Page 14 of Whisked Away
Probably with a real institution, not ‘I baked galettes with a few French grandmothers, and that’s the magic behind the bakery featured on Foodie Frenzy.’ God, this has to be the least impressive assignment she’s ever had. I regret—not for the first time—coming out of the kitchen for the day.
“Where at?”
“Schola Cantorum. She’s a cellist. Talented too.”
She brightens when discussing her sister, but my stomach twists. Of course, her sister is going to some prestigious-sounding institute. I didn’t know where Alex studied, but she likely had an impressive background. Where I saw Magnolia Cove as laid-back and charming, she likely saw an unremarkable coastal tourist town. And the baker she was sent to write about? Someone who thought baking frequently made him an actual professional.
“That’s amazing,” I say, because it is. “I hope she enjoys her time there.”
I had. Paris was magic—but dark magic. Purse cutters waiting in shadowy corners were as common as the scent of freshly baked baguettes wafting over the Seine. It had an edge to it that Magnolia Cove lacked. The kind of edge someone like Alexandra Sinclair probably appreciated.
The only thing we have to set us apart is magic.
But she can’t find out aboutthat.
As Alex gathers her things to leave, promising to return tomorrow for more ‘research,’ I catch Zoe’s eye across the room. She gives me a thumbs up and a wink, clearly thinking I’ve charmed our visitor. If only she knew the turmoil churning inside me.
Alex walks out the door on heels, her styled hair bouncing against her shoulders, the bell chiming cheerfully behind her. I’m considering removing the thing. Alex writes beautiful, sharp pieces filled with unique angles and a story that sucks you in.
She won’t find that in Magnolia Cove—not if I throw her off like I must. She’ll end up seeing us—me—as unappetizing as the nearly full plate of sweets remaining at her table.
Alex
The next morning, I stroll down Main Street, notepad in hand and camera slung around my neck, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s... different here. I’ve been in towns like Magnolia Cove before. Or at least, I thought I had.
Tish had texted me earlier.How’s paradise and the hot baker?
A bit too picture-perfect, I’d texted back while I had limited service at my bed & breakfast.
She’d sent a rolling-eye emoji but followed with,Try to have fun for once!
I pass by a quaint flower shop, Petal Pushers, where a petite woman with a crown of ivory braids arranges a bouquet in the window. She looks up, catching my eye for a moment before quickly averting her gaze. Odd. I don’t know how Tish expects me to enjoy my stay in this strange little town. She’d love it, though. It’s a shame she couldn’t join me.
My first real stop isA Novel Idea, the bookstore I noticed yesterday. As soon as I open the door, I’m enveloped in the comforting smell of old paper and leather. An orange tabby cat stretches, hops out of the window, then rubs against myleg. I bend down and run my fingers through its soft fur. “Well, hello, you.”
Missy wanted a pet. I’d held firm on my decision against one. We couldn’t afford another dependent, and it would end up alone too often.
“Welcome toA Novel Idea,” a deep voice calls out. “Let me know if you need any help finding your next literary adventure.”
The man who turns toward me could have stepped right out of a romance novel cover. Tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s perched on a rolling ladder, shelving books with the reverence usually reserved for holy relics. First Ethan, now this guy—was there some kind of ‘ridiculously good-looking business owner’ requirement in Magnolia Cove?
“Thanks,” I say, approaching the counter. “Actually, I’m here more for information than books. I’m Alex Sinclair, fromGastronomy Eatsmagazine. I’m doing a piece on Magnolia Cove and was hoping to chat with some locals.”
The man’s eyebrows shoot up, and he descends the ladder with surprising grace for someone his size. “Well, well,” he says, extending a hand. “Marcus Blackwood, at your service. I’d be happy to chat, though I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with a food article.”
I shake his hand, noting the calluses that speak of a life not just lived behind a counter. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes the best stories come from unexpected places.”
Marcus grins. “In that case, what would you like to know?”
Before I can start my questions, the bell chimes again. A woman enters, her arms laden with a tray of muffins.
“Special delivery for my favorite boss,” she announces softly.
Marcus’expression turns soft. “Mia! Perfect timing. Come meet our town’s latest visitor.”
Mia sets the box on the counter, her caramel braid sliding over her cardigan. I don’t know how she’s wearing a sweater in the summer, but she doesn’t seem to have even broken a sweat.
“Oh, you must be Alex,” she says. “Zoe mentioned you when I dropped by the Whisk.”
