Another jump... six years into the future! Forgive me for that... I just way sped up the story... oh well. Sarah is sixteen now and Will is seventeen.

"Gracious, Rachel!" Sarah cried, leaning over the girl's shoulder. "That's perfectly beautiful! I wish I had your talent."

"But you do, Sarah," Rachel turned from her daintily-decorated cake to laugh at her friend. "Everyone knows that you're the best cook in the entire palace… next to your mother, that is."

"But your father is the head chef," Sarah countered. She was secretly pleased by her friend's praise but she would never admit that. Everyone did say she was the best… everyone, that is, but she herself.

"And your mother practically runs the kitchen anyway." Rachel smiled as she carefully placed her finishing touches onto her masterpiece. Sarah laughed at that. She knew it was true… even though Rachel's father was supposed to be in charge, it was more of a title than a true position. Even he often looked to Mrs. Foster for advice and help.

Picking up the bowl of batter she had been mixing, Sarah danced away, twirling to the next table where little Phoebe, under the careful direction of Millie, was happily sorting raisins for a pudding. Sarah was always dancing, as light on her feet as a sunbeam. And she never stayed in one place as she worked, moving from one table to the next to supervise or otherwise comment and admire the others' work. Millie just scowled at her, barely looking up from her work. But Phoebe's eyes danced as she showed Sarah her neat piles of raisins.

"She eats more than she sorts," Millie tossed back her auburn hair with a look of weary annoyance.

"But there are much more than we need," Sarah winked at Phoebe before popping a raisin into her own mouth and quickly moving away before Millie could utter another word.

Sarah was sixteen now, and firmly established in the routine of palace life. That is, palace life on the servile side. With her lively personality and leadership skills, she had worked nearly to the top of kitchen hierarchy and was seen as second in command to her mother, although in title, she was on the same level as the other kitchen maids.

Setting her batter down at last, Sarah glanced up to the shining utensils that hung overhead. She would need another spoon… she sighed resignedly. This was the one aspect of kitchen work in which she had failed. The kitchenware being hung from the rafters, she was barely able to reach them. Although she considered herself quite full-grown, she was rather small. By standing on tiptoe, perhaps… no. She glanced around, nervously, wondering if it would be considered too improper to climb onto the counter. Ms. Smythe looked up from stoking the fire, her face flushed with the heat, and glared indignantly at the girl. No, Sarah decided, she would not disgrace herself in front of Ms. Smythe. At least not quite in that way.

Bracing herself against the side of the table, she stood on tiptoe and jumped. Her hand came in contact with the spoon, but not for long enough to actually take it down. As she prepared to jump again, she heard a soft laugh behind her.

"Here, let me get that." Will reached up and handed her the spoon. "Too high for you, eh?"

Sarah blushed as she took the spoon and looked up at him. How had he gotten so tall? To be sure, he wasn't quite as tall as John or the major domo, but still… he was a lot taller than she was.

"Afraid so," she sighed. "It simply isn't fair. I'm shorter than all the other girls in the kitchen but I need things more often. And I can't reach them… It really is embarrassing."

"Sure sounds like quite the problem." Will nodded sympathetically, but she could tell he was teasing her by the twinkle in his blue eyes.

Since he had grown too old for kitchen work, Will had become a sort of "jack-of-all-trades". He worked often with his father in the stables and often with the blacksmith, sometimes with the carpenter and, every once in a while, he got roped into helping the laundress, which he hated. He had taken to avoiding the laundress at all costs, as he told Sarah, which caused her no end of amusement. She had seen him, a couple of times, ducking into the smithy or the stables as the lady in question passed by.

"What are you up to in the kitchen?" she asked as she turned back to her work. "Haven't seen you in here in a long while."

"I'll tell you, if…" he trailed off and Sarah whirled to face him.

"If what?" she demanded.

"If you give me one of those… whatever you call them." Sarah looked accordingly.

"They're called tarts. Strawberry tarts. Don't you wish they were mulberry?"

He made a face and shook his head.

"Strawberry, by all means."

"Good thing I made a baker's dozen," Sarah dropped the subject of mulberries. Even though it had been eight years since that unfortunate incident, it was still somewhat of a sore topic with him. Reaching across the table, she picked up the thirteenth tart and offered it to him.

"Thanks," he grinned and took a very large bite. "Sure tastes better than your mud pies ever did," he added, his mouth full.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing now?"

"Sure. I'm not doing anything in here. I came in to get one of your tarts." Sarah started and would have retorted, but he was gone before she could find the words.

oOo

"Hello, Goldilocks."

Sarah's head shot up and she looked in astonishment at the young man standing across the table where she had been kneading her bread dough. A stranger… tall with dark hair and terribly handsome. But what right had any stranger… even a handsome one… calling her… Goldilocks?

"My name is Sarah," she returned, icily. "Sarah Foster."

"Sarah, eh?" he laughed. Well, guffawed is more like it. He had a terribly deep bass laugh.

"As we have just met, Sir, perhaps you had better call me Miss Foster," she added. What impertinence! To come in and laugh at her…

"Sure then, Miss Foster." He said the words almost mockingly. "You certainly have a temper, Girl. I like girls with temper."

"Miss Foster," Sarah reminded him, tossing her head. "And your name?"

"Jack." He grinned. "I'd tell you the rest, but since you seem rather inclined to formalities, you'll just have to refer to me as Jack."

"If you want, Mr. Jack." Sarah put great emphasis on the Mr. as she casually turned back to her bread.

"Are all kitchen maids as pretty as you?" he said, admiringly. "I must say, I've never seen a girl quite like you. You're like a… like a daffodil… with that silky gold hair and brown eyes."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Jack, you'll have to work pretty hard if you intend to get anywhere with poetry. That is not quite Shakespeare."

"Sure ain't." He leaned across the table. "I hate that kind of stuff. But see here, Miss Foster, you haven't got a beau or anything like that?"

"A beau?" Sarah frowned. "No…"

"Good." He came around the table towards her. "I don't like beaus." Seizing her hand in his, he leaned closer. Sarah pulled back, wondering wildly why the kitchen seemed so empty. Where was everyone else?

"Please, I need to get back to my work," she protested feebly.

"Sure, you can go back to your work. But first…"

"But first what?" a new voice demanded. A voice that was suddenly so assertive that she barely recognized it. Jack dropped her hand and stepped back.

"Nothing for you," he rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You're the new butcher, aren't you?" Will stepped forward and Jack stepped backward.

"Aye."

"Then I suggest you get back to your work and let Miss Foster alone."

Sarah looked at Will, startled. He had never spoken to anyone like that before… Jack was sneering at him, replying impertinently, but… thank heaven… he was leaving.

"You all right, Sarah?" Will asked quietly as he watched Jack's retreating back.

"I…I think so," she stammered, speechless for once.

"He's bad news, I'm afraid," Will shook his head. "He'd better stay out of here…"

"I'm certainly glad that… that you came in," Sarah's heart was beating quickly. The encounter with Jack had shaken her pretty badly.

"Enough of him. I've found a solution to those spoons and all that are so high," Will grinned. "See here?" He set a wooden stool in front of the table. "Try that for size."

Sarah's eyes grew wide but she obediently stepped up on the stool and found she could reach her utensils perfectly.

"You made this… didn't you?" Will shrugged, grinning sheepishly, but she bounced off the stool again and threw her arms around him.

"Thank you so much!" she laughed. "Now I won't have to be constantly asking for help… it's really the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me!"

"Does that merit another strawberry tart?" Will asked hopefully, ducking away from her with a laugh.

"It certainly does… that is… if I had any strawberry tarts. Does gingerbread suffice?"

"It does," Will said quickly, accepting the generously-large piece she held out to him. "I'd better get back now… I've been working with the carpenter today and he expects me back now. But…" he turned back just before stepping out the door. "If that Jack comes back, let me know.

Sarah watched him go with a thoughtful smile. She stood a few moments silently, then turned and, stepping back on the stool, reached for a ladle. Looking down at the ladle, she remarked to it, albeit quietly, for Ms. Smythe was standing not far off now,

"Who would've ever thought? I'm sure you didn't. But then… you don't have much thought capacity, do you?" she paused. "I thought not." she added after a few moments of silence. "What's the matter with me anyway? Since when did I start talking to ladles?"

Well, look at that! I just created a disagreeable character whom everyone will hate! LOL, you'd better hate him... (or else I will have serious doubts about your judgement) I got the inspiration from Gaston in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. He's the same type of character, just not as extreme... Let me know what you think!