Page 7 of Best Hex Ever
The kitchen in the back room of Serendipity Café wasn’t exactly roomy, but between the shelves of colorful jars and tins and the old industrial baking ovens, it had a cozy warmth that Dina loved. It was one of her favorite places in the world.
“All right,” Dina said, lifting mixing bowls onto the marble counter, “you’re both going to want to put some aprons on.” She nodded her head toward the rack of pastel-pink and green aprons hanging on the wall, and snapped her fingers, two aprons flying across the room to land in Rosemary and Immy’s hands.
“Finally, I get to witness Dina’s magical baking process.” Rosemary smiled, rolling up her sleeves and displaying her heavily tattooed forearms.
“I hope it lives up to expectations.” Dina grinned back. She looked over at Immy. “Are you sure you don’t just want a simple frosted vanilla wedding cake, Immy?”
“Not happening. Remember”—Immy narrowed her eyes—“that you made a blood oath to do whatever I want when I made you my maid of honor.”
“All right, bridezilla,” Rosemary said.
They pulled on their aprons and Dina went into her pantry to hunt for all the ingredients they would need.
“So, what’s your process then?” Rosemary asked, standing ready with Immy at the kitchen counter.
“First, we get out all the ingredients,” Dina called. She rummaged around for enough mixing bowls, as well as fresh unsalted butter, flour, cinnamon, yeast, vanilla pods, and sugar. She’d peeled, cored, and sliced the Bramley apples earlier, so for the apple pie it was simply a matter of cooking the butter, brown sugar, and apples on the hob while they prepped the shortcrust pastry. “And now…I get to boss you around my kitchen for the next two hours.”
They gossiped as they worked, Dina stepping in to add a pinch of cinnamon and star anise to the sweet apple mixture that Rosemary was in charge of stirring.
“Who’s going to help you do this on the weekend?” Rosemary asked, noticing that Dina had her hands so full that she had charmed a clementine to peel itself in mid-air.
“Oh, she’ll have help,” Immy muttered, an oddly maniacal gleam in her eye.
“What the hell does that mean?” Dina said. “Did you hire extra staff? Honestly, Imms, I don’t need the help, and it’ll be easier if it’s just me because then I won’t need to hide my magic.”
The bride-to-be only grinned mischievously.
“It’s not staff, don’t worry about it.”
Dina was worried about it, but she could tell that whatever plan Immy had up her sleeve, she wasn’t about to reveal it. Dina flashed Rosemary aDo you know anything about this?kind of look, to which her friend shook her head.
The apple pie was ready first, since the dough for the cinnamon buns needed proving and Dina’s proving oven was out of whack. Electrical appliances and magic often did not see eye-to-eye. They stood around the pie, the crust perfectly golden, and each grabbed a fork.
“Fucking hell,” Rosemary said, taking a bite. “This is better than my dad’s. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“It is insanely good…” Immy began.
“But? I sense a ‘but.’ ” Dina waited.
“But I think it’s not quite right for the wedding. And Eric and I had cinnamon buns on our second date.”
“That’s decided then—cinnamon buns it is!” Dina clapped her hands, flour going everywhere.
Dina wished she could spend every day baking with friends; it was a joy unlike any other. She hummed under her breath as she rolled out and began kneading the proved dough for the cinnamon buns. Usually, this was when Dina would lace a spell into the bake. For something like a cinnamon bun or a muffin, she might put in that feeling you get of wrapping yourself in a soft, woolly blanket. Baking magic worked best when it was peppered throughout the process.
Today was different.
“Immy, tell me about the first time you knew you loved Eric.” Dina had heard this story many times, but she needed Immy to tell her now, so she could let the story flow through—turning it into a spell, into a feeling that could be baked into the buns.
“It was our third date, we were meeting near the entrance to Hampstead Heath to go for a walk, and it was fucking freezing that day. I remember waiting for a while, because I got there disgustingly early, and when he turned up he saw me shivering and he blew on my hands until they warmed up and bought me a tea. And on our next date he brought me gloves so my hands wouldn’t get cold. And then I knew I was head over heels for him.”
“Ugh, that makes me feel so single. When will men learn that women don’t want grand gestures, they want someone who cares about them keeping their hands warm,” Rosemary groaned.
As Immy spoke, Dina had taken that memory—Immy’s feeling of Eric caring about her, the sensation of cold hands warming up—and turned it into a spell, kneading it into the dough. As they continued to prepare the cinnamon buns, Dina prodded Immy to tell them other things she loved about Eric, to recount other treasured memories, and she put them into the dough too. Anyone eating these cinnamon buns would be filled with a deep sensation of love all around them. It wasn’t a love spell, because those simply didn’t exist—magic could create a false sense of love, but never the real deal. Dina had learned that the hard way. No, this spell would just make people look at Immy and Eric and think,Wow, they really love each other.
Beside her, Immy and Rosemary worked together to make the cinnamon-sugar paste for the buns.
“Does it need more cinnamon?” Immy said, frowning over the mixing bowl.
