Page 41 of Whisked Away
“Chilled soup?” I guess.
She nods but doesn’t look up. “Cucumber and dill with crème fraîche. It’s such a beautiful summer day—perfect for it.”
“Sounds fancy,” I tease as I find my chef’s knife and begin chopping strawberries. “You know the judges here prefer food that’s never very... fussy, right?”
Alex shoots me a glare, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’ll have you know cold soup was originally a humble dish meant to hydrate laborers who worked in the heat all day.”
“Okay, sure, and that’s exactly who eats gazpacho nowadays.” I grab a free bowl and begin sifting ingredients for a dough.
“Are you saying my food is pretentious, Chief?”
“If the designer shoe fits...” I trail off and grin.
She tosses a piece of cucumber at me, and I catch it effortlessly. Her eyes widen in surprise. Behind her, I catch a glimpse of Dean Markham at the judges’ table, his gaze sharp and calculating. He didn’t miss that. My reflexes—unnatural reflexes, no ordinary person should have on display for a human journalist.
She doesn’t understand how I can move that fast, and she never will. But if Grammie Rae is even partially right, Alex might be able to see something more, something hiddenbeneath the surface. It’s always a problem when tourists start sensing more than they should. That’s an issue for Dean Markham to deal with.
Normally, I’d be the first to voice my suspicions, but with Alex? I don’t want Dean anywhere near her.
I know all too well what happens when the council decides someone knows too much. Dean doesn’t wipe memories unless it’s absolutely necessary—it’s a last resort, and they only do it when magic is truly at risk. But magic is unpredictable, and when memories are erased, other things can go with them—names, moments, feelings.
I can’t let that happen to Alex. I can’t let them decide she’s seen too much and take something from her—something she can never get back.
She’s still staring at me, waiting for an answer. I try to act casual as I pop the cucumber into my mouth. I chew, swallow, then offer a playful smile. “Mm, delicious. Maybe you have a chance after all.”
She snorts but turns back to her dish, a smile tugging at her lips.
The next hour speeds by in a blur of mixing, baking, and chilling. Before I know it, it’s time to face the judges. We all line up with our creations in front of the panel of five—locals who love free treats and the attention more than they care about actually judging food. The real motivation for the contestants is the chance to try each other’s creations, but there’s always one exception: Dean Markham. His presence on the panel has raised more than a few eyebrows. He never participates in these events. But today, here he is, methodically tasting every dish, his eyes flickering between Alex and me.
I can’t shake the feeling that something more than just food is on the line today.
Zoe’s ice cream gets some raised eyebrows and hesitant tastes, but a few judges seem pleasantly surprised. It’s not forme, but I like the idea of where she was going with it. She was only mildly curious about the culinary world when we met, but her interest has bloomed in the last few years.
When Dean tries Alex’s soup, his expression remains carefully neutral, though I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He writes something on his scorecard with sharp, precise movements. The other judges give appreciative nods, but nothing more than that. Then they dig into my dessert. The judges eat everything on their plate, and I realize the verdict before they make their announcement.
“And the winner is... Ethan Hart with his Classic Strawberry Shortcake.”
The crowd erupts in cheers. Jas shakes his poster so hard the words blur. I can’t help the smile stretching across my face. This town has wound its way into me like ivy claiming an old brick wall. I peek over at Alex, wondering if she’s disappointed, but she’s shaking her head with a wry smile.
“Ugh,” she groans dramatically, but the smile remains. “I guess I should have taken your advice.”
I lean in close, breathing in her sweet perfume scent blended with earthy hay and rich dill. “If it’s any consolation, in an actual competition, your soup definitely would have won. It was sophisticated but not fussy and had the perfect balance of flavors.”
“Flatterer.” She ducks her head, and her hair spills over her cheek. I long to tuck it back, to let my fingers brush her soft skin again. “I suppose I’ll have to up my game next time.”
“Next time?” I can’t help the hope that creeps into my voice. It’s impossible, yet I cling to it. Maybe she’d choose to stay. Maybe she’d see me for who I really am and accept me.
Just as quickly, a knot forms in my stomach. I’ve let myself hope before, only to be bitterly disappointed. This time won’t be any different—it can’t be. Even people with their own magical abilities are wary of mine. I learned that early on. Theway teachers watched me too closely, the way other kids’ parents whispered behind my back. One slip-up, one moment of losing control, and suddenly I wasn’t just another kid with magic—I was a problem to be managed.
Alex is human. If she saw my world, my reality, she’d never want any part of it. Even if magic calls to her like Grammie Rae suggested, that doesn’t mean I do.
Alex shrugs as she finishes tidying up her station. “Well, I can’t leave Magnolia Cove forever without a win to my name, can I?”
Hope sparks in my chest, bright and sudden, like a candle catching fire. I clench my teeth and force myself to focus on the task at hand, because with Dean’s sharp gaze burning into my back, I should know better. I’ve already made mistakes that cost the council before, and Dean never lets me forget it.
As the crowds begin to disperse, Alex and I gather up the extra supplies—bowls, spoons, measuring utensils. We both reach for the same whisk at the same time, our fingers brushing. For a brief moment, I don’t pull away. I let the warmth linger between us, just long enough to make my heart beat a little faster, then gently withdraw. I can’t encourage this. Whatever this is between Alex and me, it’s only going to end in her getting hurt.
And that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.
