Page 11 of Chasing Stripes (Enchanted Falls #3)

ELEVEN

D awn painted Enchanted Falls in watercolor hues as Artemis descended the stairs of Honeycrisp Bakery. Morning mist clung to the ancient trees surrounding the town, their silhouettes dark against the brightening sky. A chorus of birdsong greeted her as she raised the blinds over the front window.

The worn floorboards creaked beneath her feet, greeting her like an old friend. Three days into her return, this space already contained more warmth than her sleek, modern city bakery ever had. There, everything had been stainless steel and efficiency. Here, the sturdy oak cabinets and marble countertops bore the marks of decades of magical baking—tiny scorch marks from enchantment mishaps, faint sparkles embedded in the grout, and the almost imperceptible hum of residual magic.

Artemis tied her golden hair into a messy bun and reached for her favorite apron—pale blue with tiny embroidered honeybees dancing along the hem. Her fingers traced the delicate stitching, remembering how Tilly had presented it to her on her sixteenth birthday, right before Artemis had attempted her first solo magical recipe.

“Time for take two,” she murmured to the empty kitchen. “Let’s see if we can make some magic happen.”

She opened the recipe journal that had belonged to her mother, running her fingers reverently over the pages. The handwriting flowed across the yellowed paper in elegant loops—notes about magical infusions carefully documented alongside more conventional baking instructions. In the margins, little sketches of herbs and symbols provided additional guidance.

Inspiration had struck Artemis in the middle of the night—a new take on her mother’s signature cinnamon-spice muffins, enhanced with fae magic to bring joy to whoever ate them. Not emotional manipulation, exactly. More like... a nudge toward happiness, something to help the townsfolk start their day on a positive note.

Artemis hummed softly as she gathered her ingredients, lining them up with professional precision: organic flour from a local mill, cinnamon imported from a special grove tended by spice nymphs, rich brown sugar infused with honey from hives kept by bear shifters in the mountains. Each ingredient contained its own subtle magic waiting to be awakened and combined.

Her secret weapon sat in a tiny crystal vial: shimmering fae pollen she’d collected from the forest yesterday at dawn. The iridescent dust caught the morning light streaming through the kitchen window, throwing rainbow reflections across the wall. Unlike the city-grown pollen she’d used in her urban bakery, this wild variety pulsed with vibrant energy—pure, untamed, and far more potent.

Artemis uncorked the vial, hesitating briefly as the pollen seemed to reach toward her, eager to be used. “Whoa, there,” she whispered. “You’re a lively batch, aren’t you?”

The pollen sparkled in response as if laughing.

“A pinch for well-being,” she recited her mother’s teaching while measuring dry ingredients into a large ceramic bowl. “A sprinkle for joy, but never too much of either.”

The memory of her mother standing in this very kitchen, golden hair dusted with flour and eyes twinkling with mischief, surfaced with unexpected clarity. Her voice seemed to echo in the quiet morning: “Magic responds to intention, Artemis. Be clear about what you want your baking to accomplish.”

Artemis closed her eyes briefly, centering herself. Joy , she thought. Comfort. A moment of delight in an ordinary day.

She tipped the vial with careful precision, aiming for half her usual amount. The iridescent dust floated down, mingling with the flour mixture. As it made contact, tiny sparks danced across the surface—azure, violet, and emerald pinpricks of light that fizzled and popped like miniature fireworks.

“Perfect,” Artemis smiled, satisfaction warming her chest.

She began whisking, working butter into the flour with practiced motions. More sparks erupted with each turn of her wrist, growing larger and more frequent. The wooden spoon grew warm beneath her fingers, humming with magical energy that traveled up her arms in pleasant waves.

“That’s... unusual,” she murmured, her brow furrowing.

The mixture glowed softly, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. A faint vibration traveled through the bowl into the countertop, making the measuring cups dance slightly.

Artemis hesitated, instincts warning of instability. The spell-enhanced recipes she’d created in the city had never reacted this vigorously. Perhaps the wild pollen combined with Enchanted Falls’s ambient magic created a more powerful reaction than she’d anticipated.

Should she start over?

The practical baker part of her brain screamed yes, but another part—the part that had always loved the unpredictable nature of magical experimentation—pushed her forward. Besides, she’d invested the last of her precious cinnamon in this batch.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she decided, reaching for the vanilla extract.

Three drops fell into the bowl.

The reaction happened instantly.

A sharp crack split the air like magical lightning. The batter bubbled and expanded, doubling in size within seconds. Before Artemis could step back, the bowl erupted in a spectacular puff of enchanted flour and sugar.

“Oh crap!” she yelped, staggering backward.

A swirling vortex of powdered ingredients engulfed the kitchen. Utensils rattled across countertops, metal measuring spoons clinked against each other like wind chimes in a hurricane. Muffin liners took flight, dancing through the air like wayward butterflies. At the center of it all, the mixing bowl spun madly, spewing sparkles and flour in equal measure.

Artemis coughed, waving her hands to clear the sugary cloud. The magic had gone rogue, feeding on itself in a cascading reaction. She needed to contain it before?—

The fire alarm shrieked, its high-pitched wail adding to the chaos.

“For fae’s sake!” Artemis shouted, lunging toward the spinning bowl.

Her foot slipped on spilled flour. She pitched forward, arms windmilling as her center of gravity shifted treacherously?—

The kitchen door burst open with a tremendous bang that somehow cut through the cacophony.

Through the swirling haze stepped a silhouette that made Artemis’s breath catch. Tall and powerful, moving with the fluid grace of a predator, the figure parted the flour cloud like a ship cleaving through fog. Golden-brown eyes, now flashing with hints of amber, locked onto her with laser-like intensity.

Bartek Arbor.

In person. Up close.

Not just glimpsed across the street or through a window.

Here .

Time slowed to a crystalline crawl as he moved toward her. Three long strides closed the distance between them. Strong hands shot out, gripping her waist to steady her. The moment his skin made contact with hers, even through the fabric of her apron, everything changed.