Page 12 of Whisked Away
Her frown is so scathing that heat spills up my neck. My magic trembles within me and I take a deep breath. “Well, unless they provide free advertising, I guess. Tahitian vanilla doesn’t buy itself,” I say lamely. All I want to do is escape to the kitchen and pretend like I won’t replay the conversation in my head until I throw up. I gesture at her laptop. “I’m keeping you from working. Let me know if you need anything else.”
As I turn to go, she calls out, “Actually...”
I look back, hoping my expression doesn’t betray my desperate desire to escape. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. About the bakery, your background, that sort of thing.”
“Of course.” I glance at the counter, wishing a line would magically appear. Instead, Zoe is cleaning the glass case and shoots me a not-even-trying-to-be-discreet thumbs-up. I pull out a chair and sit across from Alex. “Glad to share anything you want to know.”
It’s a lie, of course. There’s so much I can’t tell her, so many secrets I have to keep. About Magnolia Cove, the Whisk, and myself.
“So, Mr. Hart,” Alex says, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Tell me about the ‘magic’ behind The Whimsical Whisk.”
I freeze for a split second, my mind racing. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Before I can formulate a response, Zoe appears at the table, coffee pot in hand. “Refill?” she asks brightly, even though Alex’s cup is still mostly full.
Alex looks up, startled. “Oh, that’s okay, I’m?—”
“Great!” Zoe says, topping off her cup anyway. “I gotta say, you’re younger than I expected. And prettier.”
A faint blush creeps up Alex’s neck. “I… thank you?”
“Don’t mention it,” Zoe says with a wink. “So, what do you think of our little town so far? Bet it’s a far cry from the big city, huh?”
Alex’s professional demeanor slips for a moment, revealing a flash of something—something brittle. “It’s... quaint,” she says finally.
Zoe laughs. “That’s a polite way of saying ‘painfully adorable,’ right? Don’t worry, it grows on you. Like a fungus.”
To my surprise, Alex actually cracks another smile at that.Maybe I should stop attempting to interact with her and let Zoe take over.
“I’m only here for a couple of weeks,” she answers. “Not much time for fungal growth.”
“A couple of weeks?” Zoe echoes, shooting me a meaningful look. “You’ll miss the best part of Magnolia Cove’s summers if you leave then.”
I clear my throat. “Well, I’m sure Ms. Sinclair has other assignments to get to?—”
“Alex,” she corrects. And there’s that look again—I’d almost call it vulnerable if I didn’t know better. It makes me want to ask her questions, discover if she has secrets of her own.
“Right, Alex,” I say, the name feeling strangely intimate. “We’re just grateful that you came across the Whisk and decided to visit.”
Zoe gives a wink and sashays back towards the cash register as a cluster of people walk in, bedecked in beach cover-ups and streaks of sunscreen. She’s busy convincing them of the merits of cake on hot days in a way that only Zoe could pull off.
Alex flicks her eyes back to me. “Now, about the magic that the internet can’t stop talking about…”
“Right,” I say, frantically trying to come up with a plausible explanation that isn’t an outright lie. “Well, you know what they say—a good baker never reveals all his secrets.”
It’s a weak deflection. Alex frowns slightly, and her fingers curl tighter against her keyboard. But before she can press further, the front door dings again. It’s usually a cheerful sound, part of the Whisk’s charm, but Dean Markham strides in and his dark eyes scan the room until they land on our table.
My stomach drops.
“I’m sorry,” I say, standing up. “I need to take care of something. Zoe can answer any other questions you have.”
Alex looks like she might stand as well. She readjusts andtakes a delicate pinch of the cinnamon roll. And because of our glaring visitor, I don’t even get the chance to see her reaction as she takes a bite.
As I hurry toward Dean, Zoe strides over to Alex and launches into one of her signature stories—this time, about the time she accidentally set off the bakery’s fire alarm. Not with fire, but with a disastrously smoky batch of burnt caramel. “Ethan told me to watch it closely, so I did,” she says, deadpan. “For a full five minutes after it had already turned black.”
I half-listen, a smirk tugging at my lips. Zoe has this uncanny ability to turn her worst moments into her best stories. It should keep Alex entertained for a few minutes.
