Page 36 of Love By the Book
"Don't worry, it was said with affection." Alex laughs, a warm, genuine sound. "She also said you were the best person to talk to about protection wards, which brings me to why I'm here."
"Oh?" I straighten in my chair, curiosity piqued.
"Ethan is catering a wedding this weekend on Heron Island. Small affair, but important. The couple wants his three-tier vanilla bean cake with these delicate sugar flowers he's known for."
I nod. If his decorating is even half as good as the cinnamon rolls he makes, I’m sure it’s spectacular.
"The problem," Alex continues, "is transportation. Tom Bryson is taking the wedding party out by boat, but the water's been choppy lately." She grimaces. "The last time Ethan tried to transport a tiered cake by boat without magical intervention, it arrived looking like it had survived an earthquake."
I can picture it—the cake swaying precariously with each swell, those intricate sugar flowers snapping off like brittle leaves in a storm. "That's unfortunate, but I'm not sure how I can help. I don't know anything about baking."
"No, but you do know protection wards." Her eyes sparkle with something like mischief. "And from what Rhianna tells me, you're quite good at them."
Ah. Now I understand. "You want me to place a protection ward on the cake."
"Exactly. Something to keep it stable during transport." She presses her manicured fingers together and presses her chin against them. “The only other person around here who can pull off wards like that with finesse is Dean Markham—and Ethan would rather swim the cake over himself than ask Dean for help… That’s why when Rhianna mentioned your brilliance with protective wards that I had a brilliant idea for a trade."
My heart does that strange little jump again at the thought of Rhianna talking about me to her friends. I adjust my glasses. "What kind of trade?"
Alex reaches into her bag and pulls out an envelope. "Rhianna mentioned your interest in folklore books. Ethan has an extensive personal library at his cottage. Books passed down through his family, many about mythology—and many with wards that are starting to fade."
My interest immediately spikes. Access to a private collection? That kind of opportunity is rare, even in a place like Magnolia Cove.
"You add the ward to the cake, and Ethan will be happy to let you poke around his shelves. He thinks there might be something in there worth your while—maybe even useful for your work.”
Or perhaps even a signed Whitlock. I pull in a sharp breath and redirect the sudden surge of energy by fussing with the alignment of my pens. The chances are slim, but still—an unexplored collection of magically warded books? It's academically irresistible.
"When would he need the ward placed?" I try to sound casual, but I can hear the eagerness in my own voice.
"Tomorrow afternoon? The wedding is the day after." Alex smiles, clearly sensing she's got me. "You can come by thecottage afterward to look at the books. He'll be home around four."
I nod, already running through the logistics. “That’s ideal. Wards on organic material—especially something as delicate as a cake—work best when applied within twenty-four hours. The magic feeds off the carbon structure, and since a cake’s, well, perishable, the ward starts to degrade as the sugar and flour do. There’s actually a whole study on the half-life decay rate of magically treated food items?—”
I catch myself mid-ramble and clear my throat. “Sorry. That was probably more than you needed.”
Alex just laughs. “No worries. Ethan once gave me a ten-minute explanation that I still don’t understand of why they infuse magic into food here fresh instead of ahead of time. You’re in good company.”
I pull out my planner—a reflex I haven't quite broken despite how Rhianna teases me about it, always laughing when I check it before agreeing to her impromptu picnics because “books will still be dusty tomorrow, Lancaster.” The memory makes me smile despite myself. Tomorrow afternoon is clear except for some archival work that could easily be postponed.
"That should be fine," I say, closing the planner. "Just let me know where and when."
Alex stands, looking pleased. "Perfect. I'll email you the details. And thank you, Eli. This means a lot to Ethan."
"Happy to help." I rise as well, walking her to the door. "Though I should warn you, if I find anything particularly interesting in his collection, I might lose track of time."
"Warned and noted." She grins as she pauses at the threshold. "How are things with Rhianna, by the way? She hasn't stopped smiling here lately."
The question catches me off guard, and I feel heat rise to my face. "Things are... good. Reallygood."
That's an understatement. Since our kiss under the stars, I've been in a constant state of wonderment. Every moment with Rhianna feels like discovering a rare first edition—thrilling, precious, slightly overwhelming. I keep waiting for the logical part of my brain to panic about how she only agreed to this when I made it clear it was temporary—something she could walk away from any time. No strings. No promises.
That part of my brain should be waving a red flag right now, warning me to not get attached. Not to sink into this. But instead, I find myself craving the disruption. Leaning into it. Looking forward to the way she turns my carefully ordered life upside down—how she somehow makes me feel both grounded and weightless at once.
And besides, isn’t that why I came to Magnolia Cove in the first place? To shake myself out of the rut. To disrupt the structure I’ve clung to for too long and actually live for once—not just follow a neatly color-coded calendar from one safe, predictable decision to the next. Losing Mark didn’t just rattle me—it shocked me.
One day he was there, buried in his work just like I was. The next, he was gone. But now, here with Rhianna’s laughter still echoing in my mind and the warmth of something real starting to take root in my chest… it makes me feel like maybe that shock has led to something meaningful.
That aches in a painful, beautiful way.
