Page 14 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)
FOURTEEN
M ore utensils joined the first, floating gently around them as Molly’s magic responded to her racing pulse. A whisk darted past Warrick’s ear, making him duck.
“Sorry!” Molly exclaimed, mortified. “They have minds of their own sometimes.”
To her surprise, Warrick seemed more amused than annoyed. “I’m starting to think your kitchen has strong opinions about me.”
“First the dough monster, then the rolling pin, now the utensils,” Molly agreed. “My bakery might have a crush on you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Their eyes met over a hovering measuring cup, and something electric passed between them.
“Just the bakery?” Warrick asked softly.
Molly’s heart hammered against her ribs. “The baker reserves judgment,” she managed, though her voice betrayed her with a slight tremor.
Warrick’s eyes darkened, but he let her retreat behind the quip. Instead, he reached for another package. “This might interest you more than my effect on your kitchenware.”
He unwrapped a small vial containing what looked like liquid starlight—silvery-blue and shimmering.
“Mist essence from the Cloud Forests,” he explained. “Collected during the solstice when the veil between worlds thins.”
“It’s beautiful,” Molly whispered, transfixed.
“The local witches use it in dream pastries. They say it helps reveal hidden truths.”
Their eyes met again. “Truth can be dangerous,” Molly said quietly.
“So can pretending,” Warrick countered, his gaze never wavering.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm, experimenting with the exotic ingredients. Warrick shared brief anecdotes about where he’d found each one—a mountain in Peru where air spirits collected special frost blossoms, a market in Morocco known only to magical creatures, a remote island where time moved differently.
Each story revealed another layer of the man before her. Not just the stern fire chief, but a being who had witnessed history unfolding, who had collected experiences across centuries.
“You’ve never stayed in one place long, have you?” Molly asked as she mixed a tiny amount of glittering powder into a batch of ganache.
Warrick shook his head. “Three centuries creates restlessness. I’ve lived decades in various cities, but never permanently.”
“Why not?” She couldn’t help asking, though she feared the answer.
His expression closed slightly. “Human connections are... complicated for long-lived beings. Friendships end, communities change. It’s easier to move on before too many questions arise.”
Molly considered this while stirring. “But Whispering Pines is different. Most residents have extended lifespans or magical heritage. You could stay indefinitely.”
“Perhaps,” Warrick said, his golden eyes unreadable. “It’s still new territory.”
“And is there anything... or anyone... making you consider staying?” The question was bold, but Molly needed to know.
Warrick’s gaze softened as it met hers. “There might be.”
Three simple words, yet they sent Molly’s heart racing. She ducked her head, focusing intently on the ganache to hide the smile threatening to overtake her face.
“So why choose firefighting?” she asked, changing course. “With centuries of experience, you could do anything.”
“Fire is honest. Destructive yet necessary.” His voice grew thoughtful. “I’ve seen how it devastates communities, but also how it brings them together.” He paused. “And I’ve always been drawn to protecting others. It gives purpose to... continuation.”
The simple honesty of his answer touched something deep in Molly. Here was a man who had lived through history, yet chose to serve a small town as its fire chief.
“That need for purpose,” she said. “I understand it. When I opened the Bewitched Bakery, I wanted more than a business. I wanted to create a place where magic brought joy.”
“That’s a beautiful vision,” Warrick said, his voice warm. His hand moved across the counter, coming to rest inches from hers. An invitation, not a demand.
Molly closed the distance, allowing their fingers to touch. “My parents always said magic should serve others, not ourselves.” She smiled at the memory. “They taught me that a witch’s greatest gift isn’t the power they wield, but how they share it.”
“Wise people, your parents.”
“They would have liked you,” she said softly, surprising herself with the truth of it.
Something shifted in Warrick’s expression—a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. “High praise.”
Their fingers remained touching, neither advancing nor retreating. The contact was simple yet intimate, a bridge between their separate worlds.
“Try this one?” Molly broke the spell, reaching for a spoonful of the Fire Lotus ganache with her free hand. “It’s paired with white chocolate.”
Instead of taking the spoon, Warrick leaned forward, his eyes on hers as he tasted it directly from her hand. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate, sending heat coursing through her veins.
His eyes widened as the flavors hit. “Remarkable. It starts sweet, then builds to spicy, but not overwhelming.”
“How does it compare to authentic Thai cuisine?” Molly managed, struggling to maintain her composure after that moment of unexpected intimacy.
A genuine smile spread across his face. “It tastes like a sunset over the lagoon where these flowers grow. Like memory distilled into flavor.”
The unexpected poetry from such a reserved man caught Molly off guard. For a moment, she glimpsed the depth of experience behind those golden eyes—centuries of sunsets, countless memories, a lifetime of sensations she could barely imagine.
“I’d love to see that lagoon someday,” she admitted.
“Perhaps you will.” His gaze held hers, intense and full of unspoken promise. “I could take you.”
The simple offer stole Molly’s breath. It suggested a future—one where they were more than a fake dating arrangement, more than a witch and a shifter playing along with the town’s matchmaking schemes.
A pot rattled on the stove, nearly toppling over as her emotions surged. Warrick reached out with preternatural speed, steadying it before it could fall.
“Your magic is certainly... responsive,” he remarked, the laughter in his voice.