Page 66 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)
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S unshine streamed through the hospital window, catching on the vibrant orange-red petals of the “Fire & Spice” roses beside Molly’s bed. She traced a finger along one silky bloom, remembering the intensity in Warrick’s golden eyes when he’d placed them on her nightstand three days ago. The petals seemed to pulse with warmth under her touch, almost like they contained actual embers—a fitting gift from a man whose protection burned as fiercely as any flame.
“These discharge forms aren’t going to sign themselves,” Nurse Willow said, her blue-tinged water nymph skin shimmering under the fluorescent lights as she approached the bed. She narrowed her eyes at Molly’s eager posture. “Though I’m not convinced you’re ready to leave. That beam hit you hard.”
Molly accepted the clipboard. “Luna’s herbal remedy cleared the last of the concussion fog.” She signed her name with a flourish, the looping letters dancing across the page. “Besides, hospital pudding can only sustain a witch for so long.”
“Hmph. Don’t come crying back when your head starts spinning because you ignored medical advice.” Despite her gruff tone, concern softened Nurse Willow’s features. “Those magical remedies of Luna’s might work wonders, but the body heals at its own pace.”
The door swung open before Molly could respond. Her heart leaped at the sight of Warrick filling the doorframe—how did he always manage to make standard-sized openings look miniature? He stood motionless for a heartbeat, his steady gaze sweeping over her with such thoroughness that heat bloomed across her skin.
“You’re dressed,” he observed, voice low as he crossed the room in three long strides.
“Disappointed?” Molly teased, though her breath caught when his fingers brushed her cheek, lingering against her skin as if reassuring himself she was truly whole.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward—that subtle half-smile that had once been so rare but now appeared with increasing frequency. “Only that I missed helping you.”
David Rhodes appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat with exaggerated loudness. “If you two could postpone the googly eyes for five minutes, I brought the car around.”
Molly laughed, rising carefully from the bed. The floor tilted momentarily beneath her feet—not enough to concern her, but sufficient for Warrick’s hand to find her elbow, steadying her with gentle firmness. The heat of his palm radiated through her cardigan sleeve, and she found herself leaning into his touch.
“I can walk perfectly fine,” she protested, though she made no move to increase the space between them.
“Humor me.” The quiet request carried more weight than a command.
Her hospital room had transformed during her three-day stay. Crystal formations lined the windowsill—Celeste’s protective work. Get-well cards that sang silly songs when opened covered the bedside table—Daisy’s cheerful magic. A hand-knitted blanket in swirls of green and gold lay rumpled at the foot of the bed—Mari’s loving handiwork. Each item represented the web of connections that made Whispering Pines home.
Warrick gathered the flowers while David collected her small duffel bag. Molly surveyed the room one last time, a lump forming in her throat at this tangible evidence of how deeply she was loved.
“Ready?” Warrick asked softly, his free hand finding the small of her back.
“Beyond ready.”
The hospital corridor bustled with activity—shifter children getting routine checkups, a gnome with an arm in a cast, witches delivering healing potions. Several faces brightened at the sight of her, calling greetings or waving. Molly returned each acknowledgment, marveling at how her brief hospital stay had somehow elevated her visibility in the town.
“Everybody knows,” she murmured as they stepped into the elevator.
“Knows what?” Warrick asked.
“About us. About you claiming me at the ball before everything went sideways.” She studied his expression, searching for any hint of discomfort at this public recognition.
The elevator doors closed, and Warrick used the moment of privacy to draw her against him, his large hands spanning her waist. “Good.”
The single word, delivered with unapologetic possessiveness, sent a delicious shiver racing down her spine. Three weeks ago, such a blatant claim might have triggered her independence alarm. Now, it simply felt right—the acknowledgment of a bond that had formed against all odds.
“No regrets about everyone knowing?” she whispered, tipping her face up to his.
His answer came not in words but in the press of his lips against hers—gentle yet thorough, mindful of her recent injury yet unwilling to hold back his affection. One hand cradled the back of her head, careful to avoid the tender spot where the beam had struck. The other splayed across her lower back, drawing her firmly against him.
David cleared his throat again as the elevator chimed their arrival at the ground floor. “If you two could save the reunion for somewhere I’m not trapped in a small box with you, that would be great.”