Page 17 of Hex and the Kitty

“Northern Thailand,” Warrick finished. “A hidden lagoon near a shifter sanctuary. I spent a few decades there in the 1800s.”

Molly carefully lifted one petal, fascinated by its inner luminescence. “Celeste mentioned these can add a spicy undertone to desserts, but warned they’re temperamental.”

“They respond to emotion,” Warrick explained, his voice dropping to that rumble that made her skin prickle pleasantly. “The stronger the feeling, the more intense the flavor.”

His eyes held hers for a heartbeat too long. Molly cleared her throat and led him into the back kitchen. There, she reached for a mixing bowl, trying to ignore the way her skin tingled.

“Let’s try incorporating them into a simple cream.”

As she began to work, her nervous excitement triggered her magic. A wooden spoon rose slowly into the air, spinning lazily before dipping into a bowl of cream. Droplets splattered onto the floor as the spoon wobbled.

“Oh sugar sticks,” Molly muttered, reaching for the wayward utensil.

Warrick caught it first, his reflexes impossibly quick. “Happens often?” His voice held no judgment, only curiosity.

“Only when I’m...” Nervous? Attracted? Flustered by proximity to devastatingly handsome tiger shifters who brought rare magical ingredients just for her? “...distracted,” she finished lamely, cheeks heating.

He handed her the spoon, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And what’s distracting you tonight, Molly?”

The directness of the question coupled with the way he said her name—softly, almost like a caress—made her breath catch.

“Exotic ingredients,” she managed, meeting his gaze with feigned confidence. “And tigers in my kitchen.”

“Just one tiger,” he corrected, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

“One is apparently enough to throw off my concentration.”

FOURTEEN

More utensils joined the first, floating gently around them as Molly’s magic responded to her racing pulse. A whisk darted past Warrick’s ear, making him duck.

“Sorry!” Molly exclaimed, mortified. “They have minds of their own sometimes.”

To her surprise, Warrick seemed more amused than annoyed. “I’m starting to think your kitchen has strong opinions about me.”

“First the dough monster, then the rolling pin, now the utensils,” Molly agreed. “My bakery might have a crush on you.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Their eyes met over a hovering measuring cup, and something electric passed between them.

“Just the bakery?” Warrick asked softly.

Molly’s heart hammered against her ribs. “The baker reserves judgment,” she managed, though her voice betrayed her with a slight tremor.

Warrick’s eyes darkened, but he let her retreat behind the quip. Instead, he reached for another package. “This might interest you more than my effect on your kitchenware.”

He unwrapped a small vial containing what looked like liquid starlight—silvery-blue and shimmering.

“Mist essence from the Cloud Forests,” he explained. “Collected during the solstice when the veil between worlds thins.”

“It’s beautiful,” Molly whispered, transfixed.

“The local witches use it in dream pastries. They say it helps reveal hidden truths.”

Their eyes met again. “Truth can be dangerous,” Molly said quietly.

“So can pretending,” Warrick countered, his gaze never wavering.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, experimenting with the exotic ingredients. Warrick shared brief anecdotes about where he’d found each one—a mountain in Peru where air spirits collected special frost blossoms, a market in Morocco known only to magical creatures, a remote island where time moved differently.

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