Page 22 of Hex and the Kitty

Molly laughed despite herself. “I should have known this was an ambush.”

“Not an ambush,” Fia insisted, her silver hair catching the morning light. “A support group.”

“For what, exactly?” Molly asked, already retrieving more mugs and plates.

“For a witch who’s clearly in over her head with the hottest shifter in three counties,” Ellie grinned, transferring Asher from her shoulders to the floor, where he immediately spotted Amara and toddled over.

“I’m not in over my head,” Molly insisted, setting out the cinnamon rolls while her cheeks betrayed her again. “It was one date. A fake date.”

“Three questions,” Fia said, lifting Vienna onto her lap. “One: did his eyes glow at any point? Two: did he bring you a gift? Three: did he make that rumbling sound in his chest that shifters do when they’re pleased?”

Molly almost dropped the plate she was holding. “How would you even know about the third one?”

Three pairs of knowing eyes locked on her.

“So that’s a yes to question three,” Ellie smirked. “Which means it’s definitely not a fake anything.”

The back door burst open before Molly could respond, admitting Luna, Mari, and Tabitha in a whirlwind of laughter and clinking jewelry.

“We felt a magical disturbance in the force,” Luna announced dramatically. “Specifically, the ‘Molly-is-pretending-she’s-not-smitten’ kind.”

“How many people did you text?” Molly asked Celeste accusingly.

Celeste shrugged, not looking remotely guilty. “The coven text chain is faster than the Whispering Pines gossip mill. Besides, this is important research.”

EIGHTEEN

“For what possible research purpose?” Molly demanded, though she was already pulling out more chairs and mugs, resigned to the impromptu gathering.

“The mating habits of flora witches and fire-fighting shifters, obviously,” Mari supplied, helping herself to a cinnamon roll. “Mmm, you made the orange-infused ones. You must be in a good mood.”

“I made them before you all invaded my kitchen,” Molly protested, but she couldn’t help smiling as the room filled with laughter and the chatter of her friends settling in.

The three toddlers formed their own little circle on the play mat Molly kept in the corner for exactly these occasions. Vienna, the oldest at nearly three, was already organizing the other two into what appeared to be a very serious game involving wooden spoons and measuring cups.

“So,” Tabitha prompted once everyone had food and coffee, “tell us everything. And don’t leave out the good parts.”

“There aren’t any ‘good parts,’” Molly insisted, but the wooden spoons on the children’s play mat suddenly did a little dance. The women all turned to look, then back at Molly with identical knowing expressions.

Molly sighed in defeat. “Fine. It was... nice. We talked. He tasted my experimental recipes. I tried working with the ingredients he brought. My magic went a little haywire, but nothing caught fire.”

“That’s it?” Luna pressed. “Just ‘nice’?”

Molly bit her lip, remembering how Warrick’s eyes had darkened when their fingers touched, how he’d moved through her bakery with that liquid grace, how he’d spoken of Paris as casually as she might mention last week’s grocery trip.

“He told me stories,” she admitted softly. “About places he’s been, things he’s seen. He talked about the World’s Fair in Paris, about hidden magical gardens that sang in the moonlight.”

The women exchanged glances.

“Three hundred-year-old shifters don’t share their memories with just anyone,” Mari noted, her voice gentler than before.

“He asked about my magic,” Molly continued, warming to the subject now. “Not just what I can do, but how I discovered it, what it means to me. He listened. Really listened.”

“That’s more than ‘nice,’” Fia observed, wiping Vienna’s sticky fingers. “That’s courtship behavior.”

“What? No, it’s just—he was being polite.”

“Shifters,” Celeste said authoritatively, bouncing Amara on her knee, “don’t do polite small talk. Not the way humans do. When they ask personal questions, they’re trying to understand your essence, your core self.”

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