Page 19 of Whisked Away
She’s quiet for a moment. Outside, the sky has woken, pink blooming its way over the trees. When she speaks again, her voice has lost its brightness. “I’ve grown tired of writing about pretentious restaurants where the portion sizes are too small, but no one will declare that the Emperor has no clothes. I’ve spent the last few years trying to find food and stories with heart. Something real.”
“And then an embarrassingly corny article inFoodie Frenzybrought you here?”
My words come out a bit too forced. She’s looking for something real, and she probably assumed we were the definition of fake. Heat creeps up my neck, shame and regret washing over me as I think about that garish article. What must she think of us? Of me? I want to explain, to tell her that that’s not who we are, that I got caught up in the potential benefits and didn’t see the cost. But the words stick in mythroat. I want her to see that The Whimsical Whisk is more than rainbow-colored gimmicks and flashy headlines. That there’s real passion here. Real magic. And not just the kind that comes from our abilities. WithFoodie Frenzy’s article as her first impression, I’m not sure I’ll achieve that.
She taps the computer, and the light glows, making her skin pale and ethereal. “A fair point. I don’t know, Ethan.” The way my name sounds in her mouth is the same feeling I had the first time I mastered flaky layers in a croissant. “Sometimes people end up surprising you.”
Hope bubbles in me like batter rising. That should capture my full attention. Instead, I’m fixed on the graceful way Alex lifts a fork, the gleam of her hair, the purse of her lips. She’s certainly surprised me.
“Tell me more about your childhood with baking?”
I dash a quick glance to Zoe to make sure she doesn’t need help. She makes a shooing motion, but her smirk says we are definitely going to discuss this later. Tucking that away for now, I return to Alex and let stories I haven’t thought about in years unfurl from me. My initial disastrous attempt at croissants, the time I accidentally put my grandmother’s favorite embroidered hand towel in the garbage disposal, the first contest I entered but didn’t realize all the cookie bottoms were burnt until the judges spat them out.
Alex laughs, and the expression transforms her, brightening her face and easing her posture. I ask her questions, and she shares her own tales—of weird food trends she’s had to review, of different people trying to make it in big cities with nothing but a few family recipes and a dream, and of misadventures with her sister.
Time slips away, and it’s not until Zoe clears her throat loudly that I realize the morning crowd has arrived without me noticing.
“Duty calls,” I say.
Alex types away at her computer but stops to meet my gaze. “You must go when called upon, Chief.”
I laugh as I rise from the chair and say hello to a few locals. Mrs. Delehay tuts about the weather as she passes, clutching a piece of brioche against her heart.
“Ethan?” I turn back to Alex. She’s golden and glowing, and she’s eaten her entire tart. She lifts the empty plate. “Thanks for a bit of hope.”
I only nod, but I want to tell her thank you for the same.
Maybe everything will turn out fine.
Alex
Magnolia Cove is driving me crazy.
Tish responds instantly.Crazy good or crazy bad? Spill the tea! Is it the gorgeous baker you keep avoiding my questions about or the mysterious small-town thing? Or both! I need details!
I stare at the message for what feels like an hour before typing out,I’ll have to call you soon! About to leave and have no service.
Ughhhhh, is her dramatic but well-deserved response.
I don’t know why I feel defensive of Magnolia Cove. My first night here, I called and complained about everything—grumbling into the B&B’s old landline, since my cell service was useless—the overly quaint inn with its floral wallpaper and creaky floors, the way everyone seemed to know I was coming before I even arrived.
Now, just a few days later, I find myself wanting to protect this quirky little town and its inhabitants. Especially Ethan. The thought of trying to explain my change of heart about him through text feels impossible.
You’d think I was losing my mind, but I’ll call you soon.
Honey, you’ve been losing your mind for years,is her response, followed by a kissing face emoji.
I tuck my cellphone into my bag, even knowing it won’t work, as I head out into town. I’ve been here for four days, and I swear this place is gaslighting me. Everything is just a little too perfect, a little too quaint. And don’t even get me started on the food.
On that note, I head over toThe Hungry Gull.
Waiting in line ahead of me, a couple holds hands, and the woman has a book tucked under her arm—the same one I read last month. When she turns and offers a smile, I can’t help but comment.
“The Whispered Secret?I just finished that one.” I gesture to the book.
She flips the cover around. “Oh, you’ve read it too? I’m Rachel, by the way, and this is Grant.”
“Alex.”
