Page 35 of Whisked Away
He waggles his eyebrows. “Surprise flavor.”
Alex chuckles and pulls a ten-dollar bill free. “I’d love to purchase one. We could all use some courage now and then.”
Jas accepts the money, tries to make change, which Alex refuses, and then picks the cake with the cleanest frosting. A dusting of gold stars glisten over the surface.
Olivia looks at me from beneath her hat, and my ears burn with the gratitude in her expression. I haven’t really done much. Not enough to deserve this look, this quiet acknowledgment.
But something about Magnolia Cove is making me realize what it means to feel roots for the first time in my life. To want to sink down into the soil and let them spread. To belong. I’vespent so long thinking of this place as a cage, but maybe—just maybe—it’s something else entirely.
Then Alexandra walks into my life, reminding me of why I never have before.
“See you later, Jas.” Alex and I both wave goodbye. He waves back and then turns to another approaching customer.
Alex splits the cupcake, and I accept my half and take a bite. Citrusy orange flavor bursts across my tongue right about the time the honey cream cheese frosting hits, balancing the flavor. An extra spark of energy sizzles through the treat—there’s a bit of magic infused in them too.
If it’s for courage, I might be in trouble. I’m already acting stupidly around Alex without it.
“It’s good,” Alex says. She takes another nibble, then rolls the bite around in her mouth. When she swallows, I shiver.
“The kid’s good.”
“Sounds like he has an excellent mentor.”
I snort. All Jas needed was a little encouragement. He’s a natural and would have excelled with or without me.
A handful of people hustle by, canvas bags filled with vegetables and flowers. Alex finishes the last bite of the Courage Cupcake. “When I read that article about you inFood Frenzy, I thought you were fake.”
“That’s funny, because when I read the first article written by you, I thought it was the realest thing I’d ever experienced.”
Her lips part, and her eyes widen, but before she can respond, we approach the booth I’ve been looking for. “Dad,” I call out. “Meet Ms. Alexandra Sinclair.”
Dad jumps up from behind his vegetable stand, patting his assistant’s shoulder before walking around to us. He’s wearing flannel and jeans paired with a wide-brimmed hat. It took Robert Hart exactly fifteen minutes to adjust to the Magnolia Cove lifestyle, and he’s loved it every second since.
“Please, call me Robert.” He thrusts out a work-wornhand to Alex, who accepts it warmly. “Any friend of Ethan’s is a friend of mine. Though”—he squints at me—“he failed to mention how beautiful you are.”
I groan. “Dad,” I drag the word out, but I’m smiling. For one thing, his comment has brought another round of color flushing Alex’s cheeks, and damn, is she beautiful when that happens.
Dad lifts one silver-streaked eyebrow. “You know, if you need information for your magazine article, I’m the person to speak with.”
“Is that right?” Alex asks.
“Mhmm. Ethan wasn’t always the baking prodigy he is today.”
Okay, this was officially a mistake. “I brought her to say hello as requested. The least you could do is try to behave yourself.”
Alex’s breath catches, and she tilts her face in my direction. I find that I can’t meet her gaze and instead focus on the dozens of different tomatoes stacked across the stand—some violet and the size of softballs, others petite and fire-red. Does she think me introducing her to my dad means more? Would she want that? I shouldn’t want that, so I don’t know why I’m entertaining the thought.
Dad leans against the stand’s corner and crosses his ankles. “Has he told you about the Great Birthday Cake Disaster of ‘98?”
Heat rushes up my neck. This is my opportunity to have my baking featured in a world-renowned magazine, and it’s going to end up with ridiculous anecdotes because I foolishly agreed to let my father meet Alex.
“Dad, no?—”
“I’m certainly curious,” Alex says. She peers up at me from beneath her long lashes, her eyes sparkling, and I can’t help but smile back. “Go on, Mr. Hart.”
“Call me Robert.” He winks. “Anyway, this ambitious little baker”—he shoves an elbow my way—“decides he’s going to make his mother a rainbow birthday cake.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Can we not?”
