Page 15 of Hex and the Kitty

She indicated the array spread before them. Each miniature creation represented hours of work—perfected recipes, carefully balanced magic.

“Faerie Forest Berry Coulis,” Warrick read, picking up one tag. “Moonlit Maple Cream. Whisper Cinnamon Clouds.” His eyebrow arched. “Creative naming.”

“The names help shape the magic,” Molly explained, watching his hands—large but surprisingly elegant. “Intent matters in flora witchcraft.”

“And what’s your intent with these?” Warrick asked, his golden eyes meeting hers.

The question felt weighted, layered with meaning. Molly swallowed. “To create moments of joy. Brief glimpses of possibility.”

“No truth serums or love potions?” His tone held a hint of teasing, but his gaze remained intense.

“After Daisy’s coffee incident? I wouldn’t dare.” She grinned, reaching for a small plate. “Though I’m starting to think everyone in town has been sampling something stronger than my pastries, the way they’re pushing us together.”

“Perhaps they see something we don’t,” he murmured, the words so soft she almost missed them.

Molly’s heart skipped a beat. She hurriedly pushed a delicate pastry toward him. “Try this first—Starlight Sugar Pastry. It’s my baseline, no active magic.”

Warrick accepted it, his large fingers surprisingly gentle as he took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, then closed as he savored the taste.

THIRTEEN

Molly found herself staring at his face—the strong line of his jaw, the tiny relaxation around his eyes as pleasure overcame his usual stoicism. When his eyes opened again, she quickly looked away.

“That’s... extraordinary,” he murmured. “The flavor changes—starts like vanilla, then shifts to something almost citrus?”

“Moon petal extract,” Molly nodded, pleased he’d detected the subtle transition. “Not magical, but rare. Most people can’t detect the shift.”

“Shifter senses,” Warrick explained, his gaze never leaving her face. “Heightened taste and smell.”

Molly found herself wondering what she smelled like to him. Could he detect her nervousness? The flutter of attraction she couldn’t seem to control?

“That must make your culinary experiences interesting,” she said instead.

“Or disappointing. Mass-produced food tastes... artificial to me.” His eyes softened as he indicated the remaining bite of pastry. “This—this is real.”

The appreciation in his voice spread warmth through Molly’s chest. Simple words, but they touched something deep—the hours she spent perfecting each recipe, the care she poured into her creations.

“Tell me about your magic,” Warrick said, surprising her. “How did you discover you were a flora witch?”

The question caught Molly off guard. Men rarely asked about her magic beyond whether she could conjure something for them.

“I was six,” she answered, memories flooding back. “My mother’s rosebushes were dying after a harsh winter. I sat with them for hours, just talking. By morning, they were blooming. My parents found me asleep in the garden, surrounded by roses in impossible colors.”

“They must have been proud.”

“Terrified, actually.” Molly smiled at the memory. “Flora magic typically manifests around puberty. They weren’t prepared for a kindergartner who could grow poison ivy with a temper tantrum.”

Warrick’s laugh was unexpected and rich, sending a shiver down her spine. “I imagine that made childhood interesting.”

“For everyone involved,” Molly agreed, delighted by this glimpse of warmth. “My poor third-grade teacher never recovered from the incident with the classroom Ficus.”

“And when did you start baking?”

“My grandmother taught me. She said kitchens are where magic and mundane meet most naturally.” Molly gestured to the next sample. “Tranquility Tart. Helps ease anxiety, promotes peaceful sleep.”

Warrick tasted it, his expression thoughtful. “Lavender, chamomile... and something else I can’t place.”

“Moonshade pollen. It only blooms during the full moon.”

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