Page 32 of Whisked Away
“You guys have known each other for a while?” I ask.
“Basically forever.” Rachel accepts the cookies and pops the bag into her woven tote.
“Band geeks for life.” Zoe throws up her hand, and Rachel high-fives it. They both giggle.
I take Rachel’s payment, but I’ve never felt more alone. Their uninhibited laughter, the shared history in their eyes—it’s like a free sample of an ingredient I can’t afford. I have Tish, but I’m always working, always traveling, always too busy chasing the next byline to build the kind of life that comes with book clubs, inside jokes, and showing up just because.
When Rachel leaves, Zoe flips the sign to close, wishes me goodbye, and best of luck writing up my five-star review of the Whisk. She gives another giant grin, then locks the door on her way out. I should say goodbye to Ethan and follow her out, but I can’t. My feet feel cemented to the tile. There’s nothing left to clean, yet I’m unable to move. Ethan moves past me to wrap up the few remaining baked goods out of the case, then he takes a deep breath and stands. “Stay longer?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I’m still at a loss for words, still stuck. Even without understanding what he’s asking, a part of me wants to say yes.
Ethan turns back to the pastries and begins shoving them into the box like he doesn’t care if he breaks the entire batch. “Jas—the kid I mentor—is coming by in a few minutes to bake something. Would you like to join us?”
I should say no.
I should say I have ten thousand unwritten words due (not a lie), and that I need to pack and maybe get one good night’ssleep before traveling home. But with Ethan Hart looking at me like that—like I’m the only thing in this room worth noticing, like maybe he regrets Zoe interrupting us earlier this week and wishes he’d kissed me anyway—I can’t.
“I’d love to.”
Ethan’s smile is sunshine. He turns back to his task and neatly packs away the remaining baked goods that I’ve learned he’ll drop by the local soup kitchen on his way home.
A boy—maybe nine years old—with a shock of auburn hair and bright green eyes knocks on the door. Ethan walks over and lets him in. The kid ditches his backpack into a booth. It falls, hitting the floor with a thud, but he seems not to notice. “Ethan! I need help!”
Ethan kneels beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. If I could capture an image of him for the magazine—that would be the one. His entire attention given to this child, his eyes relaxed and soft blue, his apron soiled from the day’s work. It’s too intimate of an interaction, though, so I don’t go for my camera.
“Hey, buddy, breathe and tell me what’s going on.”
Jas rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes. “It’s so stupid. It’s just that I really messed up. I bragged to the guys at school that I have the world’s best cupcake recipe, and they signed me up to bring some for show and tell tomorrow.”
Ethan tilts his head to the side, his expression going soft, his lips lifting at the corners. “You make excellent cupcakes, Jas.”
“There’s a difference between excellent and world’s best.”
“Of course I’ll help you. But have you met Ms. Sinclair yet?”
Ethan gestures to me, and Jas flips around. Color drains from his face until only the freckles over his nose keep a hint of warmth. “Oh, Ms. Sinclair. Umm, actually I just rememberedI promised my mom to, umm, take out the trash this afternoon. See you later, Ethan!”
Ethan lifts his hand like he might stop the boy, but Jas snatches his backpack and flies out the door.
There’s a beat of quiet as Ethan slowly rises to his feet. I pull my apron off. “I must have forgotten that I had my snake hair on today.”
Ethan chuckles, but it’s forced and echoes around the space. “Jas is… a bit skittish, that’s all.”
The way he says the words, I know it’s part of the lies he continues weaving. I don’t understand what about, though. And the fear in Jas’s wide eyes? The journalist in me wants to extend my stay. I’ve yet to discover whatever’s bubbling just below Magnolia Cove’s beautiful exterior.
But I can’t linger. I’ve already extended my trip, and it’s time to return to my life—to train whistles blaring at night, stacks of bills piled on countertops, and putting down my writer’s pencil for an editor’s pen.
My return tickets—one for the ferry and one for the plane ride—sit on my dresser at the B&B like bad omens. The weight of these thoughts feels like boulders pressing on my shoulder blades. Outside, the sky has gone dark, clouds rolling across the sunset.
Ethan pulls his apron off too and tosses it into the laundry basket. “Can I walk you back to the B&B?”
“That would be great.”
We exit, and I try to soak it all in—the teal awning I’d found trite not so long ago, the gleaming glass Zoe wages war with a microfiber towel every day to achieve, the cobblestone streets that seem to lead here, directly to the Whisk.
I’ve still not started my expose. I can’t bring myself to tear this place down. It feels like home. Like if I write something that destroys it, that would be the same as ripping apart mine and Missy’s childhood memories. But thinking of my sisterreminds me she needs this raise and the security it would bring. I just have to make it through one more semester—and find a miracle that pays off all my bills—then I can follow my dreams. I won’t achieve any of that if I stay in Magnolia Cove.Gastronomy Eatsprobably wouldn’t keep me on as staff. My mouth dries at the thought.
I’m one of those rare, lucky people who gets paid well for doing something she loves. A few weeks in a Christmas-special town and working alongside the world’s best-looking baker, who apparently actually has a heart of gold, has me ready to throw it all away. Alex from a month ago would be appalled at my thoughts. She’d remind me of the years of hard work, the writing for pennies while in college to gain experience, and turning in twice as many articles as anyone else as an intern. The late nights, takeaway meals, and sacrifices stacked up like stepping stones.
