Page 31 of Whisked Away
Because, if I’m honest, the story isn’t going anywhere. Not really. I’ve spent a week up to my elbows in flour and small-town charm, and every time I sit down to write, my brain comes up blank. What am I supposed to say? That the bakery is too warm, too good, too much like a place I want to belong? That the town I was meant to expose has somehow gotten under my skin?
I could get used to this. It’s only a dream, though—unattainable. And Ethan, even more so. Despite me falling asleep every night with his dimpled smile floating through mymind and the warm rumble of his voice sending a shiver down my spine. After the first day, I started arriving with Zoe, preventing us from ending up alone together. Because I apparently can’t handle ‘alone’ with Ethan Hart.
Every conversation we share has me drawing closer to him. Just yesterday, he told me—his grin full of mischief—about the time he tried to impress a date with homemade macarons and ended up with what he called 'colorful hockey pucks.' To this day, he still refuses to make them, claiming they're more trouble than they're worth. Naturally, this led to a passionate debate, with me insisting that a well-made macaron is a masterpiece and him staunchly arguing that flavor should always come first—that no baked good should get by on looks alone. Another day, he paced the kitchen at four o’clock in the morning passionately decrying the use of margarine in baked goods. Zoe only chuckled and started another batch of dough.
“Girl, you sound like you’re in love already,” Tish had said to me last night, her voice echoing through the bed & breakfast’s crackling phone line.
“In love? I barely know him!”
“I mean with the bakery, Alex.” A pause filled with static, and my breath caught, keeping me from forming words. Tish laughed. “Into the baker too, huh?”
I didn’t know how to respond. How could I explain that Magnolia Cove had wormed its way into my heart, that every day with Ethan made it feel more like home? That his laughter, his quiet dedication, even his passionate diatribes on ingredients (he’s given several) have become something I look forward to? How can I explain I feel like I’ve found the life I was supposed to be living all along?
I wonder if the blue of his eyes will ever fade from my memory or if I’ll be eighty, lying down at night and seeing his gaze in my dreams. Of course, he’s still keeping secrets from me. But I am with him as well. His secrets are probablysomething harmless and endearing—like the fact that he stole his cinnamon roll recipe from some French pastry chef. Nothing like the truth I’m holding back.
‘Would you like to go to dinner?’—a question I’ve considered asking all week—doesn’t exactly pair well with, ‘By the way, I’m actually here to ruin your reputation with a scathing critique of your bakery, mostly because it’s too heartwarming for people from cold-blooded cities to take seriously.’
That’s why I opt to stay up front, running the cash register today, even though it’s my last opportunity to work side-by-side with Ethan. I’m afraid he’ll see right through me. Perhaps he’s feeling the same because he didn’t argue about the arrangement.
I hand a banana muffin to Mrs. Delehay, who has her Pomeranian tucked under her arm. She leans in and whispers, “Do you have any suggestions for a complicated dessert to order from our baker?” Her eyes peer over the sunglasses she hasn’t removed. “Don’t go telling him I asked you, though.”
I can’t help my smile. The small-town antics that felt borderline cringey when I first walked off the ferry have grown on me. I tap my finger to my chin, then say, “Ask him to make you a croquembouche.”
She mouths the word, then pulls out a notepad and asks me to write it down. I do so, then wave as she leaves. That’s a dessert that will awe and impress her but will be simple enough for someone with Ethan’s skills to pull together. He’ll probably enjoy the change of pace, actually.
The bell dings again, and I smile widely at who’s walked in. It’s Rachel, the woman I met atThe Hungry Gullbefore I realized I should stick with their pies and avoid the coffee.
“Hello,” I say.
“Well, hey again.” She grins. “I heard you’d taken on a job at the Whisk.”
“Oh, I’m just observing for the week. Today’s my last day,actually.” My voice definitely doesn’t drop at the last bit. Or get wobbly. At all.
“Oh, too bad. I was going to ask if you’d want to join our book club next week. After all, you already know two of the members now.”
“Do I?” Okay, my voice is definitely sad and shaky. Because of course, I want to join Rachel’s book club. Of course, I want to move to Magnolia Cove and spend my days elbow-deep in bread dough and slowly write food stories while overlooking the wild stretch of beach—and maybe fall in love with a certain baker.
“Hey, Zoe,” Rachel calls out.
Zoe emerges from the back with her signature grin in place. “Tired of eating ice cream all the time and wanted to try some real desserts?” Then to me, “Her husband owns the fancy ice cream place in town. You should try it out before you leave, City Girl.”
“Hey!” Rachel props her hands on her hips. “Grant makes all his ice cream recipes from scratch. He just launched a new flavor this week.”
“Salted caramel brownie.” Zoe nudges me and whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear, “He stole the idea from Ethan.”
“Who stole what from me?” Ethan asks as he walks up beside us, swiping his hands on a towel. My body warms at the nearness of his presence, the hum of his voice. It’s like there’s some magic in him, and every time we’re together, it curls into my bones.
“Ethan, inform your co-worker that Grant did not steal his new flavor from you,” Rachel says.
Ethan shrugs. “Hey, as long as he buys the brownies from me, I’m fine with him claiming the credit.”
Zoe slugs Ethan in the arm. “He’s too nice. That’s basically him admitting it was his idea.”
“Pfft.” Rachel points at cookies in the display case, and Zoe bags them up for her. “See you at book club next week?”
“Nope. I told you, it’s sci-fi or bust for me.”
“Oh, come on, Zoe!”
