Page 15 of Chasing Stripes (Enchanted Falls #3)
FIFTEEN
T he sad part was, a tiny voice inside Artemis whispered that they might be onto something. The connection she’d felt with Bartek defied logical explanation. In all her dating history, she’d never experienced anything remotely like the jolt that had passed between them—the recognition, the heated awareness, the sense of rightness that had momentarily overwhelmed her.
But acknowledging that possibility opened doors she wasn’t ready to step through. She’d returned to Enchanted Falls to rebuild her life, not complicate it with a cross-species romance straight out of one of those supernatural bodice-rippers.
“Can we please change the subject?” she begged. “Tell me about the library, or town gossip, or literally anything else.”
Kalyna and Tilly exchanged knowing glances but mercifully allowed the diversion. As they shifted to discussing the upcoming town council meeting, Artemis found her gaze drifting involuntarily toward the window. Across the street, Tooth & Claw stood silent and closed, giving no hint of the powerful alpha within.
Yet she could still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist, still smell cedar and spice when she closed her eyes, still see that flash of amber in his gaze when their eyes had met. And despite her protests, a small, traitorous part of her wondered when she might encounter Bartek Arbor again—and what would happen when she did.
The lights flickered overhead, confirming what her racing heart already knew: whatever had sparked between them was far from over.
Late afternoon brought a lull in customers. Lost in thought, Artemis wiped down tables. The bakery seemed calmer now, quieter without the morning rush. Perfect for reflection—or overthinking, as her father would have called it.
“You’re glowing again.” Tilly observed casually, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked scones.
Artemis glanced down. Sure enough, golden light pulsed from the handprints. “Why does it keep doing that?”
“Magic responds to thought as well as touch,” Tilly set down the tray. “I’m guessing a certain someone is on your mind?”
Before Artemis could formulate a denial, the bell above the door chimed. Her heart performed a ridiculous somersault before she could control it.
And there he stood.
Bartek Arbor filled the doorway, his powerful frame blocking much of the late afternoon light. He’d changed clothes since the morning’s flour apocalypse, now wearing a dark gray Henley that stretched across his broad shoulders and emphasized the lean strength of his arms. His dirty-blond hair, slightly damp as if freshly showered, was pushed back from his forehead.
But it was his eyes that captured her—intense golden-brown orbs that locked onto her with laser focus as if she were the only person in the universe.
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken awareness. The lights overhead dimmed, then brightened dramatically. A muffin on the display counter suddenly rose an inch into the air before dropping back down with a soft thud.
Tilly observed this phenomenon with undisguised fascination. “Well, I suddenly remembered some very urgent... things... I need to do. In the back. Far away from... whatever this is.” She backed toward the kitchen, pointing between Artemis and Bartek. “Carry on. Pretend I was never here.”
She disappeared through the swinging door, though Artemis strongly suspected her ear remained pressed against it.
Bartek cleared his throat, finally stepping fully inside. “Your magic seems... responsive today.”
Artemis swallowed hard, trying to ignore how his deep voice sent shivers cascading down her spine. “Side effect of this morning’s mishap,” she managed, knowing the excuse sounded feeble.
He moved closer, each step deliberate and fluid. The predatory grace in his movements made her pulse quicken. “Is that why you’re still glowing?”
Her hand flew to her waist reflexively. The golden imprint of his hands brightened at his proximity, now clearly visible even through her apron. “I can’t seem to make it stop,” she admitted.
Something flickered in his expression—satisfaction, perhaps, or curiosity. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “It feels... warm. Like...” Like your hands are still there , she almost said, but caught herself. “Like residual magic.”
Bartek nodded, stopping a few feet away—close enough for her to catch his scent, far enough to maintain a semblance of propriety. “I came to check on you. The kind of magical surge I witnessed this morning can have lingering effects.”
The concern surprised her. “Everything’s fine now. Though I did accidentally give Mrs. Oakhart an operatic singing voice for the morning.”
That earned a short, deep chuckle—a rich sound that reverberated in the quiet bakery and did strange things to Artemis’s insides. “Creative side effect.”
“Better than some alternatives. Last year, I made cupcakes that temporarily turned people’s hair the color of whatever frosting they chose. The blueberry ones were particularly vivid.”
His laugh deepened, the sound shockingly intimate in the quiet bakery. Artemis found herself staring at his mouth, wondering how someone so intimidating could have such a warm laugh. The overhead lights flickered in response to her thoughts, and she forced her gaze away.
“Your bakery in the city specialized in these magical treats?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.