Chapter Two

Don't you just hate rude awakenings?

I mean, I'm a drifter, a nomad, a vagabond. I can sleep on anything practically anywhere as long as I don't think I'll get stabbed in my sleep. Do I prefer to sleep on grass? Well, I prefer it over sand, since I don't ever wake up with grass in my mouth. But of course, I tried to angle for an actual bed inside four walls that wouldn't fall down or get blown over, but in my old line of work, beds were hard to come by. For one, they require money.

But Mr. Rider! you'd say. You have money from the riches you found!

Yes, you would be correct, my adoring audience, but that money was not for spending. I had big plans for the gold I was steali—I mean, earning, specifically for an early retirement. That is called "investing in your future."

Gee, Mr. Rider, you'd exclaim, you're so smart and talented and have great hair to boot!

Why, thank you, my most loyal subjects, for your validation! It feels so good to know it's not just me!

Now… where was I?

Ah, right. Rude awakenings.

Instead of the light of dawn easing me out of my beauty rest, I slept right through sunrise. That castle heist must have really worn me out more than I realized, so my plans to be an early riser were cast to the wind, and in its place, I was kicked in the boots.

I jolted awake, and the first thing I saw was an attractive brunette with her brow furrowed at me. Doesn't seem so bad, right? Truthfully, I've gotten that look from women quite a bit, but get this: she was bearing a pitchfork over my chest.

See what I meant by "rude"?

"Whoa, whoa, hey, careful with that!" I cried as I tried to back away, but my haypile bed wouldn't budge. I threw up my hands instead. "I'd prefer not to be shish-kabobed, thank you very much!"

The bitter pout on her pretty pink lips remained. "Who are you and what are you doing in my stable?" she asked in a voice that was melodious but no less intimidating.

I feigned surprise. "Oh! You mean… this"—I gestured around—"is your stable? Well…" I threw her one of my classic Flynn Rider smiles. "If I had known that, I most certainly would have asked for your permission. I hope you can forgive a poor, hapless traveler."

Her expression didn't change. "The tavern has perfectly suitable accommodations for any travelers that come through here. I repeat: Why are you in my stable?"

Yeesh, did I really have to try so hard this early in the morning?

My smile almost faltered but I forced a chuckle. "Look, I am more than happy to explain, but in all honesty, I can think a lot more clearly when I don't have sharp objects pointed at my ribcage."

She glowered at me for a moment, clearly a fellow skeptic. I couldn't necessarily be mad at her for it, but you can't tell me I wasn't allowed to be annoyed by her unwillingness to accept my charm as goodwill.

She seemed loath to do it, but she lifted her pitchfork and gave me some space, while still keeping it at the ready like a good grumpy farmer. I stood so she could get the full effect of my physique, which I have been told is impressive.

Of course, by more than just me! If you can't tell, I am smoldering—and not in the good way!

I swept the stray bits of hay from my person and straightened my doublet. "Thank you," I graciously said. "Now, to answer your question, I came from the forest west of here after a long day's journey, far too late for me to go to your town's tavern—which I'm sure is perfectly suitable, as you said—but I was just so tired," I murmured, playing up for sympathy. "I saw your lovely home and its stable and just thought, in my exhausted haze, that I could rest a while and be gone before you even knew I was here! A stable is actually an improvement from my usual accommodations. It just… sounded so much more comfortable than sleeping on the ground. But as I like to say, 'The world is my oyster… Good thing I'm not allergic to shellfish.'"

I tried to make that land but even I knew that was a stretch. It really only works if you're near the ocean. It was the only Flynnigan Rider quote I could think of in the moment!

Again, it was early. Cut me some slack!

The farmgirl wasn't exactly won over by my monologue but her grip on the pitchfork relaxed a little more. She gave me a once-over with an intrigued, raised brow. "Good thing you didn't have to pay for a night's stay, you mean."

I heaved an aggravated sigh, my "poor, hapless traveler" act consequently coming to end. "Look, it was late, it was dark, I was tired—end of story." I snatched up my satchel and eyed her. "Now if you don't mind putting your pitchfork at ease, I will gladly get out of your hair."

But she didn't move. Just continued to survey me with her big, hazel eyes, and she looked… amused? "Do you… do this often?"

It was my turn to wrinkle my brow at her. "What do you mean?"

"Was"—she circled a finger at me—"that… how you usually get out of sleeping on someone's property?"

Cue blank stare.

Honestly, what kind of question was that? Here I was, a complete stranger to her—one who could very plausibly dupe her or attack her at a moment's notice and succeed—yet she wanted to know if I had a catchphrase?

Okay, yes, I do… but that's not the point!

"Has anyone ever told you you ask too many questions? You know what, fine." An exasperated breath escaped me and I stuck my hand into my satchel. "If I was really such an inconvenience, here." I pulled out a livre earned from one of the other French villages and offered it. "To pay for the hay I slept on and what my horse ate."

With a tilt of her head, she took it and flipped it around in her dainty fingers.

My lips were as thin as my patience. Now she was making sure my money was real? I could get through palace guards more easily than this farmgirl from a teensy podunk town.

She then glanced at me with a wry smile and flipped the livre off her thumb, which I caught, despite my confusion. "You… really are a traveler?" she checked.

I spread my arms. "I'm the genuine article. That much, I wasn't exaggerating."

"Hm," was her reply, but then she finally set her pitchfork against the stable wall. "Where are you headed to next?"

I shrugged. "Wherever the road takes me."

Her eyes grew a little bigger. "And… may I ask you where you've traveled from?"

I blinked. Now she was asking for permission? "All over," I answered rather flippantly. "I've been in France for a couple weeks, but before that it was Switzerland, Genovia, Italy, Austria…" I let myself stop there. I never brought up Corona since I'd left there because that was the place where they could really trace me back to: Part of the key to keeping a low profile.

Oh, wow, was that actual awe on her face? But it was gone before she crossed her arms and cleared her throat. "I certainly don't wish to keep you from… following where the road takes you," she added with a bit of a dreamy sigh. "But I believe I might have something to perhaps… tide you over before your journey."

I gave her the side-eye and held up a hand to stop the presses. "Are you… offering me food now?"

She shrugged, a hint of a smile appearing. "It's purely your choice. I won't make you."

"Wait… seriously? You were about to skewer me a second ago, right? That wasn't my imagination?"

"Has anyone told you you ask too many questions?"

I opened my mouth to offer a rebuttal but was admittedly too stunned. Her grin widened before she strode out of the stable without a word. I guess I was just supposed to follow?!

Drawing a hand over my eyes and down my nose, I decided not to get stubborn in the face of a free meal. Through the pen gates and around the front of the house, we passed the doors to the cellar before heading up her little porch. On my right was a water wheel, but this one was fairly miniature compared to the one by Corona's dam. That one was for a mill though. Was this one to… power the house?

Or it could just have been for decoration. I wasn't about to become impressed before I saw some more proof.

I crossed the threshold into an interior that matched its exterior: humble, quaint, and cozy. I stood in a small sitting area with a table by a bookcase that covered that whole back wall. That seemed out of place… Folks in the country normally don't bother learning to read, much less keep a library.

As I shut the door, a contraption by its hinge caught me off-guard. It looked like… binoculars attached to a hose. I saw a handle on it and wondered…

There was rummaging from the kitchen around the corner, so with a quick glance to make sure I was alone, I gently took the handle and pulled down on it. It came to be about eye level—well, for the farmgirl at least. It was chin level for me. Still, I crouched to peer out of it, and all I saw was the front porch.

Wait… this was a way to see who was knocking on your door! Alright, I'll hand it to them: That is pretty ingenious. Maybe that water wheel was for power after all—

A throat cleared behind me.

I paused before casually straightening up and meeting her scrutinous gaze. With arms crossed, she eyed me as though waiting for an explanation, but I remained stubbornly aloof. I thrust a thumb at the sight-seer and remarked, "You don't see one of these every day."

She strode over to me and pushed it back into place. "I can't imagine you would," she pointedly said. "My father invented it."

My body tensed. Oh, good God, there was a father here? A picture of a tall, farmbred man with arms big enough to put me in a stranglehold and make me plead "uncle" immediately came to the front of my mind, alongside the phrases NOT SAFE and Abandon ship!

But, being a master of keeping my cool and watching my words where it mattered, I inquired in a pitch only slightly higher than my normal manly timbre, "Really? I'd love to commend him on it! Is he, uh… around, perchance?"

The girl smirked. "He's in his workshop right now, but I can let him know..."

She pointed to the front door and I cringed. "Nope! No, no, that's not necessary," I almost begged with a forced laugh. "Maybe later!"

I heard a chuckle from her that time. "If you're done poking around my home, I have some porridge and tea ready for you." She pointed to the table, where indeed, there was a place setting for me.

My brows rose. "Wow! So you really meant it!"

She almost snorted, yet… elegantly? That was hard to pull off. "Of course! I wouldn't offer food then not provide it."

"Well, not everyone is as sincere," I informed her. "Especially those who hold me at fork-point."

She looked as though she didn't know whether to laugh or sympathize. I got that a lot. "Hmm…" she hummed on her way back into the kitchen. "I suppose the people you meet on your travels can't all be sincere."

I poetically sighed as I took my seat. "So says the law of probability."

Both the bowl and cup in front of me steamed. I took up my spoon and stirred some of the porridge to cool it off when she returned with a plate of fruit and a saucer of honey.

"Not sure if you have a sweet tooth," she said, "but I like to put a bit of honey on everything, especially this time of year."

"You, mademoiselle, speak my language," I returned with a grin, having already taken up the dipper to ladle some sweet, golden goodness over my porridge.

She sat across from me as I added blackberries and cut strawberries to my bowl. "You can call me Belle, if you'd like."

I hadn't come across any names around here that I would remember five minutes after it was said, but that one was so short and easy, it would be hard not to remember. "Call me Flynn," I replied.

Belle set her chin on her palm. "Flynn, huh?"

At her obvious interest, a roguish smile could not remain hidden. "Flynn Rider…" I elaborated and spread my hands, "at your service."

Surprise and recognition filled her hazel eyes. "You…"

My stomach did a backflip. Please—to whatever deity—don't let the one girl who keeps up with international news be the one across from me!

Then she leaned her arms on the table, almost hopeful. "You wouldn't happen to have read The Tales of Flynnigan Rider, would you?"

Now that surprised me. I would have had a better chance of recovering from the shock if mint tea weren't on its way down my throat.

After a short series of manly coughs, I said, "I'm—I'm sorry," while choking on hot water in my windpipe.

There was both concern on her face and humor in her eyes as she watched me struggle to reclaim air. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Fine! Just"—cough—"H—How do you even"—I pounded my clavicle—"know about those books?"

"They have a set of them in my town's bookshop," she replied with such simplicity, it was maddening. "I like them quite a bit!"

"I'd be offended if you didn't!" I immediately answered. "I could never put 'em down, even after the twentieth time. Which ones have you read?"

Wait, did I just initiate small talk?

But Belle's eyes lit up at the question and she began counting off with her fingers. "Let's see, I've read Secret of Calypso Cove, Hunt for the Red Pearl, The Journey to Sunrise Lagoon, The Buried Treasure, The Lost Treasure of Scotia, and of course, the original Tales."

"What about The Ride to the River's Edge?" I quizzed with a grin.

Her brow furrowed as she scrounged her memory but looked a touch disappointed. "I don't think that's come to the shop here."

"Really? Man, you've got to snag that one when you see it! It's got chases on horseback, a race against time, and twice as many sword fights as Buried Treasure. You'll be on the edge of your seat the whole time."

She stared at me with rapt interest. "Is Oliver in that one? I was so sad when he was captured for most of The Red Pearl. He's such a great foil to Flynnigan, who needs someone by his side to keep him humble."

"But see, that was part of the plot! Rider didn't have anyone to bounce his ideas off of and he got into more trouble than he would have had Oliver been there. It was probably the best idea Dr. Desario's ever had."

"I did consider that, but… I still missed having him around."

"Hey, you and me both. Oliver is great! Any adventurer worth their salt needs a friend like that."

As I took another spoonful of my free breakfast, Lance crossed my mind for the first time in weeks… and so did the guilt, which irritated me to no end. There is nothing I can do for him! Not then, not now. Even if I could post his bail with what I'll earn, who wouldn't recognize my handsome mug?

I noticed Belle looking at me with some expectant concern. "What?" I went for the napkin next to my plate. "Did I drip porridge on myself?"

She chuckled. "No, no, I asked you if you'd ever had a friend like that—on your travels."

Dammit! Stupid guilt!

My eyes drifted to anywhere but her. "Uh… yeah, I did, a while back." I took another sip of my tea.

Her smile faltered. "Did something happen?"

"We… lost track of each other."

"Oh… I'm so sorry. I hope nothing…"

Her sympathy actually seemed genuine, too. I wasn't sure how to take that, so I cleared my throat. "As far as I know."

The air got thick with awkwardness, and nothing on this planet makes me more uncomfortable. I dismissed the morbid notion with a wave of my hand. "He's probably fine. He can handle himself just as well as me, and I am really good at that."

Her shoulders eased at the assurance. Awkwardness averted! "I imagine you have to be with all the places you've seen."

"Avoiding death and injury is most of the job." I ladled my quickly cooling porridge so the warm parts were on top, but I had to glance up at her. I couldn't remember the last time I had talked about the books that inspired me. Not since I was a scrawny kid in a crowded orphanage. I was amazed I had let my guard drop so quickly, but I guess that was my one weakness. The little kid that had dreamed of adventure outside of those worn walls through the stories of a fictional rogue was still very much there, and she had brought him out in a snap.

How?

"But enough about me," I prompted. "What about you? What do you do?"

Her intrigued demeanor slipped off of her in the blink of an eye. "You saw it all. I check on the animals, cook meals, keep house, and read."

I nodded, my keen gaze interpreting: "You wanna get out, don't you?"

She sighed. "If only I could."

"Why don't you?"

She huffed a laugh. "I… can't just leave. I have my papa here and… no means to travel. What we live off of is only enough for necessities. Papa winning first prize is what we've been counting on for years to finally go somewhere new, but… it hasn't happened yet."

"Can I ask… why you want to get out there so much? At first glance, you seem to have a nice situation. A cozy cottage, a nice open backyard, a quaint little town nearby…"

"Yeah, it's little," she concurred bitterly. "So little, everyone knows everything about each other because that's the only kind of excitement that happens here."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he broached, "but I detect some… resentment towards your current circumstances."

"You could say that again."

Why did this all seem eerily familiar?

"Well, there's got to be someone that makes it worth staying here for you—besides your father, I mean."

Belle shook her head. "Just Papa… and Monsieur Marchand, the bookseller."

"Is he your age?"

That got a real laugh from her. "Not quite." She quickly amended, "Please don't misunderstand, I love my papa, and Monsieur Marchand is incredibly generous and kind. He lets me borrow books without paying for them, like a library, and he certainly has no obligation to. He's also… the only other one who is even vaguely interested in discussing what I read. Everyone else… is either uninterested, dismissive, or… honestly, downright insulting."

I raised a brow in surprise. "Why? For reading?"

Her sigh was heavier than it should be for someone her age. I mean, she couldn't have been older than… eighteen? Nineteen, tops?

"I think… I don't meet their expectations for what they think I should be."

As her meaning sunk in, any possible response I could give seemed horribly inadequate. I've been around the world enough to know there is no comparing what's expected of a man to what's expected of a woman. After you get solidly slapped a couple times for trying, you take the hint that that is not your place.

Some advice from me to you, boys: Know when to button that bottom lip.

As much as I disliked it, I let the silence sit for a moment before Belle broke it with a deprecating laugh. "I—I'm so sorry! I don't know how I…" She stood and gave me a hostess's smile. "How was it? Would you like a second helping?"

Huh… Was she as baffled as I was about our very honest and fairly revealing conversation? "No, but thank you. It was delicious! As you may have gathered, I don't get many home-cooked meals in my profession."

"Precisely why I offered," she answered with a knowing smile as she reached for my bowl.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

Jeez, what are they knocking on the door with? I thought. A battering ram? Then I saw Belle's lips purse. Ooh… this must be someone she doesn't like!

Perfectly genteel, I offered, "I can wash my bowl if you need to get that."

She managed a small smile and nod. "Thank you," she said before she skirted the table to the door.

I grabbed my dishes and ducked into the kitchen but kept my hearing keen.

I promise, I usually don't care about what other people's backstories are, but… she's actually read Flynnigan Rider, okay? I can't really explain beyond that!

"Bonjour, Gaston."

"Good morning, Belle." The newcomer spoke in a deep baritone that could have been the personification of a stringed instrument—the one where they have to stand it on the ground between your legs. You know what I'm talking about? "I was over by Monsieur Bergère's down the way to rewire his fence against wolves, and his wife gave me… wool from their sheep as a thank you." A hint of distaste had crept into that "handsome" voice, but it attempted to be charming again as he went on, "I figured… you of all people would be able to put it to some use."

"Oh… Merci. I appreciate you going to the trouble." Strangely, it didn't really sound like it.

And apparently, he didn't notice. "Of course! Girls like you need all the practice you can get!"

"Right… Well, thank you for stopping by, but—"

"Oh, I know your father is out-of-town on another hare-brained scheme…"

Wait, what? Did she actually lie about that?!

Oh yeah… she was good.

"...but that doesn't mean you have to spend your time holed up on the edge of the village," Gaston said. "Why don't you come by the tavern to see my new trophies? I killed a boar that was as heavy as two of me! Tusks this long! You really have to see it to believe it—"

"Trust me, I believe you, alright. I'm sorry, Gaston, but I actually have company right now. Maybe some other time—"

"Company?" The tromp of heavy boots hit the floorboards. "Where?"

Belle huffed impatiently. "Gaston, please! This really is not the time!"

I dried my hands on a nearby tea towel as a hulking boulder of red and brown filled the doorway. I hadn't seen a man that big and thick since Lance, and this guy had way more definition in… well, everything. The very image of "chiseled" narrowed its icy blue eyes at me.

Gaston's fists clenched. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Great. A man who could pound me to a pulp and who was territorial. Think, think, how do I play this?

"I'm Flynn," I stalled. "Flynn Fitzherbert."

Yes, the dreaded surname shouldered on me… I wasn't risking getting recognized again.

He sneered. "Never heard of you."

"That's because…" Belle explained as she squeezed through the crack between Gaston and the wall, "he's my cousin."

My brows lifted. Now we were co-conspiring? We were leaping over all the friendship hurdles, weren't we?

I grinned in both triumph and relief. "Yes! It was a bit of an unannounced visit, I'll admit, but I'm just glad my dear cousin was able to accommodate me. Gaston, I presume?" I offered my hand with all politeness.

He continued to stare me down with suspicion, even as he slapped my hand—practically swallowing it, mind you—and gripped it so hard, I thought I was gonna hear something snap. I clenched my teeth and hid my grimace as best as I could.

Do I look intimidating to you? After all, I'm your friendly, neighborhood rogue! But if I had tree-trunk-sized arms and were another foot taller, you'd be singing a different tune, right?

To this day, I don't get it! Even when a guy has the whole package, he still thinks he has to overcompensate. Wonder why that was…

It must be because I looked great. I felt particularly gratified he thought so, even when my beauty sleep had been in a stable. What a confidence booster!

When Gaston let go, I tried to keep from shaking the pain out of my hand, even though that hurt about as much as an oar to the stomach: dull, deep, and lasting.

"That's right," Gaston proclaimed emphatically. "Gaston Avenant: the greatest hero and protector Molyneaux's ever seen, so anyone who comes through this village has to go through me."

I furrowed my brows in confusion, but man, was it hard not to laugh. "I'm sorry, is there a… screening process that I wasn't aware of?"

"No, there is not," Belle abstained with a penetrating glare in Gaston's direction. "And I would prefer it if you didn't interfere in my family affairs."

Gaston scoffed a laugh. "But Belle, I've never even seen this man in my life! How do I know you two are related?"

"Because I am telling you we are," Belle answered.

"Can't you see the resemblance?" I asked, leaning my head next to Belle's for an easier comparison. "I mean, same color eyes, same color hair… It's in the family line!"

Gaston wore a grumpy frown like some spoiled kid denied a cool toy. "Then why haven't you been around to visit before?"

"He travels most of the time," Belle stated.

"She's right! I go all over, doing odd jobs and seeing the sights," I added with a smile. Duping people was normally pretty fun on its own, but it was even more fun with a brand new improv partner!

Gaston crossed his arms, though how he did it with them being so thick, I have no idea. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"Running errands, mostly," I explained. "Pickups, deliveries, helping around homes, vendoring… I've even worked in entertainment. Spectacle sort of work, like festivals. You know what I'm talking about!" I added with a waggle of my finger at Gaston.

A few belly laughs escaped him. "Are you telling me you're part of a circus?" he mocked.

"I was, here and there," I admitted, unphased. "It's nice because I can make a room's rent in one night most days."

Gaston's sneer returned. "That's not an honest living! At some point, you'll have to settle down somewhere. What kind of man lives their life on the road?"

"Hey, look, I understand! It's hard to comprehend a world outside of this little pocket of provincial life you got here, but I can assure you, when I'm ready to settle, I'll have the means to live comfortably for the rest of my life. You won't see me lift another finger, my friend!"

"Huh. Good luck with that." And I'm positive that exceeded his maximum potential for sarcasm.

Belle took this opportunity to start ushering the hulking mass in her kitchen toward her front door. "Well, I have to get the house clean before my father returns. Thank you again for the wool, Gaston, and have a nice day."

He looked like he really wanted to stand his ground to stay, but whatever manners he actually possessed allowed him to be shooed out the door. He stopped on the threshold to say, "My offer still stands. Maybe show your cousin around. I'm sure he'd like a quality ale after having to be in a traveling circus."

Wow, was that supposed to be a jab? How obvious can a human being be?

With an untouchable act of passive-aggression, I chipped in with a broad smile, "Hmm, I'd be willing to compare it to Germany's ale!—You know, the neighboring country to the east? I'm sure they're very different."

Ooh, he didn't like that. "I wouldn't serve it if it wasn't the best French ale there was!" And with a harrumph, Gaston turned and stomped down the porch steps.

"Nice meeting you!" I called after him just before Belle shut the door.

I was the first one of us to start laughing.

A/N: Credit to the Flynnigan Rider novel titles go to Jen Calonita, author of Lost Legends: The Rise of Flynn Rider, which is actually a really cute read and does justice to both Eugene and Arnie/Lance, with a fun connection to characters met in the Tangled series. Thanks to The Green Archer and LovelyLadyAllie for their awesome beta-ing!