Page 24 of Whisked Away
We start walking again, the waves growing louder as our feet meet the shore. We’re both lucky to live in resident cottages overlooking the sea. The sickeningly sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine somehow feels right, tangling with the ocean breeze.
“I just... I have responsibilities,” I say. “To Jasper, to the town, to our people. I can’t risk all that for... what? A fleeting feeling?”
Zoe snorts. “A fleeting feeling? Please. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Ethan. It’s more than that, and you know it.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “And before you go all noble sacrifice on me, consider this: maybe letting her in, even just a little, is exactly what you both need.”
She shrugs. “I mean, okay, so maybe you can’t tell her everything. But you can let her apprentice. Show her the non-magical side of baking. Who knows? Maybe it’ll satisfy her curiosity enough that she stops digging. And maybe she’ll write an honest piece about how damn amazing your creations are. You might use magic to infuse good feelings into them, but the technique is all you, Boss.”
We round the bend, where the cottage lights glow warmly in the distance. “You really think that could work?”
“I think it’s worth a shot. I can distract her. You have no idea just how much chaos I can cook up in a pinch.” Zoe bumps her shoulder against my arm, and I chuckle. “Besides, I believe in love and magic. It’s not just a line we feed the tourists, you know.”
As if on cue, Mia turns the corner, a book tucked under her arm. A grin spreads across Zoe’s face.
“Speaking of that,” she says, quickening her pace. She throws an arm around Mia’s neck and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Hey, babe. Ready to head home?”
Mia clasps the hand slung over her shoulder and smiles.
“Night, Ethan,” Zoe calls as they turn to leave. “Try not to overthink things, okay?”
I wave, watching as they walk away, heads bent close in quiet conversation. Something aches in my chest. I’m never going to have what they do—someone to come home to, someone who knows and accepts all of me, who loves me despite it.
The moon is high now, bathing everything in silver light. I take a deep breath, letting the familiar scents and sounds of the island wash over me. This place is magic, yes, but it’s also become home. Maybe, if I’m careful, it might be thelaunching pad to help make some of my dreams come true—to be more than just a small-town baker, to make a mark on the culinary world.
I think about Alex’s hopeful face when she asked to apprentice, about the way she gestures with her hands as she discusses food. I think about Zoe’s words—about taking risks and believing in possibilities.
Maybe I can’t give Alex everything. Maybe I can’t answer the questions she really wants to ask or return anything more than smiles. But I can give her this—a week in my kitchen, a glimpse into my world. That’s what she loves to write about anyway.
Alex Sinclair isn’t looking for magic—not the kind we’re trying to hide. She’s looking for the passion behind food stories, the people who sacrifice and spend excruciating years perfecting their craft.
That, I can show her.
It wasn’t magic that made me a baker but years of studying. Leaving home and traveling to France. Having my knuckles cracked by the back of wooden spoons and spending every penny I made on T55 flour and fleur de sel so I could practice with my unreliable oven until I perfected a recipe.
As I turn toward home, I feel something settle in my chest. A decision, yes, but also a spark of something that feels dangerously like hope.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell Alex she can apprentice. I’ll keep my powers under wraps, stick to the non-magical side of baking. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll let myself enjoy having her around.
As long as I stick to that, nothing could go wrong. Possibly, she’ll even write an article that might open me up to new opportunities when I’ve finished paying off my time in Magnolia Cove. Maybe I’ll actuallyescape my past.
The thought carries me home, a smile on my face and the taste of possibility sweet on my tongue.
Alex
The Whisk has a lone light gleaming from somewhere in the back, but it otherwise appears as sleepy and closed up as the shops surrounding it. I clutch the handle and hesitate. When it pulls open without resistance, the bell tinkling into the early morning quiet, I startle.
Typical small-town attitude—not worrying about locking up. I’m starting to wonder if Zoe was right about her fungal growth comment, because every day I spend in Magnolia Cove, I want to spend another. Every moment I’m parked behind my computer screen, the salty breeze, people’s laughter, and savory restaurant smells beckon me.
“Hello?” I call into the dark of the Whisk’s dining room. Even in the shadows, there’s something homey about the space. It reminds me of waking up on Christmas morning, clambering down to the living room before the lights are on, but knowing soon all will glow and smell of good things and sound like laughter. “Ethan?”
It surprised me when, after thinking things through, he said I could apprentice for the week. There’s something he’s hiding, but I can’t figure out what it is. His recipes are top-notch, hisconnection with the community seems as golden asFood Frenzymagazine made it sound. Yet his eyes dart away at innocuous questions, and there’s a trace of unease in our interactions that feels out of place.
“Back here!” Ethan pops his head out of the kitchen and smiles. It reminds me of my conversation with Missy the day before.
So, is the baker as cute as he seems on ClipClop?
I’d rolled my eyes and shot back that she was trying to distract me from asking about her finals. But I’d swirled that question around in my mind all night. Now, as he takes a step forward, his T-shirt cuffs tight around his biceps, his sandy curls tumbling across his brow, I realize I was the one deflecting. Because, yes, Ethan Hart is every bit as gorgeous as he appeared in the fifteen-second videos or in the glossy magazine spread.
