Page 10 of Hex and the Kitty

NINE

Warrick burst into the bakery, his midnight-blue uniform shirt partially unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin. His golden eyes assessed the situation in seconds, narrowing at the sight of Molly cornered by animated dough.

“Morning,” he said with impossible calm. “Baking troubles?”

“You could say that,” Molly gasped, relief mingling with embarrassment. “Bread dough. Very badly enchanted.”

Warrick placed himself between Molly and the dough monster, his broad shoulders forming a protective barrier. Heat radiated from him—not just physical warmth but something magnetic, primal.

“Got a plan?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the quivering mass.

“Counter-charm. But I need to mix—“ Molly’s words cut short as the dough launched a sticky tendril toward Warrick, latching onto his sleeve with surprising strength.

He jerked his arm, but the dough clung stubbornly.

“Persistent little thing,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers across Molly’s skin.

With a controlled flex of his arm—a subtle display of shifter strength that made Molly’s mouth go dry—Warrick tore free from the dough’s grasp. The severed tendril wiggled, then rejoined the main mass.

The dough monster rippled, bubbling more vigorously. It surged forward again, this time aiming directly for Warrick’s bicep.

“It’s coming back!” Molly warned.

Too late. The dough engulfed his arm, clinging to his muscles like an adoring pet. Warrick tried to shake it off, but the dough only squeezed tighter, quivering with unmistakable delight.

“I think it’s... purring?” Warrick raised an eyebrow, his tone incredulous.

A snort of laughter escaped Molly before she could stop it. “Attracted to your muscles, apparently.” Her cheeks flushed as soon as the words left her mouth.

To her surprise, one corner of Warrick’s mouth ticked up. “Should I be flattered or concerned that your baking finds me irresistible?”

The unexpected quip left Molly momentarily speechless. Had stern, serious Warrick Shaw just made a joke?

“The dough has excellent taste,” she replied, surprising herself with her boldness.

A spark lit in his golden eyes—a flicker of amusement, or something warmer?

A crowd had gathered outside the bakery windows, several people pointing and whispering at the bizarre scene. Someone took out a phone to record.

“We need to contain it,” Molly said, refocusing. “Salt might slow it down.”

She grabbed a container of salt and a smaller spell book. “Can you keep it distracted?”

“It seems thoroughly distracted by me already,” Warrick replied, grimacing as the dough pulsed against his arm.

Molly mixed salt with dried thyme and cinnamon in a small bowl, whispering an incantation that made the herbs glow briefly.

“Now we need to circle it while I sprinkle this,” she instructed. “Counter-clockwise.”

Warrick stepped carefully around the kitchen, the dough monster attached to his arm like an obsessed groupie. Each time he flexed his muscles—which he now did deliberately—the dough quivered with apparent ecstasy.

“Enjoying yourself?” Molly asked, catching the mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Just giving the audience what they want,” he replied, nodding toward the windows where the crowd had grown.

Molly circled counter-clockwise, sprinkling her mixture while chanting: “Sedare fermentum, quiescere nunc.”

The dough settled, its bubbly surface calming. Tendrils reaching across the countertops slowly retracted.

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