Page 36 of Whisked Away
“Shush you.” Dad swats my arm gently, then waves at friends who pass by before continuing. “Well, turns out our little artist here decided to mix his colors directly on the kitchen counter. By the time I got there, that white Formica was a Jackson Pollock painting of food coloring. No amount of scrubbing could get it out.”
I drag a hand back through my hair. “We had a tie-dye kitchen counter for years after that.”
“Sure did. Your mother called it her ‘abstract art installation.’ Said it brightened up the entire kitchen. We only replaced it when we remodeled, and I swear she was sad to see it go.”
“Yeah, I think I was too.”
Alex is looking at both of us with a divot pressed between her brows. I have the urge to reach for her hand, but that’s the last thing I need to do in front of Dad. I’d never hear the end of it. He still thinks Sarah was too immature for me, as if I wasn’t the problem in that situation. He still thinks I have a right to meet someone and fall in love. He’s wrong, but it’s nice to know he’s always stood in my corner, no matter how badly I’ve screwed things up.
“It sounds like you two make quite the team,” Alex says.
Dad throws his arm around me. “Always have, always will. Even when this one insisted on living on an island in the middle of nowhere, I said, ‘Ethan, you can’t get rid of me that easily.’”
My muscles tense. Dad’s just teasing, and Alex probably thinks nothing of it. But he’s dancing precariously close to truths she can’t know about.
“Dad,” I say, hoping the word doesn’t sound too terse.
He throws his hand in surrender. “I know, I know.” He gives me a wink, and I fight a sigh of exasperation before he runs off, telling one story after another. About my first attempt at sourdough (“I swear, that starter was alive and plotting world domination”) and about the time I entered a pie-eating competition at the county fair (“He won, but I don’t think he could look at a cherry for months.”)
All throughout, Alex laughs, asks questions, and keeps shooting me small, meaningful glances that leave me wishing I could read her mind. And wishing for things that can’t happen.
“All right,” Dad finally calls. “I’ve held you two up for long enough. Grammie Rae expects you to stop for some honey candy, though.”
Alex and Dad say goodbye, then he lifts his eyebrows at me. I can already hear the words he’d say if she wasn’t around: Smart and pretty? You’ve done worse, son. I roll my eyes but clap him on the shoulder before leading Alex through the crowd of residents and tourists.
“Honey candy?” Alex asks.
“It’s a Magnolia Cove specialty if you want to try it.”
Grammie Rae has shoved her curly silver hair beneath a ball cap, and she stirs her massive copper pot. When we walk up, she claps her hands. “I’d hoped you’d stop by.”
“So, I hear. We’ll take two, Grammie Rae, and this is Alexandra Sinclair.”
“Nice to meet you. Everyone around here calls me Grammie.” She scoops the warm honey taffy out of the pot and into a cone, handing one to Alex. “You can call me that too.”
Before she releases the treat, her fingers light with energy. A spark of magic glistens along the golden, sticky candy. Alex gasps and nearly drops the cone. I’ve stopped breathing altogether. Revealing our magic to non-magic wielders is the number one rule we must never break. It’s the rule I brokethat got me placed on parole here. If Dean Markham was around… But Grammie Rae shoots me a wink, like she isn’t worried in the least about Dean Markham, and hands me my paper cone. I pay her and thank her, but the words come out choked.
Alex continues to stare at the candy, and my voice is gruff when I speak. “It’s best warm.”
She’s staring at the cone like it’s about to come alive. She saw something. A journalist from New York City just saw something. I should report it. I should find Dean right this minute. Alex lifts the paper cup and takes the first bite of the honey candy. Her eyes go wide.
Even without tasting mine yet, I know the flavor she’s experiencing. The impossibly smooth, warm honey and the burst of sweetness. I’ve experimented but never came close to whatever Grammie Rae does to achieve the consistency.
“Oh my god,” she moans, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “This is incredible.”
I grin. Maybe she didn’t notice the magic. Maybe it’s fine. She lifts her face, her eyes amber in the sunlight, matching the candy shimmering in her paper cone and another glistening spot by her lip.
“Oh, wait, you’ve got a bit…” I reach out with my thumb and swipe the candy away. The minute my finger scrapes her flesh, a jolt rushes through me, and we both freeze.
“There,” I whisper and force myself to pull my hand away. “All clean.”
Alex doesn’t acknowledge my words. I’m not even sure she’s breathing. Her expression reminds me of how she looked on the porch—rain-drenched, her hair darkened, her eyes wide and unblinking. I’m going to kiss her in front of everyone, and I don’t even care.
“Alex!” Rachel walks up, Mia at her side.
Alex jumps, then turns and walks toward them, immediatelystarting a conversation. I should go with her, but I turn back to Grammie Rae. “You used magic,” I whisper.
She stirs the pot, and her dark eyes twinkle. “Mhmm, been known to do that now and then.”
