Page 24 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

I glance around the café kitchen, the air filled with the familiar, comforting scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries. Normally, this place fills me with calm, but today, nerves twist my stomach into knots.

This is it. The village baking contest is today, and I’m excited but also nervous.

Carefully, I measure out the herbs and various ingredients. Lyrion has been teaching me to read and I’m proud to say I’ve come a long way with my reading lessons.

It’s helped me tremendously in my baking, and I’ve been practicing in Lyrion’s kitchen and also working with Tressa, making minor adjustments to this recipe for the past week to make sure I get this right.

Fingers crossed, my joy cupcakes are going to win the prize for tastiest and best magical baked goods today.

“Are you alright?” Lyrion asks softly behind me.

“I’m fine. Just a bit anxious about the contest.”

Lyrion studies me, his expression unreadable. I wish I had his confidence. He always appears so composed. “If these are anything like that last batch you made, I have no doubt you’ll do wonderfully, Isobel.”

Warmth floods my cheeks, and I hastily glance away so he won’t see the blush heating my face. “But that was the normal recipe,” I explain. “This contest is based not only on taste but on magical effects.”

He studies the ingredients before me, arching a brow. “What sort of magic are they supposed to create?”

I smile. “A hint of joy for anyone who eats them.” I glance at the empty jar on the counter. “I just need a little more of the joyflower powder—also known as brightroot —and wheat flour.” I gesture vaguely toward the cellar door. “I ran out.”

“That bag of flour is heavy. I’ll help you bring it up,” Lyrion offers, moving smoothly to my side. “You shouldn’t have to carry everything yourself.”

That’s very thoughtful of him. Together we descend into the dim cellar beneath the café. The air is cooler here, heavy with the earthy scent of dried herbs, dust, and faint spices. Wooden shelves line the walls, stacked high with labeled jars and sacks of flour and sugar.

I search for the joyflower, desperate to distract myself from the way Lyrion’s presence fills the small space with his tall, masculine form and delicious scent of pine and parchment.

On the table, I notice the passionflower jar. It’s a slightly darker shade of pink than the brightroot. Tressa used it in a cake she made a few days ago.

Scanning the shelves, I find the joyflower container, recognizing the familiar squiggly letters of Tressa’s handwriting. It’s perched on a high shelf. Stretching up on my toes, I struggle to reach it, but it’s just beyond my fingertips.

“Allow me,” Lyrion murmurs, stepping close behind me. Awareness hums through my veins at his nearness. He’s much taller than me and effortlessly plucks the jar from the shelf.

When he turns toward me, he’s so close, the warmth of his body radiates to mine. Our eyes lock, and the air becomes charged between us as I gaze into his violet eyes. My heart pounds so loudly I’m almost certain he must hear it.

“Isobel,” he says, voice rich and deep, sending shivers cascading down my spine. “Forgive me,” he breathes.

“For what?”

I discover the answer a moment later when he sets the jar on the table and captures my mouth in a claiming kiss. All rational thought dissolves into molten warmth as he kisses me like a man possessed.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. My heart races wildly as he kisses along my jaw and down my neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I feel shameless, reckless even, but gods help me, this feels so good I can’t bring myself to push him away. My fingers tangle in the silken fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer as his mouth moves over mine, devouring, tasting, exploring.

His tongue strokes against my own, coaxing me into surrender, and a low, helpless moan escapes my lips.

I run my hands through his hair and caress the pointed tips of his ears.

“Stars above,” he rasps. “You have no idea how sensitive those are, do you?” He growls low in arousal and lifts me effortlessly onto the wooden counter, standing between my legs.

My pulse thunders in my ears, heat spreading through every nerve-ending, leaving me dizzy and breathless with desire as he grips my hair, and angles my mouth to his, deepening our kiss.

I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m completely lost in his warmth, his touch, the feel of his strong body as it molds to mine.

He shifts closer, bumping the table and knocking over the heavy bag of flour. It hits the floor with a solid thud, exploding into the air in a cloud of white powder.

We both break away, coughing and laughing as we wave away the dust.

Lyrion’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he steps back, his dark hair and elegant clothes now covered in white.

My face feels like it’s on fire as I slide off the counter and brush the flour from my skirts. The entire table, including the joyflower jar, is completely covered in powder. Lyrion picks it up, handing it to me.

“Here,” he says, voice still a bit rough. “We should go back upstairs.” His lips quirk up at the edges. “You’ve got a baking contest to win.”

I nod. Lyrion carries the heavy bag of wheat flour for me, and we climb the cellar stairs, my heart still fluttering from our kiss. Drawing in a deep breath, I force myself to focus. I desperately want to win this contest.

If I do, I believe it will make my position at The Enchanted Teacup even more secure. Not that Tressa has ever threatened to let me go, but I remember how hard it was for me and Errol before I found this job. We nearly starved last winter.

When we make our way back upstairs, I glance out the café window as I mix the ingredients.

The village square is alive with festive energy. Colorful banners flutter in the breeze, and bright lanterns hang from every available post. Laughter fills the air, mingling with cheerful chatter as the villagers move amongst the various stands.

Once they’re finished baking, I carefully and meticulously frost each cupcake, ensuring every swirl is perfect, adding extra sprinkles to make them even more tempting. The scent of vanilla and sweet sugar wafts through the air, tantalizing and inviting.

When I’m done, I present them to Lyrion. “What do you think?”

“These are lovely and they smell delicious.” His eyes dart to the window and the setup for the contest outside. Several contestants have already begun arranging their offerings on the tables provided. “I’ve seen the competition and I believe you have an excellent chance of taking first prize.”

Pride swells my chest. “You think so?”

He gives me a confident nod. “Yes.”

Anticipation thrums through my veins as the judges make their way toward me. I don’t expect to get Ms. Fenwick’s vote. Her cousin is one of the contestants and she went on and on about how lovely her blissful blueberry tarts were and how relaxed and content their magic made her feel.

But perhaps I have a chance with the other four judges. Especially Mayor Finley. He looks decidedly unhappy with Rowena Alderwood’s Lemon Laughter Cakes. The judges only took a few bites, but something must have been wrong with the recipe, because they sound like a pack of braying donkeys.

“How long do you think it will last?” Whispers rise up from the crowd.

“Long enough for Rowena Alderwood to kiss first prize goodbye,” one says.

Lyrion leans close and whispers in my ear.

“I think she used too much mirthroot or perhaps the wrong combination of snickerpetal and giggleblossom. I believe the crowd is right.” He arches a teasing brow.

“She may not win the baking contest, but I think she has a fair shot at winning a ribbon in one of the livestock events.”

I snort out a laugh but quickly cover my mouth, horrified to have let out such an undignified sound. But when I glance at Lyrion, I notice the hint of a smile on his face, his eyes dancing with barely restrained amusement.

Once the effects of the laughing cakes wear off, the judges move to my display.

I’m so nervous. I’m the final contestant. After this, they’ll announce a winner.

Mayor Finley’s fox ears flick forward in attention, his nostrils flaring as he studies my table. “Well, well, what have we here? These smell delicious, Isobel.”

“Joy cupcakes.” I gesture to my two dozen cupcakes. They’re carefully arranged on a three-tiered stand, decorated with swirls of white and pink vanilla raspberry frosting with colorful sprinkles. “They offer a hint of joy with each bite.”

I watch as the judges each take one. Without thinking, I grab Lyrion’s hand, squeezing it as I wait on pins and needles for their appraisal.

At first nothing happens. I give Lyrion a worried look. “It didn’t work,” I murmur. “I must have done something wrong.”

“Give it a moment,” he whispers, gently squeezing my hand in return. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

I take a deep breath, allowing his steadfast reassurance to bolster me.

Relief floods my veins as delighted smiles spread across the face of each judge, their eyes lighting up with joy.

“How deliciously delightful,” one of them says.

“I agree.” Mayor Finley beams. “Scrumptiously joyful.”

“Positively euphoric,” another exclaims.

Even Ms. Fenwick agrees with a radiant grin. “It’s like a burst of sunshine exploded in my mouth.”

They wait a few minutes for the magic to wear off and then huddle together, whispering as they decide upon a winner.

Silence descends upon the crowd as we await their decision. Unable to help myself, I squeeze Lyrion’s hand even harder as my stomach twists in knots.

After a few minutes, they take a step back and turn toward the crowd. “The vote is unanimous,” Mayor Finley says. He turns back to me, grinning widely. “First prize goes to Isobel Bramble, representing The Enchanted Teacup Café .”

“I won!” I throw my arms around Lyrion, my heart soaring with happiness. “I can’t believe it! I won!”

“Congratulations, Isobel!” Lyrion spins me around before setting me back on my feet, his eyes shining with pride. “I knew you could do it.”

Mayor Finley steps forward, holding up the first prize ribbon as he grasps my hand and raises both our arms overhead.

The crowd goes wild with applause. I’m so happy I could burst.

As he and the other judges gaze at the crowd, their smiles turn even brighter. Dread crawls down my spine as their eyes flash with an odd intensity and their laughter intensifies, growing loud and obnoxious.

“What in the world is going on?” someone says in the crowd.

Suddenly, they all go silent. Before anyone else can speak, Ms. Fenwick turns to the Mayor. “Let’s run away together, Finley, and make merry mischief together. I’ll pack the ale!”

The crowd gasps as she pulls him into a stunned, awkward embrace.

“My good woman,” he says, gently trying to push her away, “I appreciate your passion, but I—I’m afraid the town charter prohibits such… spontaneous declarations.”

“Oh, Finley!” Ms. Fenwick gasps dramatically. “Surely, you don’t mean that!”

Before he can respond, two of the other judges burst into a heated argument over flowers, their voices echoing sharply across the festival grounds.

“You call those roses in your front yard red?” Mr. Wardly yells at Mr. Jenkins. “I’ve seen radishes with more color!”

“Oh, please! You shouldn’t be worried about my roses when your garden looks so pitiful, Wardly,” Jenkins retorts. “Your tulips droop more than a soggy hat on laundry day. They’re an embarrassment to the entire village!”

Chaos erupts rapidly as they each grab a few of my cupcakes and throw them at one another. I watch in horror as my carefully crafted confections fly through the air, hitting not only their targets but also other random bystanders.

They explode in curious puffs of magical pink glitter, spreading over the crowd like a wave of dust.

“What in the seven hells?” Lyrion curses beside me as we watch the emotional outbursts grow and spread through the crowd.

Tables are overturned and decorations tumble as several villagers grab handfuls of pastries, launching them like weapons at each other, while several others openly declare feelings of love and eternal devotion—reciting poetry and singing, and a few even embracing.

My heart plummets as the emotional mayhem expands, the villagers shouting, laughing hysterically, and arguing fiercely, transforming the festival into complete pandemonium.

“I don’t understand.” My lips part in disbelief as the chaos unfolds, the magic dust spreading through the village square like smoke. “What’s going on?”

“It’s your cupcakes, Isobel.” Lyrion moves protectively closer to me as more of my cupcakes are thrown, exploding in puffs of pink glitter wherever they land. “They’re driving the villagers mad.”