Page 22 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

I t’s strange to think that it’s only been a few weeks since our potion mishap. As I serve a nearby table, I sneak another glance at Lyrion. He’s sitting in his usual spot by the window, bent over his notebook, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he scribbles away.

My pulse quickens, warmth flooding my cheeks as I watch him discreetly. He’s so intense and focused, and stars above, I could watch him all day.

A gentle hand lands on my shoulder, startling me from my reverie. “Isobel?”

I spin around, and see Tressa. “Sorry,” I mumble, smoothing down my apron. “I was just—”

“I know exactly what you were doing,” she teases. Her gaze flicks knowingly toward Lyrion and back, a smile tugging at her lips. “I have to step out for a bit, maybe an hour. Do you think you can handle things here on your own?”

I glance around the quiet café, only a few patrons scattered about. “Of course,” I say confidently. “It’s slow right now, anyway.”

“I’ll be quick.” Tressa grins. “Thank you.”

Less than ten minutes after she leaves, the café begins to get busy. It’s as if half the village has simultaneously decided to descend upon the place. Patrons fill every available seat, and I rush frantically between tables, serving tea and pastries.

Thankfully, no one has asked for any potions to be mixed into their drinks. If they do, it will slow me down tremendously. Although my reading lessons with Lyrion are progressing well, I’m still worried I’ll mess something up by misreading the ingredients listed in Tressa’s new potion book.

“More cinnamon buns!” a customer calls from the far corner.

Another shouts from the opposite side of the café, “Can we have more scones, please?”

My pulse races as I hurry back into the kitchen. Panic knots my stomach when I glance at the pastry trays. Only a few scones remain, and the cinnamon rolls have vanished entirely.

My hands tremble as I grab ingredients, measuring flour and sugar with frantic movements. In my rush, the bag of flour slips from my fingers, crashing to the floor and exploding upward in a thick, choking white cloud.

I cough, waving desperately at the swirling powder. Flour covers my face, apron, and dress, sticking stubbornly to my skin. My heart sinks when I hear the door chime at the front entrance and see another customer approaching the counter.

Drawing in a deep breath, I dust the flour from my clothes and face as best I can and push through the kitchen doors to greet the elderly woman with a smile. “Hi! How can I help you?”

“I need the healing tea for my back pain,” she says. “The usual one I get.”

Worry tightens my chest. “Um… Tressa’s out at the moment, could you please remind me which potion that is?”

“How am I supposed to know?” She scowls. “I’m not a potions master; I don’t work here.”

“Um...” I glance at the clock. Tressa should be back within an hour, so perhaps I can stall the woman until then. “I’ll see what I can do. Would you like a free pastry while you wait?”

“Why, thank you.” She brightens immediately. Relief fills my chest, but it’s gone just as fast when she adds, “I’d like one of those delicious cinnamon rolls.”

Heavens above. Of course she’d ask for something we don’t have.

I’m about to offer her a scone instead, but when I think about the dwindling number remaining, I realize there’s only enough for six out of the ten people who have already asked for one.

“Just take a seat right over there.” I gesture to a nearby table. “And I’ll be back with you shortly.”

I rush back into the kitchen and frantically grab another mixing bowl. My heart hammers as I draw in several shallow breaths, trying not to hyperventilate.

I nearly jump out of my skin as the kitchen door swings open. “Isobel?”

Flour drifts from my hair as I spin back and find Lyrion standing in the doorway.

“Is everything alright?” His gaze sweeps over the flour-dusted counters then back to me in concern.

“Tressa left to run an errand.” Frantically, I stir the batter. “And we’re out of cinnamon rolls and I don’t have enough scones.” I struggle to keep my voice even despite my growing anxiety. “And I’m trying to make a new batch of both, and—”

“Would you like some help?”

Relief curls in my chest. “Are you sure?”

He takes the mixing bowl and spatula from my hands, his fingers brushing against mine. “Yes.”

“Do you mind making the scones?” I ask hopefully. “And I’ll work on the cinnamon rolls?”

He gives me a confident nod. “I’ve seen Hilda bake many times. I’m sure I can manage.”

“Oh, thank you,” I breathe.

As we each get to work, I become completely absorbed in making sure I’m following the recipe, checking multiple times to make sure I’ve read it correctly as I go.

A puff of flour explodes in the air, followed quickly by what sounds like some sort of Elvish curse. My head snaps toward Lyrion, and I bite my bottom lip to hold in a laugh. He looks completely disheveled.

Dough sticks stubbornly to his elegant fingers, flour dusts his face and dark hair, and batter streaks across his sharp cheekbones.

“How in the seven hells does Hilda make this look so easy?” he mutters to himself, scowling as he tries to scrape the dough off his skin. He shakes his hand vigorously, sending tiny flecks of it flying onto the walls and countertops.

I step forward to help him, but my foot catches on a dough roller that’s somehow found its way to the floor. I cry out as my feet slip, but strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.

“Are you alright, Isobel?”

I’m about to answer but his boot skids on a stray blob of batter. We pitch forward, and he twists at the last second, absorbing the impact as we hit the floor.

For a moment, we’re both stunned. I’m lying on top of him, our limbs tangled and both of us covered in sticky dough and flour. A faint smile tugs at his mouth, and I can’t help but grin.

Then, simultaneously, we both burst into laughter.

Lyrion’s laugh is rich and deep and he’s so handsome when he smiles.

“You have something right there.” My laughter subsides into giggles as I reach up, brushing away a streak of batter from the corner of his lips.

His laughter fades entirely as his violet eyes lock onto mine, intense and full of hunger. I’m acutely aware that I’m still sprawled atop his powerful form, my legs on either side of his waist, our faces so close we share each breath.

Stars help me, I’m lost in his gaze.

My pulse quickens as he cups the back of my neck and brushes his lips to mine in a tender kiss. Warmth floods my veins as I melt into him, savoring the taste and feel of him pressed against me.

A disgruntled voice from the dining area startles us both, and we break apart. “How long must we wait for a simple pastry?”

“I—I’m so sorry!” I call back, scrambling upright. “They’ll be out shortly!”

Another customer grumbles in irritation. “I’ve never had to wait this long for my food before.”

My cheeks flame, humiliation sharp in my chest.

Before I can respond, Lyrion marches from the kitchen to the front counter, his voice firm and unyielding as he addresses the patrons.

“Mind your tone. The café is short-staffed at the moment, and Isobel is working hard and doing her best to make sure everyone gets served. She deserves your patience and respect.”

Warm happiness flutters through me at his fierce defense. The café falls silent, and the patron mutters a sheepish apology, clearly intimidated by Lyrion’s commanding presence.

He returns to my side, his gaze gentle. “Are you alright?”

“I am now.” I smile. “Thank you.”

My heart does a happy little flip as his violet eyes stare deep into mine and he whispers, “Always, Isobel.”