Page 47 of Whisked Away
We freeze. The voice carries with it such delighted mischief that I don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. Alex’s hand tightens in mine as Zoe practically bounces into view, her purple hair wild in its morning bun, grinning like she’s just discovered the secret ingredient to my banana bread recipe.
“Aren’t you supposed to be opening the Whisk?” I try to keep my voice casual, but it comes out more like a plea.
“Aren’t you supposed to be maintaining professional boundaries with our resident food critic?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me before shifting her grin to Alex, mischief written all over her face. “Those overalls are looking a bit more wrinkled than they did at the Bonanza, City Girl. Late night?”
Alex bursts out laughing, but my face burns. “Zoe?—”
“Don’t worry, Boss.” She mimes zipping her lips, but her eyes dance with unholy glee. “Though work on your sneaking skills. Even Mrs. Delehay’s Pomeranian is stealthier than you two.” She cocks an eyebrow. “I thought city girls had mastered the art of the stealthy exit.”
I think I actually feel the color drain from my face. But Alex just shrugs. “Can’t say I have much experience with sneaking out. But I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
The implication of Alex’s words hits me like a physical force. She doesn’t do this—doesn’t spend nights with men she barely knows, doesn’t sneak out of their homes in wrinkled clothes. The gravity of that settles in my chest, warm and terrifying all at once. Because this isn’t casual for her either. Last night wasn’t just about desire or convenience. But if she’s all in, even unknowingly, then I’m putting her at risk.
And that makes everything more complicated. More dangerous. More precious.
Zoe must read something in my expression because her teasing smile softens into something gentler. “Well, your secret’s safe with me, Sugar.” She backs away, but can’t quite resist adding, “Though Mia’s going to groan when I tell her I was right.”
“Right about what?” Alex asks.
“Nothing!” I say quickly, probably too quickly judging by both women’s knowing looks.
“I’ve got to run.” Zoe shoots me another grin—a grin that says tomorrow at work, she will hound me until I either confess every detail or beg for mercy. Probably both. “Some of us actually have to work today. Try not to look too happy when Dean does his morning rounds, Boss.”
She disappears around the corner, leaving us in the pre-dawn quiet. Alex’s hand is still warm in mine, and when I look down at her, the soft light catching in her eyes steals my breath. The sun is just beginning to paint the horizon in watercolor pinks and golds, and she looks... right. Like she belongs here, walking these familiar streets with me, as if we’ve done this a hundred mornings before.
“Come on,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “Let’s get you back.”
But as we walk, our footsteps falling into a peaceful rhythm, I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a mistake. If I’m already in too deep. The Council’s rules exist for a reason—I know that better than most. One slip of control, one moment of weakness, and I could destroy everything. Not just the town’s secrets, but Alex’s trust. Her safety. Her smile when she looks at me like I’m something precious instead of something to fear.
And yet.
And yet, when her fingers tighten around mine, whenshe leans into me as a cool morning breeze sweeps in from the ocean, I can’t bring myself to pull away. Maybe that makes me selfish. Maybe it makes me dangerous.
Or maybe it makes me human. The most human I’ve felt since the Council bound my magic and banished me here.
Dean would say I’m falling into old patterns, taking risks I can’t afford. But as Alex’s thumb traces absent patterns against my palm, as the seabirds wheel overhead and the town slowly stirs to life around us, I realize something that terrifies me more than any Council decree:
I don’t care.
I don’t care about the rules or the risks or the consequences. Because for the first time since I arrived in Magnolia Cove, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Walking these quiet streets with a woman who makes me forget about the darkness beneath my skin. Who makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, I deserve a chance at something real.
Even if that chance might cost me everything.
Alex
Papers are scattered everywhere on my desk. Golden sunlight streams past the floral-embroidered curtains in my B&B room. I’m trying to focus on my articles that are due and not think about the message from Vivian, who wants us to have a call. I’m sure my editor is going to rail into me about extending my stay so long despite not yet missing a deadline. According to her message, I had skipped a crucial meeting.
I cringe, but the feeling flits away. Because my mind is stuck on Ethan Hart.
Ethan patiently working with Jas on a new project.
Ethan running around the farm, his t-shirt showing every muscle.
Ethan bare and wrapped around me as the ocean roared in the distance, asking me to stay just a little longer.
Missy’s voice over the phone’s speaker pulls me out of my reverie. Her sing-song tone echoes around the room. “In Music History this week, we’re discussing the evolution of the cello’s role in orchestras. I can’t believe it was once considered a bit player.”
I chuckle—I know what it feels like to realize somethingyou love was once undervalued. Sourdough bread was once the food of peasants while the upper class dined on refined white loaves. Now the tables have turned, and epicureans consider the hearty, flavorful sourdough haute cuisine. I’m wanting to ask Missy if she’s fed our starter, but I suspect I already know the disappointing answer to that. “And how’s practice going for the recital?”
