Page 86 of Hex and the Kitty

SIXTY-NINE

Warrick relented and lowered her to her feet, his hand lingering at her waist. “I’ll be watching,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Go shine, baker witch.”

Molly ascended the small stage, surveying the gathering crowd. Unlike the formal Fireman’s Ball, this celebration welcomed every resident—children darted between adults’ legs, some partially shifted into adorable animal forms; elderly witches clustered near comfortable chairs; even Jasper Moon’s translucent form hovered near the refreshment table, attempting unsuccessfully to sample the punch.

Home, she thought with sudden clarity. Not just the physical town, but these people—this community that had enfolded her so completely that she couldn’t imagine life without them.

Her gaze found Warrick at the center of the crowd. Though surrounded by well-wishers, his attention remained fixed solely on her, golden eyes reflecting pride and something deeper—a certainty that transcended their brief time together.

Stepping to the microphone, Molly welcomed everyone to the celebration. Words flowed easily as she thanked the town for their support, acknowledged the witches who had aided her recovery, and praised the firefighters who had maintained order during the chaos at the ball.

“Most importantly,” she concluded, her voice softening, “tonight reminds us that Whispering Pines isn’t merely a collection of supernatural beings sharing geography. We’re a family—bound by choice rather than blood, united in our determination to protect what matters most.”

Applause erupted, punctuated by wolf-shifter howls from Kade’s pack. As Molly stepped away from the microphone, Warrick materialized at the bottom of the stage stairs, hand extended to help her descend.

The simple gesture—this powerful man constantly finding ways to support without overpowering—filled her with tenderness. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her down the steps and into the circle of his arms.

“Beautiful speech,” he murmured against her hair.

“I meant every word,” she replied, nestling against his chest despite the very public setting. “Especially the part about protecting what matters most.”

His arms tightened fractionally. “Nothing matters more than you.”

The raw honesty in his voice made her heart stutter. She tilted her face up, finding his golden eyes dark with emotion. “When did you know?” she whispered.

“Know what?”

“That this was real. That we weren’t just playing along with the matchmaking schemes anymore.”

Warrick considered the question, his thumb tracing idle patterns at the small of her back. “The moment I saw you covered in flour in your kitchen, creating that ridiculous dough monster,” he finally answered. “You were laughing despite the chaos, finding joy in the disaster. My tiger recognized what my human side was too stubborn to admit—that you were exactly what I’d been missing my entire life.”

The confession, delivered without artifice in the middle of a crowded celebration, stole Molly’s breath. “That early?”

“That early,” he confirmed, brushing his lips against her forehead. “Though I fought it for weeks afterward.”

“Stubborn tiger.”

“Guilty.” His rare, full smile transformed his face, erasing the centuries of solitude in an instant. “Thankfully, you’re even more stubborn.”

“I prefer ‘determined,’” she corrected, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

His chest rumbled with suppressed laughter. “Determined, then. The most determined witch in Whispering Pines, who somehow managed to enchant a royal tiger shifter without even trying.”

“Oh, I tried,” Molly confessed, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Those Moonlight Mocha cupcakes at the social? Specifically designed to reveal romantic potential. The magical frosting just... amplified things a bit.”

Warrick’s eyebrows rose. “You never told me that.”

“Professional secrets.” She grinned up at him. “Besides, the frosting only reveals what’s already there. It can’t create attraction from nothing.”

His expression softened into something so tender it made her heart ache. “Then I owe that frosting a debt of gratitude.”

“I’ll pass along your thanks next time I’m whipping up a batch.”

The celebration flowed around them—music swelling, laughter rising, the occasional burst of magical energy punctuating the festive atmosphere. Yet they remained in their own bubble, connected by touch and gaze and the invisible thread that had bound them from that first embarrassing collision.

“Dance with me?” Warrick asked as the band struck up a slow melody.

“Always.”

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