Page 55 of Hex and the Kitty

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I mean—I don’t know what we’re—after that kiss?—“

The door swung open before she could dig herself a deeper hole, revealing a striking woman with elegant silver-streaked dark hair and Warrick’s exact golden eyes.

“You must be Molly,” the woman said warmly, her accent a melodious blend of South African and British influences. “I’m Annalise Shaw. Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you for having me,” Molly replied, extending the pastry box. “I brought dessert—tiger lily petit fours with orange blossom cream.”

Annalise accepted the box with genuine delight. “How thoughtful! And perfectly themed. Please, come in.”

The interior matched the exterior’s elegant comfort—high ceilings, rich woods, and artwork that likely belonged in museums interspersed with cozy seating areas and family photographs. Molly spotted a picture of a much younger Warrick—perhaps a century ago, judging by the clothing—standing stiffly beside two small girls in formal attire.

“Mother, where are—“ Warrick began, only to be interrupted by squeals from the adjoining room.

Two women who appeared to be in their mid-twenties rushed in, though Molly knew from Warrick’s background that they were actually around two hundred years old. Both shared Warrick’s brown hair and golden eyes, though their features were decidedly feminine versions of his strong bone structure.

“She’s here!” one exclaimed, bouncing on her toes. “I’m Zara, and this is Zella. We’re the much-more-interesting Shaw siblings.”

“Ignore them,” Warrick sighed, but his expression held unmistakable fondness.

“Impossible,” Zella laughed. “We’re literally impossible to ignore. Molly, we’ve heard so much about you!”

“All good things, I hope?” Molly ventured, charmed by their enthusiasm.

“Mostly how you’ve turned our serious brother into a lovesick—“ Zara began.

“Dinner’s ready,” Warrick interrupted firmly, guiding Molly toward what appeared to be a dining room.

A distinguished man rose from the head of the table—Lord Maxwell Shaw, unmistakably Warrick’s father. His hair had gone fully silver, but his posture remained commanding, his golden eyes shrewd yet welcoming.

“Miss Hues,” he greeted her with a slight bow. “An honor to meet the woman who’s captured my son’s attention so thoroughly.”

“The honor’s mine,” Molly replied, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Built it ourselves about eight years ago,” Maxwell said proudly. “Well, hired the builders, but the design is all Annalise. Please, sit.”

Dinner progressed with surprising ease. The formal dining table contrasted with the relaxed conversation and genuine laughter. Warrick remained close beside her, occasionally touching her hand or knee beneath the table, each contact sending tingles of awareness through her body.

“So,” Zella said, eyes twinkling mischievously over her wine glass, “did Warrick tell you about the time he accidentally shifted during a royal reception and knocked over an entire ice sculpture?”

“He did not,” Molly grinned, turning to Warrick. “Do tell.”

Warrick groaned. “I was eighty years old. Hardly fair to hold youthful mistakes against me.”

“Eighty is practically infancy for our kind,” Zara stage-whispered to Molly. “He was so embarrassed he refused to shift for a decade afterward.”

“Until our grandfather locked him in the transformation chamber and wouldn’t let him out until he embraced his tiger,” Annalise added with a fond smile. “He emerged three days later, having made peace with both sides of his nature.”

“You’ve always been too hard on yourself,” Maxwell observed, studying his son. “Even as a child, you set impossible standards. Too controlled. Too serious.” His gaze shifted to Molly. “That’s why your influence has been so refreshing, Miss Hues.”

“My influence?” Molly asked, puzzled.

“He smiles now,” Zella supplied cheerfully. “Actually smiles! With teeth showing and everything!”

“And laughs,” Zara added. “I called the fire station last week about a community event, and he laughed at something David said. The dispatcher nearly fell out of her chair.”

Heat crept up Molly’s neck as she glanced at Warrick, finding his eyes already on her, soft with an emotion that made her heart stumble.

“It’s true,” he admitted quietly. “You’ve changed things.”

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