Page 28 of Whisked Away
“Earth to Ethan!” Zoe’s voice snaps me back to the present. “The cookies?”
I blink down at them. Right. The magic is settled now, infused into the cookies, impossible to distinguish from any other batch. I scoop them onto a cooling rack just as Alex steps fully into the kitchen, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook.
“Smells incredible,” she says, eyes bright. “What’s next?”
I barely get my mouth open before Zoe, flour-dusted and absolutely up to something, claps her hands together. “Ethan’s about to teach you the recipe.”
I pause. “What?”
Alex raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”
Zoe grins. “You know, the recipe. The one every customer begs for. The one that makes people emotional. The one that,if he ever revealed it, would surely get him burned at the stake for crimes against baked goods.” She leans in conspiratorially. “The Whimsical Whisk’s world-famous, to-die-for cinnamon rolls.”
Alex’s lips part slightly. “You’d really show me that one?”
Before I can interject, Zoe gasps. “Only if you swear—cross your heart, hope to die—that you’ll keep the magic a secret.”
The words land heavier than they should. It’s a joke, obviously. She isn’t actually asking Alex to keep real magic secret. But the way my heart kicks up, the way Alex tilts her head just slightly, like she’s weighing something bigger than a simple playful promise—I feel it.
She presses a hand to her chest, eyes locked on mine. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I wish that were true.
I swallow hard, nodding once, and move to grab the flour, needing something—anything—to keep my hands busy. Zoe, of course, senses the shift immediately.
She slaps her palms down on the counter. “And I will be making sure Ethan doesn’t get too in his feelings about it.”
Alex laughs. “Is he one to get sentimental over cinnamon rolls?”
“Sweetheart, of course he is.” Zoe tosses me a wicked grin. “It’s the man’s love language.”
I shake my head, willing my pulse to slow. “Are we baking or talking?”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Both, obviously. Multitasking is what separates us from the animals, Boss.”
Alex ties on an apron. “Well, let’s get to it then. I’m ready for your life-changing secrets.”
“You might find yourself disappointed,” I say.
Because the truth is, I have more than one secret. And Alex is dangerously close to unraveling them all.
I’ve shared this recipe only once before—with Zoe—and that was only because she needed it to help run the bakery. But there’s something about Alex that makes me want to open up, to reveal parts of myself I’ve kept buried deep. Somehow, Zoe knew that before I even realized it. She’s always had this uncanny ability to see through me, to nudge me toward things I’m too damn stubborn to admit I even want.
“The secret,” I say, measuring flour with practiced motions, “is brown butter and a touch of orange zest. The butter adds depth, makes the cinnamon sing, and the zest gives just enough brightness to make people crave another bite without knowing why.”
Alex nods, already jotting notes. “Brown butter for depth, orange zest for brightness—it balances the richness.” Her eyes meet mine. “Smart.”
“That’s our Ethan,” Zoe pipes up from where she’s pretending to organize supplies. “A regular ol’ Einstein—but, you know, with more butter and emotional repression.”
I shoot her a look but continue. “The other key is the proofing time. Everyone rushes it, but?—”
“The flavor develops in the wait,” Alex finishes. Her fingers brush mine as she reaches for the yeast, and warmth spreads up my arm at the contact. “Like a good sourdough.”
“Exactly.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. She understands food the way I do—like it’s a language all its own.
We move in tandem, instinctive, effortless—like we’ve done this for years instead of days. She reaches for the brown sugar at the same time I do, our hands meeting in the soft granules.
Neither of us pulls away.
