Page 10 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)

TEN

A clattering sound broke the moment. Molly’s enchanted rolling pin—her grandmother’s prized possession—had somehow escaped its hook. It spun in a small circle before coming to rest pointing directly at Warrick like a divining rod finding water.

“That’s new,” Molly said, grateful for the distraction. “Grandmother’s rolling pin doesn’t usually move on its own.”

“Enchanted kitchenware seems to find me fascinating today,” Warrick remarked, bending to examine it. The movement pulled his uniform shirt taut across his shoulders, and Molly forced herself to look away.

“It’s mildly enchanted for pie crusts,” she explained, taking the rolling pin from his hand. The moment she set it down, it rolled toward Warrick again as if magnetically drawn. “But this is...”

“Let me guess. It’s never done this before?” A smile played on the corners of his mouth.

“Never,” Molly confirmed, watching in fascination as the rolling pin circled him once before settling against his boot.

“First your dough, now kitchen accessories,” Warrick said, his usually serious expression softening. “Should I be concerned about your whisk attacking next?”

A laugh bubbled up from Molly’s chest, bright and spontaneous. “My whisk is very well-behaved, I’ll have you know.”

Warrick’s smile bloomed fully then—transforming his face from handsome to breathtaking. The hard lines of his jaw relaxed, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and a dimple appeared on his right cheek. The sight hit Molly like a physical force, stealing the air from her lungs.

His laugh followed—deep, rumbling, and genuine. The rich sound resonated through the bakery, sending a cascade of pleasant shivers down Molly’s spine.

Several customers still outside the window stared, exchanging shocked glances.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” someone whispered loudly enough to be heard inside. “Chief Shaw actually laughing.”

“You should do that more often,” Molly said without thinking.

“Do what?”

“Laugh. Smile.” Heat crept up her neck. “It suits you.”

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, followed by a flash of vulnerability so brief, she might have imagined it.

“I haven’t had much reason to,” he replied simply.

The quiet admission twisted something in Molly’s chest. “Would you like some tea? It’s the least I can offer after your heroic rescue.”

“I’d like that,” Warrick replied, his smile lingering.

Together they cleaned up the dough mess, working in comfortable silence. Molly prepared her special chamomile-lavender tea, trying to ignore how her skin tingled whenever Warrick moved near her. The rolling pin mysteriously appeared wherever he worked, causing them both to chuckle each time.

Once the shop looked presentable again, Molly wanted a few more minutes with this man so she led Warrick to a small table in the corner. She poured tea into two mismatched cups adorned with hand-painted wildflowers.

“Not everyone would charge into battle with living bread dough,” she said, settling across from him. “Most would run the other way.”

“Most people haven’t faced what I have in three centuries,” he replied, his golden eyes meeting hers over the rim of his cup. “Dough monsters rank low on the danger scale.”

“Still. Thank you.” Molly wrapped her hands around her cup, absorbing its warmth to steady herself. Sitting this close, she could detect his scent—cedar and sandalwood with something wild underneath.

“This will be town gossip by noon,” she sighed. “More ammunition for the matchmakers.”

“The matchmakers?” His brow furrowed slightly.

“Surely you’ve noticed? Elsie directing you to ‘Molly’s spot’ at the café? Daisy’s truth potion ‘accident’?” Molly rolled her eyes. “The entire town seems determined to push us together.”

Warrick’s eyebrows rose. “I thought I was imagining things.”

“Definitely not. Celeste texts me your coffee schedule. Daisy discusses your workout routine. Even my sister gave me a knowing look when I mentioned the frosting incident.” Molly shook her head. “It’s exhausting.”

“But well-intentioned,” Warrick offered.

“True. They won’t stop until they’ve married us off with magical tiger cubs, though.”

The words escaped before she could catch them. Heat blazed across her cheeks as she realized the implication.

Warrick choked slightly on his tea but recovered with impressive speed. His eyes glinted with unexpected mischief.

“Tiger cubs take a significant commitment,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Perhaps we should start with dinner?”