Page 11 of Hex and the Kitty

Warrick grabbed a metal baking tray with his free hand, using it as a shield to guide the dough’s shrinking form away from delicate displays.

With a final shudder, the dough monster collapsed, sliding off Warrick’s arm and landing on the floor with a wetsplat. It now resembled nothing more threatening than an overly-fermented lump of bread.

“Thank you,” Molly exhaled, her shoulders dropping. “Not how I planned to start my morning.”

“Never a dull moment in Whispering Pines,” Warrick replied, studying the dough puddle. “Though I didn’t expect ‘dough wrangling’ to be in my job description.”

Sunlight now streamed through the windows, catching on his dark hair and illuminating those silver strands at his temples. A smudge of flour marked his cheek, somehow making him look more approachable, less intimidating. Human rather than legend.

Before she could second-guess herself, Molly grabbed a towel and approached him. “You’ve got flour...” she gestured, then reached up to wipe his cheek.

Her fingertips brushed his skin—warm and unexpectedly soft beneath light stubble. Their eyes met at the contact, and electricity surged through her veins, stopping her breath. His pupils dilated slightly, golden irises darkening.

“I think you got it,” he murmured, his voice deeper than before.

Molly pulled her hand back, heart hammering against her ribs. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” he replied so softly she almost missed it.

TEN

Aclattering sound broke the moment. Molly’s enchanted rolling pin—her grandmother’s prized possession—had somehow escaped its hook. It spun in a small circle before coming to rest pointing directly at Warrick like a divining rod finding water.

“That’s new,” Molly said, grateful for the distraction. “Grandmother’s rolling pin doesn’t usually move on its own.”

“Enchanted kitchenware seems to find me fascinating today,” Warrick remarked, bending to examine it. The movement pulled his uniform shirt taut across his shoulders, and Molly forced herself to look away.

“It’s mildly enchanted for pie crusts,” she explained, taking the rolling pin from his hand. The moment she set it down, it rolled toward Warrick again as if magnetically drawn. “But this is...”

“Let me guess. It’s never done this before?” A smile played on the corners of his mouth.

“Never,” Molly confirmed, watching in fascination as the rolling pin circled him once before settling against his boot.

“First your dough, now kitchen accessories,” Warrick said, his usually serious expression softening. “Should I be concerned about your whisk attacking next?”

A laugh bubbled up from Molly’s chest, bright and spontaneous. “My whisk is very well-behaved, I’ll have you know.”

Warrick’s smile bloomed fully then—transforming his face from handsome to breathtaking. The hard lines of his jaw relaxed, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and a dimple appeared on his right cheek. The sight hit Molly like a physical force, stealing the air from her lungs.

His laugh followed—deep, rumbling, and genuine. The rich sound resonated through the bakery, sending a cascade of pleasant shivers down Molly’s spine.

Several customers still outside the window stared, exchanging shocked glances.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” someone whispered loudly enough to be heard inside. “Chief Shaw actually laughing.”

“You should do that more often,” Molly said without thinking.

“Do what?”

“Laugh. Smile.” Heat crept up her neck. “It suits you.”

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, followed by a flash of vulnerability so brief, she might have imagined it.

“I haven’t had much reason to,” he replied simply.

The quiet admission twisted something in Molly’s chest. “Would you like some tea? It’s the least I can offer after your heroic rescue.”

“I’d like that,” Warrick replied, his smile lingering.

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