Page 20 of Hex and the Kitty

Something softened in her chest at the realization. He wasn’t just guarding her bakery; he was guarding her peace of mind.

“It wouldn’t be Whispering Pines without a magical scare or two,” she said lightly, trying to dispel the tension.

Warrick’s expression softened as he returned to his seat. “No, I suppose not.” His eyes searched her face. “You’re not easily frightened.”

“Flora witches have their own defenses,” Molly answered with a small smile. “I might look harmless, but I’ve survived twenty-seven Bloom Festivals. Those get vicious.”

That drew a laugh from him—a genuine sound that transformed his entire face. “I’d like to hear that story someday.”

“Next time,” Molly promised, her heart warming at the implication of future evenings together.

She glanced at the clock and realized they’d been experimenting for over two hours. “It’s getting late.”

Warrick nodded, helping her gather dishes without being asked. They worked in companionable silence, the practiced efficiency of two people accustomed to managing their own spaces. Their hands brushed occasionally, each contact sending tiny sparks across Molly’s skin.

When the last bowl was dried and put away, they stood facing each other in the center of the bakery. The awkwardness of a first date’s conclusion settled between them—complicated by its “fake” nature that felt increasingly real.

“I boxed up some of the experimental pastries,” Molly said, handing him a small container. “A taste of magic for later.”

“Thank you.” Their fingers brushed during the exchange, lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Not just for the pastries. This evening was... unexpectedly enjoyable.”

“High praise from someone who’s had three centuries of evenings to compare it to,” she teased, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere.

His expression turned serious. “Most of those evenings blur together. This one... won’t.”

SIXTEEN

Before Molly could respond, Warrick reached toward her face. Her breath caught as his fingers gently brushed her cheek, then her hair, dislodging a speck of flour that had gone unnoticed.

“Occupational hazard,” he said softly.

“Hazards seem to follow us,” Molly replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

They stood close enough that she could detect the subtle scent of cedar and something wild beneath it—his natural tiger musk, earthy and masculine. Her magic stirred in response, making the nearest candle flame dance higher.

Warrick noticed and smiled. “I should go before your bakery decides to stage another magical intervention.”

Molly walked him to the door, hyperaware of his presence beside her. Outside, the streets of Whispering Pines were quiet, moonlight silvering the cobblestones.

“Same time next week?” Warrick asked, pausing at the threshold. “For our next... strategic appearance.”

The hesitation in his voice made Molly wonder if he too questioned how “fake” this dating arrangement truly was.

“I’d like that,” she said honestly.

“So would I,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Molly.”

The way he said her name—soft, almost reverently—made her heart flutter. “Goodnight, Warrick.”

As he stepped into the night, the bakery sign above the door glowed briefly—a soft, magical pulse that felt almost like approval. Molly watched until his tall figure disappeared around a corner, then closed the door, leaning against it with a sigh.

Who was she kidding? Nothing about this evening had felt fake. From the flutter in her stomach when he’d first arrived to the electricity of their accidental touches, every moment had resonated with genuine connection. She’d glimpsed the man behind the stern fire chief facade—thoughtful, protective, carrying centuries of experience yet still capable of wonder at new discoveries.

And the way he’d looked at her...like she was a rare ingredient he couldn’t quite categorize but desperately wanted to understand.

Molly moved through the bakery, extinguishing candles one by one. The darkness gathered around her, but she hardly noticed, lost in thoughts of golden eyes and rare smiles, of exotic ingredients and shared laughter.

“Fake dating,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “Right.”

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