Page 41 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)
FORTY-ONE
T he morning sun streamed through the bakery windows, casting golden patterns across Molly’s workstation as she piped delicate rosettes onto a batch of lavender cupcakes. The bell above the door chimed, and her heart performed its now-familiar skip before she even looked up. Only one person triggered that particular rhythm these days.
“Morning,” Warrick’s deep voice carried across the empty bakery. They weren’t set to open for another hour—which meant he’d come specifically to see her.
Molly glanced up, pastry bag poised mid-air. The sight of him—tall frame filling the doorway, morning light catching on the mature strands—stole her breath as effectively as it had the first time. He wore casual clothes today: dark jeans and a gray Henley that stretched across his broad shoulders.
“You’re early,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal while her pulse raced. “Our dinner date isn’t until tonight.”
Warrick approached the counter, golden eyes scanning her face with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “That’s why I’m here. There’s been a slight change of plans.”
Her stomach dropped. “Oh.” She set down the pastry bag, absently wiping icing from her fingers. “If you need to cancel?—“
“No,” he interrupted quickly, reaching across the counter to capture her hand. His thumb traced circles against her palm, sending shivers up her arm. “Not canceling. My mother called this morning. Apparently, my sisters arrived for a surprise visit, and she’s insisting on a family dinner.” He paused, eyes never leaving hers. “She wants me to bring you.”
Molly blinked, processing his words. “Your mother wants to meet me?”
“The whole family does,” he admitted, a rare hint of nervousness crossing his features. “I’ve mentioned you.”
“You’ve mentioned me to your family?” Heat crawled up her neck. “What exactly have you told them?”
Something shifted in his gaze—a flicker of vulnerability quickly masked by his usual composed expression. “Enough that they’re curious.” His thumb continued its hypnotic circles against her skin. “You don’t have to come if it makes you uncomfortable. We can stick to our original plan.”
But Molly heard what remained unsaid—this mattered to him. Warrick Shaw, the stoic, controlled tiger shifter who rarely revealed his inner thoughts, wanted her to meet his family. His centuries-old, royal lineage family.
“I’d love to come,” she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. “Though I should probably bring something. What does your mother like? Pastries? Bread? Enchanted desserts that predict the weather?”
Relief softened his features, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t need to bring anything.”
“Clearly you don’t understand how witches operate.” Molly laughed, resuming her piping. “We never arrive empty-handed, especially not to meet the mother of the man we’re—“ She stopped abruptly, catching herself before venturing into undefined territory.
What exactly were they? Their “fake dating” charade had evolved into something neither of them acknowledged directly. Real dates. Lingering touches. That almost-kiss during their moonlit firehouse stroll before the station alarm interrupted them.
Warrick’s eyes darkened as if following her thoughts. “The man you’re...”
Molly busied herself with the cupcakes, heartbeat thundering in her ears. “Dating,” she finished lamely. “Sort of. You know what I mean.”
His low chuckle vibrated through the air between them. “I’m not sure I do.”
When she dared look up, the intensity in his gaze stole her breath. For a heartbeat, she imagined leaning across the counter, closing the distance between them, pressing her lips to his. Her magic stirred in response, causing sugar crystals nearby to dance across the countertop.
“Your magic’s showing,” he murmured, eyes tracking the glittering path of sugar.
“Happens when I’m... distracted.” She forced herself to focus. “What time is dinner? And should I dress formally? Royal tiger shifter families probably have protocols I should know about.”
Warrick shook his head, amusement warming his usually stoic expression. “No protocols. My family may have titles in South Africa, but here they’re remarkably normal.” His eyes swept over her flour-dusted apron and wild curls. “And you look perfect exactly as you are.”
The compliment sent warmth blooming across her chest. She ducked her head, unused to the raw sincerity in his voice. “Sweet-talker. Now I know you want something.”
“Just you,” he replied simply.
Molly’s heart performed another gymnastics routine. “Well, you’ve got me. For dinner with your family, that is.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Should I be worried about what treats you’ll bring? Nothing that reveals embarrassing secrets, I hope.”
Molly grinned mischievously. “Now there’s an idea. Truth-telling tiramisu? Confession cannoli?”
“Molly...” His warning tone held no real threat.
“Don’t worry, Fire Chief. I’ll be on my best behavior.” She reached beneath the counter, producing a paper bag. “Here, take this for the road. Fresh cinnamon roll and coffee, black.”
Surprise flickered across his face. “How did you know that’s my usual breakfast?”
“I pay attention,” she shrugged, trying to appear casual while her insides danced with delight at having pleased him. “Besides, David mentioned you steal his coffee every morning at the station because you claim it’s stronger than the official pot.”
Warrick accepted the bag, his fingers deliberately brushing against hers. The contact sent a jolt of awareness through her, magic responding with a brief shimmer that illuminated the air between them.
“Thank you,” he said, voice dropping to that deep register that made her toes curl. “For the breakfast. And for agreeing to meet my family.”
“Thank you for wanting me to meet them,” she replied softly.
His eyes held hers for one more heated moment before he turned and left, the bell jingling in his wake.
Molly released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Meeting Warrick’s family. His centuries-old, royal tiger shifter family. Her cinnamon rolls better be up to the task.
Six o’clock arrived with alarming speed. Molly stood before her bedroom mirror, scrutinizing her appearance for the dozenth time. She’d settled on an blue wrap dress that complemented both her eyes and her curves, with comfortable yet elegant low heels. Her red curls cascaded freely down her back—Warrick once mentioned he liked seeing her hair unbound.
A box of carefully crafted pastries waited by the door—miniature tiger lily petit fours with orange blossom cream centers. Hours of work had gone into them, each one infused with a tiny spark of joy magic. Not enough to manipulate emotions, just enough to enhance the pleasure of a good dessert shared in good company.
The doorbell rang precisely at six. Molly’s heart leaped into her throat as she opened the door.
Warrick stood on her threshold, breathtaking in dark slacks and a button-down shirt the color of stormy skies. His hair was neatly combed, accentuating the distinguished silver at his temples. But what stole her breath was his expression when he saw her—golden eyes widening, sweeping from her hair to her dress to her shoes with such naked appreciation that her magic responded unbidden, causing the nearby plants to bloom despite the evening hour.
Without a word, he stepped forward, strong arms encircling her waist and drawing her against his chest. Before she could process what was happening, his mouth claimed hers with gentle intensity. His lips moved against hers, warm and firm and perfect, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. Molly melted into him, fingers clutching his shoulders for support as her knees threatened to buckle beneath the onslaught of sensation.
When they finally pulled back, Warrick rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ve been wanting to do that,” he murmured, “all day.”
“You could have done it earlier,” she whispered back, delighting in the rumble of laughter that vibrated through his chest.
He drew back slightly, eyes tracing over her features with reverence. “You look beautiful, Molly. That color...” His thumb brushed her cheek. “It makes your eyes look like jewels.”
Her heart swelled with an emotion too big for her chest, too powerful to name yet. She’d dated before, enjoyed flirtations and romances, but nothing had prepared her for this overwhelming tide that rose within her whenever Warrick looked at her this way—as though she were precious, rare, essential.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, Fire Chief,” she managed, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his shirt just for the excuse to touch him.
His smile—that rare, full smile that transformed his serious features—stole her breath anew. “Ready to face the Shaw family?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She grabbed the pastry box. “Lead the way, tiger.”