Page 45 of Kissing Potions and Elves
I’m about to answer but his boot skids on a stray blob of batter. We pitch forward, and he twists at the last second, absorbing the impact as we hit the floor.
For a moment, we’re both stunned. I’m lying on top of him, our limbs tangled and both of us covered in sticky dough and flour. A faint smile tugs at his mouth, and I can’t help but grin.
Then, simultaneously, we both burst into laughter.
Lyrion’s laugh is rich and deep and he’s so handsome when he smiles.
“You have something right there.” My laughter subsides into giggles as I reach up, brushing away a streak of batter from the corner of his lips.
His laughter fades entirely as his violet eyes lock onto mine, intense and full of hunger. I’m acutely aware that I’m still sprawled atop his powerful form, my legs on either side of his waist, our faces so close we share each breath.
Stars help me, I’m lost in his gaze.
My pulse quickens as he cups the back of my neck and brushes his lips to mine in a tender kiss. Warmth floods my veins as I melt into him, savoring the taste and feel of him pressed against me.
A disgruntled voice from the dining area startles us both, and we break apart. “How long must we wait for a simple pastry?”
“I—I’m so sorry!” I call back, scrambling upright. “They’ll be out shortly!”
Another customer grumbles in irritation. “I’ve never had to wait this long for my food before.”
My cheeks flame, humiliation sharp in my chest.
Before I can respond, Lyrion marches from the kitchen to the front counter, his voice firm and unyielding as he addresses the patrons. “Mind your tone. The café is short-staffed at the moment, and Isobel is working hard and doing her best to make sure everyone gets served. She deserves your patience and respect.”
Warm happiness flutters through me at his fierce defense. The café falls silent, and the patron mutters a sheepish apology, clearly intimidated by Lyrion’s commanding presence.
He returns to my side, his gaze gentle. “Are you alright?”
“I am now.” I smile. “Thank you.”
My heart does a happy little flip as his violet eyes stare deep into mine and he whispers, “Always, Isobel.”
CHAPTER 23
LYRION
Thank the gods it’s the weekend and Isobel doesn’t have to work. I enjoyed sleeping in this morning and rising at a more reasonable hour. I much prefer it to being startled and shaken awake before the sun is even out.
I’m hunched over my desk, pen poised above the parchment as I write down a few ideas for organizing my compendium. The afternoon sunlight filters through the window, the quiet broken only by the distant sounds of birds and a faint rustle of leaves outside.
Isobel is in the kitchen, making a batch of cupcakes. I believe it’s her third attempt of the day. The first dozen failed to rise and the second somehow ended up with more salt instead of sugar.
Hilda went to the market to procure more supplies for Isobel. She’s been practicing for the past few days, trying out different recipes for the upcoming baking contest.
Isobel insisted upon Hilda using her money to buy the ingredients, but I instructed the housekeeper to please ensureIsobel’s coins find their way back into her purse without her knowing.
Tressa is the one who urged Isobel to enter the competition, asking her to represent the Enchanted Teacup Café. I’m sure she meant it as a vote of confidence, but Isobel has been stressed about this for days.
As a result, she’s been even more focused and determined during her reading lessons, wanting to make sure she doesn’t misread the recipe and mess anything up. Isobel is very critical of her own progress, but I’m impressed by how fast she’s learning to read and write.
A hint of something acrid reaches my nose, distracting me from my thoughts. I pause, pen mid-stroke, frowning.Is that... smoke?
Before I can dismiss it as my imagination, Errol bursts through the open study door, fur bristled and eyes wide.“Lyrion! The kitchen’s on fire! Hurry!”
“What?” I surge to my feet, my chair clattering backward onto the floor. Errol is already racing back down the hall, his tail puffed like a bottlebrush as I bolt after him, my heart hammering.
When I reach the kitchen, thick smoke billows from the oven, curling ominously toward the ceiling. Isobel is coughing and frantically waving a dish towel around. Her beautiful face is smudged with soot, and her golden hair completely disheveled.
