Page 22 of Chasing Stripes (Enchanted Falls #3)
TWENTY-TWO
A rtemis exhaled slowly, willing the packets back down. They settled with a gentle rustle. “Only recently,” she admitted. “Since yesterday, actually.”
“Since we met,” he observed, his voice dropping to a register that rumbled rather than spoke.
Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading upward to her cheeks. “Coincidence.”
“Is it?” He leaned forward slightly, narrowing the gap between them. “Because my claws have been trying to emerge all morning. Every time I think about?—”
Tilly emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of the glowing pink cinnamon rolls.
“Oh good, you two are getting acquainted,” she said brightly as if she hadn’t orchestrated the entire meeting. “Bartek, you simply must try these. Artemis created them this morning. They’re quite special.”
“Aunt Tilly!” Artemis protested. “They’re just strawberry cinnamon rolls.”
“With a touch of fae magic,” Tilly added, setting the tray on the counter. “In the old recipes, pink-glowing pastries revealed compatible magical energies between people. Fascinating tradition, don’t you think?”
Artemis wanted to sink through the floor. “They glow because I added too much vanilla and got distracted while mixing, not because of some ancient baking tradition.”
“If you say so, dear.” Tilly’s eyes danced with mischief. “Though I distinctly remember your mother making these exact same glowing treats the week she met your father.”
Bartek looked between the women, then at the suspiciously glowing pastries. To Artemis’s mortification, he reached for one without hesitation.
“I never turn down bakery magic,” he said, holding her gaze as he brought the roll to his lips.
He took a bite. The roll glowed brighter, pulsing in perfect sync with the handprints at her waist. For a split second, Artemis could have sworn the amber flecks in his eyes expanded, consuming the brown until they glowed like molten gold.
“These are...” he paused, searching for words, “remarkable.”
“Just a recipe accident,” Artemis insisted, though her racing heart suggested otherwise.
“A delicious accident,” he amended, taking another bite. The connection between them pulled taut, an invisible thread humming with potential energy.
Tilly watched them with undisguised satisfaction. “Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss the festival collaboration. The council will want something special from both establishments, I’m sure.” She started toward the kitchen, then paused. “Oh, and Artemis? Why don’t you show Bartek those special spice blends you created? The ones with the protective properties? Given recent events, his bar might benefit from similar safeguards.”
Before Artemis could protest this transparent attempt to prolong their interaction, the front door flew open with enough force to rattle the bell nearly off its hook.
A tall man in an immaculate dark suit stepped inside. His sharp features arranged in a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his cold gray eyes. The potted herbs in the windowsill visibly wilted as he passed.
“Ah, what a fortuitous gathering,” he said smoothly. “Just the people I hoped to find.”
Thaddeus Dartmouth looking too polished, too composed for the early hour.
Between one heartbeat and the next, Bartek moved—liquid grace in human form—positioning himself between Artemis and the newcomer without seeming to take a single step. The half-eaten cinnamon roll remained in his hand, still glowing.
“Mr. Dartmouth,” Tilly greeted, her voice cooler than Artemis had ever heard it. “What brings you to Honeycrisp so early?”
“A craving for your delightful blackberry scones,” he replied, gaze drifting from the display case to Artemis, then lingering on Bartek. His eyes narrowed fractionally at their proximity. “I see you have company. Mr. Arbor, isn’t it? The new... establishment across the street is yours, I believe?”
“Tooth & Claw,” Bartek confirmed, voice neutral but body coiled with subtle tension. “You’ve stopped by.”
“Indeed, I have. Quite the ambitious venture.” Thaddeus brushed an invisible speck from his immaculate sleeve. “Though perhaps a bit out of place in the Borderlands. Neither fully in the Sparkle District nor the Fang Quarter.” His lip curled slightly. “One might question whether it properly belongs.”
The temperature in the bakery seemed to drop several degrees. Artemis felt Bartek’s energy shift beside her—a gathering storm of leashed power.
“Strange concern from someone who doesn’t belong to any quarter,” Bartek replied, his tone mild but edged with steel.
Thaddeus’s smile tightened. “We all have our place, Mr. Arbor.”
“Yes,” Bartek agreed. “We do.”
The two men stared at each other, the air between them almost visibly charged. Artemis’s fae senses prickled with warning—magic was gathering, dark and oily, around Thaddeus’s carefully manicured hands.
She stepped forward, breaking the silent confrontation. “I’m afraid we’re not quite open yet, Mr. Dartmouth. We had a bit of a recipe... situation this morning.” She gestured to the still-hovering pastries in the display case.
Thaddeus’s gaze shifted to her, his eyes lingering on her flour-smudged apron, then dropping briefly to her waist where the handprints still glowed faintly beneath the fabric. Something calculating passed across his features.
“How unfortunate,” he said. “Another time, perhaps.” He took a step closer, forcing Bartek to either move aside or maintain his protective stance. Bartek didn’t budge. “Though I did want to inquire about that fascinating book you mentioned, Tilly. The one with the historical recipes? I’ve been expanding my collection of magical artifacts, and it sounded quite... valuable.”