I was a lad. My nanny had a soft spot for one of the sous chefs, so I often found myself lingering about.” He raised an eyebrow and winked at me.

I felt my cheeks warm under his gaze. There was something so comforting about this moment—just the three of us in the kitchen, working together. It felt normal, and at times, I almost forgot that Ian was royalty.

Asher nodded, as if Ian’s explanation made perfect sense. “Ah, that makes sense,” he said, using one of the new phrases he’d picked up at school. “What can you cook? Because Uncle Sam hates cooking.”

Ian and I both laughed. “It’s true,” I admitted, shaking my head.

Ian glanced at me with a smile before returning his attention to Asher. “I can cook just about anything, really. The internet’s full of recipes, and as long as I’ve got one of those, I can make something decent.”

“Anything?!” Asher’s eyes widened with excitement, and in his enthusiasm, he dropped his potato into the pile of peelings again.

I moved to rinse the already peeled potatoes, preparing them for our bangers and mash, as their conversation continued.

“Indeed,” Ian replied. “Anything. What’s your favourite thing to eat?”

“Fish and chips,” Asher said quickly, “but my favourite dessert is a Bakewell tart. My mum used to make them for me.”

“Ooh, Bakewell tarts,” Ian mused. “Not sure I could live up to your mum’s, but I’d love to give it a go someday.”

“Really?” Asher asked, his eyes shining. “Tonight?”

I turned back to them, setting the pot on the stove. “Tonight’s a bit of a stretch, Asher. We haven’t got all the ingredients.”

“But,” Ian interjected, noticing Asher’s disappointment, “I could have a crack at it this week and bring some over for you to try.”

Asher’s face lit up with excitement, his shoulders practically reaching his ears. “Tomorrow?”

Ian paused, considering it for a moment. “Tomorrow… hmm, yes, I think I could manage that. It is Sunday, after all—day of rest and all that. I’ve got church in the morning, but after that, I could give it a go.”

Ian's promise to bake a Bakewell tart had clearly won Asher over, his grin almost too big for his face. I smiled as I moved the last of the potatoes into the pot and turned on the hob.

“Right then,” I said, wiping my hands on a tea towel, “let’s get this dinner sorted.

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