Page 13 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)

THIRTEEN

M olly found herself staring at his face—the strong line of his jaw, the tiny relaxation around his eyes as pleasure overcame his usual stoicism. When his eyes opened again, she quickly looked away.

“That’s... extraordinary,” he murmured. “The flavor changes—starts like vanilla, then shifts to something almost citrus?”

“Moon petal extract,” Molly nodded, pleased he’d detected the subtle transition. “Not magical, but rare. Most people can’t detect the shift.”

“Shifter senses,” Warrick explained, his gaze never leaving her face. “Heightened taste and smell.”

Molly found herself wondering what she smelled like to him. Could he detect her nervousness? The flutter of attraction she couldn’t seem to control?

“That must make your culinary experiences interesting,” she said instead.

“Or disappointing. Mass-produced food tastes... artificial to me.” His eyes softened as he indicated the remaining bite of pastry. “This—this is real.”

The appreciation in his voice spread warmth through Molly’s chest. Simple words, but they touched something deep—the hours she spent perfecting each recipe, the care she poured into her creations.

“Tell me about your magic,” Warrick said, surprising her. “How did you discover you were a flora witch?”

The question caught Molly off guard. Men rarely asked about her magic beyond whether she could conjure something for them.

“I was six,” she answered, memories flooding back. “My mother’s rosebushes were dying after a harsh winter. I sat with them for hours, just talking. By morning, they were blooming. My parents found me asleep in the garden, surrounded by roses in impossible colors.”

“They must have been proud.”

“Terrified, actually.” Molly smiled at the memory. “Flora magic typically manifests around puberty. They weren’t prepared for a kindergartner who could grow poison ivy with a temper tantrum.”

Warrick’s laugh was unexpected and rich, sending a shiver down her spine. “I imagine that made childhood interesting.”

“For everyone involved,” Molly agreed, delighted by this glimpse of warmth. “My poor third-grade teacher never recovered from the incident with the classroom Ficus.”

“And when did you start baking?”

“My grandmother taught me. She said kitchens are where magic and mundane meet most naturally.” Molly gestured to the next sample. “Tranquility Tart. Helps ease anxiety, promotes peaceful sleep.”

Warrick tasted it, his expression thoughtful. “Lavender, chamomile... and something else I can’t place.”

“Moonshade pollen. It only blooms during the full moon.”

“You harvest it yourself?”

Molly nodded. “There’s a clearing in the woods north of town. The moonshades grow in a perfect circle there.”

“Alone? At night?” His brows drew together slightly.

“The forest knows me,” she said simply.

His eyes studied her with new intensity. “You’re more powerful than you let on, aren’t you?”

The observation hovered between them, unexpectedly perceptive. Most people saw a cheerful baker with minor magical talents, not the depths of her connection to the living world around them.

“I’m exactly as powerful as I need to be,” she answered carefully. “What about you? Three centuries must have taught you more than firefighting.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Age doesn’t always equal wisdom.”

“But it makes for excellent stories,” she countered, leaning forward. “Tell me one. Something from before Whispering Pines.”

Their eyes locked across the table. For a moment, Molly thought he might refuse—retreat behind that carefully constructed wall he maintained. Then his expression softened.

“Paris, 1889,” he said, his voice dropping to a mesmerizing rumble. “The World’s Fair. I worked security for the magical contingent hidden within the human exhibition.”

“The Eiffel Tower inauguration,” Molly breathed.

Warrick nodded. “A perfect cover for one of the largest gatherings of magical beings that century. The energy was... extraordinary. Beings from every continent, every magical tradition.”

“Were there other shifters?”

“Many. Some species I’d never encountered before or since.” His eyes grew distant with memory. “A contingent of snow leopards from Tibet performed a transformation dance under the tower at midnight. Two thousand spectators, and only half could see the true magic happening.”

Molly found herself leaning closer, entranced by his words, by the glimpse into a world she could scarcely imagine. “What was your favorite part?”

“The floating gardens,” he answered without hesitation. “Suspended between worlds, visible only to magical eyes. Flowers that sang when touched by moonlight, trees that whispered secrets in forgotten languages.” His eyes returned to hers. “You would have loved it.”

“I would have,” she agreed softly, touched that he’d thought of her preference.

“Your turn,” Warrick said, surprising her again. “Tell me something not everyone knows about Molly.”

Molly blinked, then smiled. “I can’t dance. Not even a little bit. I have the magical coordination of a drunken pixie.”

His lips quirked. “That can’t be true.”

“Three broken toes and a town festival disaster say otherwise.” She laughed at the memory. “The maypole still hasn’t recovered.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Warrick said, his eyes warm as they swept over her. “You move with natural grace in your bakery.”

“That’s different. Here, I’m in my element.” The compliment made her cheeks warm. “Kitchens make sense to me. Dance floors are baffling war zones.”

“Perhaps you’ve just needed the right partner.”

The suggestion hung in the air between them, ripe with possibility. Molly’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs.

After several more samples, she brought out a small pouch. “Now for the interesting part. You mentioned bringing ingredients from your travels?”

Warrick nodded, reaching into his pocket to produce several small packages wrapped in what appeared to be silk. “Nothing dangerous,” he assured her, “but some might be... temperamental with magic.”

He unwrapped the first package to reveal vibrant red petals that seemed to glow from within.

“Fire Lotus petals,” Molly breathed, leaning closer until their heads nearly touched. “I’ve only read about these! They’re supposed to grow in volcanic springs in?—“

“Northern Thailand,” Warrick finished. “A hidden lagoon near a shifter sanctuary. I spent a few decades there in the 1800s.”

Molly carefully lifted one petal, fascinated by its inner luminescence. “Celeste mentioned these can add a spicy undertone to desserts, but warned they’re temperamental.”

“They respond to emotion,” Warrick explained, his voice dropping to that rumble that made her skin prickle pleasantly. “The stronger the feeling, the more intense the flavor.”

His eyes held hers for a heartbeat too long. Molly cleared her throat and led him into the back kitchen. There, she reached for a mixing bowl, trying to ignore the way her skin tingled.

“Let’s try incorporating them into a simple cream.”

As she began to work, her nervous excitement triggered her magic. A wooden spoon rose slowly into the air, spinning lazily before dipping into a bowl of cream. Droplets splattered onto the floor as the spoon wobbled.

“Oh sugar sticks,” Molly muttered, reaching for the wayward utensil.

Warrick caught it first, his reflexes impossibly quick. “Happens often?” His voice held no judgment, only curiosity.

“Only when I’m...” Nervous? Attracted? Flustered by proximity to devastatingly handsome tiger shifters who brought rare magical ingredients just for her? “...distracted,” she finished lamely, cheeks heating.

He handed her the spoon, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And what’s distracting you tonight, Molly?”

The directness of the question coupled with the way he said her name—softly, almost like a caress—made her breath catch.

“Exotic ingredients,” she managed, meeting his gaze with feigned confidence. “And tigers in my kitchen.”

“Just one tiger,” he corrected, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

“One is apparently enough to throw off my concentration.”