Page 70 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)

SEVENTY

“ A little more wrist movement,” Molly demonstrated the proper technique for enchanting batter, her hands moving in fluid arcs above the mixing bowl. “Magic responds to intention plus choreography. You’re being too rigid.”

Three days after the community celebration, they’d settled into a comfortable rhythm at Warrick’s home—though Molly still caught herself thinking of it as “his” rather than “theirs.” This morning, she’d insisted on a baking lesson, claiming that any partner of hers needed at least rudimentary pastry skills.

Warrick stood across the kitchen island, face scrunched in concentration as he attempted to mimic her movements. His massive frame looked endearingly out of place amid the delicate cooking equipment—like a bull trying to navigate a china shop with painstaking care.

“Like this?” he asked, stirring the blueberry muffin batter while murmuring the incantation she’d taught him.

“Better, but loosen your grip on the?—“

The batter erupted before she could finish, bubbling violently before rising in a wobbly column that reminded her distressingly of her runaway dough disaster weeks earlier.

“I’m guessing that’s not supposed to happen,” Warrick remarked dryly, backing away as the batter continued its vertical ascent.

Molly bit her lip to suppress a laugh. “Not unless you’re trying to create a blueberry volcano. Quick—the countercharm: subsisto crescere .”

“ Subsisto crescere ,” he repeated, his accent mangling the Latin phrase beyond recognition.

Instead of subsiding, the batter column split into a dozen smaller blobs that drifted upward, hovering near the kitchen ceiling like bizarre blue balloons.

“Oh sweet cinnamon,” Molly whispered, watching her immaculate kitchen transform into an obstacle course of floating batter. “I think you accidentally said separo et elevar —separate and rise—instead of stop growing.”

Warrick glared at the nearest blob, which seemed to quiver under his golden gaze. He swiped at it, growling when it dodged his hand with seemingly intelligent awareness.

“Did that batter just...evade me?” Disbelief colored his tone.

“Magical baking ingredients respond to the baker’s essence,” Molly explained, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “They recognize you now. And they’ve clearly picked up on your mood.”

“My mood is irritated,” he muttered, crossing his arms as the blobs retreated further toward the ceiling corners.

“Exactly. They can sense your frustration, so they’re hiding from the big bad tiger shifter.” She couldn’t contain her giggles any longer at the sight of Warrick—all six-foot-three of muscular, intimidating fire chief—being outmaneuvered by breakfast pastry ingredients.

“I fail to see the humor in this situation,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched suspiciously.

“You,” she gasped between fits of laughter, “three hundred years of existence, royal bloodline, vanquisher of dark magic, and you’re being defeated by blueberry muffin batter!”

“I haven’t been defeated,” he protested with mock dignity. “I’ve merely encountered a...tactical setback.”

His choice of phrasing—so formal, so quintessentially Warrick—triggered another round of helpless laughter. Molly doubled over, clutching the counter for support. After a moment’s hesitation, Warrick crossed to her side, his arms encircling her shaking form.

“At least one of us is enjoying this disaster,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple.

Molly leaned into him, savoring the solid warmth of his body against hers. “I’m sorry,” she managed between hiccupping giggles. “It’s just—you looked so offended when that batter dodged you!”

“It was unexpectedly nimble,” he conceded, his chest rumbling with reluctant laughter. “Perhaps magical baking isn’t my strongest skill.”

“Perhaps not.” She wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “But you get full marks for enthusiasm.”

A sharp snap from the cooling rack interrupted their moment. Both turned to see the batch of chocolate chip cookies Warrick had attempted earlier. One large cookie had risen onto its edge, emitting a distinctly threatening growl.

“Did that cookie just...”

The cookie growled again, louder this time, chocolate chips rearranging themselves into what disturbingly resembled a tiny snarling face.

“Sentient baked goods,” Molly sighed, equal parts impressed and exasperated. “That’s a new one, even for me.”

Warrick approached the rack cautiously. “What did I do wrong?”

“You probably infused it with protection magic while mixing. Were you thinking about safeguarding the house when you added the vanilla extract?”

His sheepish expression confirmed her suspicion. “Maybe.”

“Congratulations, then. You’ve created what appears to be a guard cookie.” She couldn’t help the renewed laughter bubbling in her throat. “Better than any security system I could install, I suppose.”

The cookie seemed to preen at this assessment, settling back into a more cookie-appropriate position—though Molly could have sworn one chocolate chip remained vigilantly upright, watching them with sugary suspicion.

“I think that’s enough baking experiments for today,” Warrick decided, wiping flour from his hands. “Before I accidentally create something that tries to eat us.”

“Wise choice.” Molly waved her hand in a gentle circular motion, murmuring the correct countercharm to bring the floating batter back to its bowl. “Though I must say, your magical mishaps are far more entertaining than mine.”

“How so?” He leaned against the counter, watching her work with undisguised admiration.

“Mine tend toward chaos and property damage. Yours create food with attitude problems.” She crossed to him, sliding her arms around his waist and tilting her face up. “Don’t worry, tiger. Not everyone can excel at everything.”

His large hands settled at her hips, drawing her closer. “As long as I excel at loving you, I can live with culinary failure.”

Three weeks ago, such naked emotion from the stoic tiger would have seemed impossible. Now, these quiet declarations peppered their days, each one a treasure she collected and stored within her heart.

“You definitely excel at that,” she whispered, rising on tiptoes.

His lips met hers halfway, tasting of vanilla and sugar. The kiss deepened as his hands slid from her hips to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her with gentle insistence.

They broke apart only when the guard cookie emitted another warning growl, apparently disapproving of such activities in its vicinity.

“Even my baking mistakes are overprotective,” Warrick noted with rueful amusement.

Molly laughed, resting her forehead against his chest. “Like baker, like cookie, I suppose.”

His arms tightened around her, his chin coming to rest atop her head. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Neither would she, Molly realized with sudden clarity. Not the magical mishaps or the overprotective tendencies or even the sentient baked goods. Every moment—chaotic or calm—had led them here, to this kitchen, to this embrace, to this certainty that they had found exactly where they belonged.

Together.