Page 63 of Whisked Away
Ethan’s breath catches, and then he pulls me into a fierce embrace that I can’t help but think of as a bear hug.
“I love you too,” he whispers against my hair. “Can you forgive me for being such a fool?”
“You don’t even need to ask.”
As the rain continues to pour outside, I hold on to Ethan, marveling at the magic I’ve found—not in food that tastes like comfort or an island fit for a calendar, but in finding another soul who has allowed me to see past the surface and loving him, not in spite of it, but because of it.
Ethan
The early morning sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Alex’s small New York apartment, casting a warm glow over the cramped kitchen. I perch on a barstool, watching Alex move about with practiced ease. The scent of coffee mingles with something savory—eggs, I think—and for a moment, I’m transported back to mornings at the Whisk.
But this isn’t Magnolia Cove. This is Alex’s world, and somehow, impossibly, I’m still a part of it.
I can’t stop marveling at her—the way her hair catches the light, the curve of her smile as she hums to herself, how she moves with such surety in this tiny space. She saw me last night. All of me. The fur, the claws, the truth of what I am. And she didn’t run. She didn’t scream. She accepted me.
I try not to fixate on Sarah’s rejection years ago. On how her reaction set off my magic and put me out of control as the bear. How I created a path of destruction through the human town, getting myself sentenced to a decade in Magnolia Cove under the watch of a warlock whose magic could snuff mine out if necessary. But even thinking about that now reminds me of Alex’s soft eyes as I told her the story, of the way shetangled her fingers with mine as if to say she’d stand by me, flaws and all.
My gaze drifts to the stack of cookbooks teetering atop her fridge. We’ve already discussed a few of the titles I recognize—debated the finer points of which chef has the best glaze. I’ve accepted that we still don’t agree on everything recipe-wise. The easy flow of our conversation, the depth of her culinary knowledge—it all leaves me in awe. I’ve found the person I’ve spent my entire life looking for.
And then there was the way she touched me after Dean left last night, her fingers tracing my jaw, my shoulders, as if committing every inch to memory. The first passionate time we made love—burning off weeks of desire and separation—then the slow build of the second time. Her soft moans, the way she whispered my name in the darkness. That she knew all of me, saw all of me, and still wanted me at her side. I remained awake even as she drifted to sleep in my arms. I had scarcely dared to hope for all this.
I’m pulled from my reverie as Alex slides a plate in front of me. It’s a frittata, dotted with cherry tomatoes and herbs. Nothing fussy or pretentious—just good, honest food. It’s so perfectly us I can’t help but smile.
“What?” Alex asks, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
I shake my head, still smiling. “Nothing. Just... happy.”
She leans across the counter, her face close to mine. “Me too.”
I capture her mouth in a kiss. She humors me, running her fingers through my hair, then pushes me back and points at the plate. As we eat, I can’t help but wonder about the future. Dean’s gone to a hotel—he’s given me the weekend after ensuring the situation was “safe.” But after that? The Council hasn’t said they’ll let me off early, and the Whisk... Well, it still holds my heart. I’ve realized I don’t want to leave it—or Zoe, or my customers, or Jas.
But Alex and I have overcome bigger obstacles, haven’t we? We can handle a long-distance relationship. As long as I have her in my life, I’ll make it work.
“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Alex says suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. “For finding the scholarship for Missy.”
I wave it off even as heat creeps up the back of my neck. “It was nothing, really.”
“No,” she insists, her eyes serious. “It really meant a lot.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I have some news too. Maybe not as big as ‘I can transform into a bear’ news, but pretty big.”
My heart skips a beat, but I steady myself. Whatever she says, I’ll accept it. She could hold space for the big, hairy truth of me—I can definitely do the same for her. “Oh?”
Alex meets my gaze, her eyes swimming with something. “I quit my job.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “What? But... I thought you loved food writing?”
“Food writing, yes,” she says, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Food journalism, with all its negatives? Not as much anymore.” She shrugs, trying for nonchalance but not quite hitting it. “Besides, I’ve been wondering if my traveling days might be behind me.”
Hope blooms in my chest, but I try to temper it. “Where are you thinking of settling down?”
Alex hops up and gathers the empty plates. She takes them to the sink before answering. “Well, there is this island you might have heard of. But maybe not—it’s not very well known.” Her eyes sparkle as she continues, “Looks like it was photoshopped. Beautiful stretch of beach, and a bakery I’ve heard makes damn good cinnamon rolls. It even impressed a snooty food journalist who used to write forGastronomy Eats.”
My breath catches in my throat. “You’d move to Magnolia Cove?” I want to add ‘to be with me,’ but the words stick.
Alex turns on the faucet, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. “I mean, I don’t know if there’s an application or something. Maybe I wouldn’t even get in and?—”
I stand, joining her around the counter. My heart is pounding, but for once, it’s not with fear or doubt. It’s with wild, unbridled hope. “If you want to move to Magnolia Cove, I can get your application approved.” The words come out with more certainty than I feel, but I know I’ll fight like hell to make it happen. Besides, the Council will probably prefer to keep Alex close now that she knows our secret.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, new dreams form in my mind. I see Alex working onTell Me Something Sweet—her food blog that I’d obsessively read after she left, the writing so authentic and rich and so decidedly Alex that it had only made my heart ache more. I picture her taking photos, experimenting with recipes, while I run the Whisk. Our evenings and nights spent together, sharing meals, sharing stories, sharing a life. The vision is so beautiful it’s almost painful to contemplate.
