Page 55 of Whisked Away
Magic. The word sticks in my throat, bitter and mocking.
My article on the Whisk is overdue, and I don’t know how I’m going to write it. Part of me—the part that’s all jagged edges and hurt—wants to tear Ethan’s bakery apart. Because despite everything he said, I know he loves that place. You can’t fake the way his eyes light up when he talks about a new recipe, the gentleness in his hands as he kneads dough, his patience with Jas.
Then there’s another part. The part that wants to write something so bland, so utterly forgettable, that Vivian will relegate it to the back pages of the magazine. She’ll be furious. There goes my promotion. There goes everything I’ve worked for, all because of some man who would rather lie to me than trust me.
Because everything Ethan said to me on the cliff was a lie.
A knock at the door startles me from my spiral. I glimpse myself in the mirror—puffy eyes, tangled hair, yesterday’s clothes rumpled from a sleepless night—and I consider not answering. Another knock sounds, and with a sigh, I rise and open the door a crack.
Zoe stands on the other side, her dyed hair braided into a pompadour. She shoves her hands into a maroon leather jacket. “Hey, City Girl, mind if I come in?”
I step aside wordlessly, letting her enter.
She slings her backpack onto the overstuffed chair in the corner, then walks around the room, closes all the blinds, and pulls the curtains tight. I cross my arms as she peeks through the last set of blinds before closing that window and leaving the entire room in the dim glow of a single lamplight.
“I have something to show you.” She walks over to her bag. “Can’t get caught, though. Would hate to end up onrestriction. Mia wants to see the Grand Canyon next year, you know what I mean?”
I drop into the boudoir chair. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean, and you must know that.”
She grins at me, then meets my eyes, her expression dropping into a frown. From the backpack, she pulls a bakery box from the Whisk. She grabs a chair, swings it around backward, straddles it, and then opens the box between us.
The air fills with the scents of the bakery, of Ethan. Spicy, rich cinnamon and boldly sweet vanilla. Zoe pulls a red velvet cookie out and offers it to me. “Taste this.”
I don’t know what she’s trying to tell me, but I’ve had no ice cream to nurse my broken heart with, and a cookie will do just fine. The bite I take isn’t a food-editor-saving-her-palette-sized bite, but a third of the cookie. It’s soft and cakey, the sweetness perfectly balanced with a subtle depth and hints of rich cocoa. Ribbons of luscious cream cheese burst across my tongue with the first bite. I take a shaky breath after swallowing and swipe a tear away. “It’s delicious. It tastes like one of Ethan’s recipes.”
Zoe gives a sharp nod, then looks over her shoulder, as if locking the room down wasn’t enough. When she turns back, she raises her hand over the cookie. A shimmer appears beneath her fingers, pale gold and undulating.
My hands tremble, and I fumble to keep from dropping the cookie. “What did you just do?”
“You know what I did.” She’s as serious as a delayed flight in a country closing its borders. “Taste it now.”
I lift the cookie and smell it. It looks the same—a perfect treat from Ethan Hart’s kitchen. I bring it to my lips and pause for a second before taking another more modest bite.
The flavor remains—it’s still luscious and pillowy with perfect crisp edges and a dynamic, balanced flavor. But it’s also changed. My shoulders relax, my breath comes easier. Ittastes like kicking heels off after a long day. Like snuggling down into your favorite blanket and putting on a comfort show.
I gasp and look up at Zoe again. “How?”
She grips the chair’s back so tightly her knuckles turn white and rocks it slightly off its feet. “Seriously? That’s the question? Here Ethan and I have been running around like caffeine-addicted squirrels in a coffee bean factory trying to hide this from you, and now that it’s handed to you on a silver platter, you don’t know the answer?”
The remainder of the cookie shakes in my grip. I release two heaving breaths before I find the word. “Magic.”
I look at Zoe, squinting as though I can see the magic. She’s the same colorful, purple-haired woman I met earlier in the summer, though. No glittery light or moonbeams or whatever should be there.
“So that’s the big secret Magnolia Cove is hiding?”
Zoe nods, her usual mischievous smile replaced by something more solemn. “We’ve protected our world for a long time. Not telling non-magical humans is kind of our number-one rule.”
“Then why are you choosing to tell me?”
Her eyes meet mine, steady and sure. “Because I trust you. And I can’t have you leaving here with a head full of lies.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Trust. The very thing Ethan couldn’t give me.
“And Ethan can do magic too?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
Zoe grins, a spark of her usual self returning. The lights in the room brighten, and the sweet, vanilla smell of golden cookies fills the air. It’s like now that I’ve seen a bit of magic, she thinks I’m ready to watch dishes come to life and start singing and dancing as they prepare me dinner. I’m not. I’m barely able to breathe, and I haven’t lowered the hand holdingthe cookie. It’s just frozen there, and I’m gripping the treat so hard crumbs dust the floor.
“Ethan can do a lot more than me. He’s a rare one, even for those of us around here. Was born with more magic. Most of us can just polish things up a bit, enhance flavors, that kind of thing.”
