Page 23 of Whisked Away
“Oh.” The disappointment in her voice is like a punch to the gut. “I understand. I just thought...”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I say quickly, hating the way her face falls. “It’s just... complicated. I’ll need to think through the logistics.”
She nods, but I can see the questions forming behind her eyes. Questions I can’t answer without putting everything at risk.
“Maybe we can revisit the idea tomorrow?” I offer, grasping at straws.
Alex’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure, of course. Thanks anyway, Ethan.”
As she gathers her things to leave, I feel like I’m watching something precious slip through my fingers.
But what choice do I have?
The bakery feels emptier than usual after she’s gone. I go through the motions of closing up, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Zoe finds me like this, staring blankly at the day’s receipts.
“Earth to Ethan,” she says, waving a hand in front of my face. “You planning on sleeping here or what?”
I blink, coming back to myself. “Sorry, just... lost in thought.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Uh-huh. And would those thoughts happen to involve a certain food writer? The one you can’t seem to keep your focus off even when you’re elbow-deep in bread dough? I swear, Sugar, you’re gonna end up with a face full of flour if you keep swiveling your head every time she walks by.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Am I that obvious?”
It’s more than just Alex’s polished beauty that draws me in—it’s the way she brightens when she talks about restaurants she’s visited, the chefs she’s interviewed, the cities she’s explored. Every story is like a window into a world I can’t access, not while I’m bound to Magnolia Cove and Dean Markham’s watchful eye. She speaks of pop-up stalls in Chelsea serving hand-pulled noodles with the same excitement she uses to describe the fresh-picked flowers placed daily on wobbly tables in a hidden café in Prague.
Alex represents everything I can’t have: a life lived beyond these shores and a love that doesn’t require hiding who—and what—I really am.
“Of all your skills, lying isn’t one of them. You’re about as subtle as one of your triple chocolate cakes. It’s part of yourcharm.” Zoe pats my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. Looks like you could use some fresh air.”
The evening is crisp and salty as we step outside. The streetlights cast a warm glow over the cobblestone, making Main Street gleam. In the distance, waves lap against the shore, the sound echoing down to us. A few lingering tourists stroll along the sidewalks, their laughter carrying on the breeze.
As we walk, I tell Zoe about Alex’s request, about my panic, about the weight of responsibility I feel.
“Am I crazy for regretting not accepting her proposition immediately? I mean, this could be our big break.” We turn onto the beach path, and a seagull scuttles off before flying into the darkening sky. “After what happened last time...”
“Last time was different,” Zoe says firmly. An unusual darkness enters her eyes. She was one of the first people to befriend me in the Cove when I’d arrived—heartbroken, angry. Afraid I’d lost everything I’d ever worked for. She was the one who made me believe in starting the Whisk. “You’ve learned and grown. And Alex isn’t Sarah.”
I stuff my hands into my pockets. Sarah, the human girl I fell for years ago. The one who discovered my secret, who reacted with terror, who almost exposed our whole community. The memory of her wide, frightened eyes and the sound of her screams still haunt me—a stark reminder of why I need to be so careful. Why I can’t let myself get too close to anyone else.
We reach the hill’s crest, and the full beauty of the island spreads out before us. The moon is rising, a perfect silver disc reflected in the calm waters of the bay. To our right, hidden from human eyes, is the shimmer of the barrier that protects our magical sanctuary.
“It’s nights like these that remind me how precious this place is,” I say softly. “How much we have to lose if I screw up again.”
Zoe stops walking, turning to face me. “Hey, Boss, whatever catastrophe you’re cooking up in that flour-filled brain of yours? It’s not as bad as you think.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’m risking everything our people have built here. Again. All because I... because I...”
“Because you like her,” Zoe finishes for me. “News flash, Ethan: liking someone isn’t a crime.”
“It is when you’re someone like me,” I mutter. “Even in our world, I’m... different. Dangerous. And she’s a human journalist who could expose everything. Maybe Dane has a point.”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Oh please. You’re not the big bad wolf—you’re a teddy bear with imposter syndrome who happens to make the best damn pastries this side of the Pacific Ocean.” She smirks before continuing, “And if you’re actually considering Dean’s opinion, I’m worried you’ve been huffing too much of that special vanilla extract you ordered.”
Despite myself, a smile tugs at my lips. “That vanilla is too expensive to use for anything we don’t make a profit on. Besides, you’re biased.”
“Damn straight I am,” she says, grinning. “Look, I get why you’re scared. But you can’t live your whole life in fear of what might happen.”
