Chapter 11
Aric
OUR APPLE CAKE IS A thing of beauty, perfectly risen and smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg.
And as I watch Poppy frost it, her brow wrinkled in concentration, her tongue barely poking from the corner of her mouth, I get a sudden overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss her.
It’s so strong and startling that I blink and shift back from our workstation, trying to clear my head of her sweet peppermint scent.
She’s Maeve’s friend, I tell myself. And she doesn’t see me that way.
But that laugh I drew out of her earlier was such a pretty sound, and I already know it’s going to be locked away in a safe place in my mind, right along with all the other moments that I don’t want to forget, even if I probably should.
Poppy finishes frosting the cake, then looks up at me. Her glasses have slid down the bridge of her nose again, and without thinking, I reach out and push them up for her.
And we both freeze. But blood still rushes into Poppy’s face, turning her brown skin a beautiful shade of dark pink.
I don’t usually blush—at anything—but I feel like I might be on the brink of doing just that, so I turn my gaze quickly away, focusing on our cake.
“Only one step left,” I say, carefully keeping my gaze away from her and her cute flushed cheeks.
Professor Sage’s taste test.
She must be the luckiest professor at Coven Crest, getting to try all the food her students prepare.
Across the room, one pair’s cake lets out a puff of air and sloops to the side, collapsing amidst a geyser of steam.
Okay, maybe she’s not the luckiest professor. The students in her classes probably create some pretty questionable dishes.
“Miss Waverly, Mr. Vandermere.” Professor Sage approaches our workstation, her eyes going wide as she takes in our cake.
Poppy decorated it beautifully, with slices of red apple and little puffs of frosting that look as soft as clouds. My mouth waters just looking at it.
“This looks delectable,” our professor says. “And the leavening spell worked like a charm. Not so hard, hmm?”
Over her shoulder, another cake collapses, and the students hurriedly try to salvage it, but it slumps into a pile, unwilling to stand again. I think Poppy saw it too, because when I flick a quick glance at her, I notice she’s trying not to laugh.
“May I?” Professor Sage asks, looking between the two of us.
“Please,” Poppy says. She presses up onto her toes, just a bit, then rocks back. Then she does it again.
Nervous habit?
A desire to know all her habits and quirks comes over me. I curl my fingers into fists at my sides and tear my gaze away.
Professor Sage cuts a tiny slice of cake and puts it on a plate. She lifts it to her nose, breathing deep as it sends up puffs of apple-cinnamon-scented steam, and her lips curl into a smile. I hold my breath as she takes a fork and scoops up a bite.
Her little sigh of delight puts me immediately at ease. Then she takes another bite, as if to ensure the first wasn’t a farce. Or maybe it’s just that good. I’d really like to take a slice now.
“Perfectly baked, moist but not too soft, and that frosting.” She takes another bite and sighs again. “Phenomenal. Truly.” She smiles at the two of us. “Well done. You may have baking in your future.”
“Professor!” a student calls from across the room. I look over to find their cake rapidly expanding, like the leavening spell worked a bit too well.
Professor Sage polishes off the last bite of cake and dabs her lips with a cotton napkin before hurrying over to stop the cake from taking over the classroom.
Now alone with Poppy, I clear my throat and ask, “Well, you wanna try our creation?”
She looks up at me with a smile, her glasses catching the late-afternoon sunlight slipping through the classroom windows. Her lavender eyes sparkle, reminding me of the flowers Ma used to grow in the beds along the front of the house when I was a kid.
And that urge comes back again. The one that makes me want to tuck her soft-looking hair behind her ear and press my mouth to hers, to know if she tastes as sweet as she looks.
“Do I have something on my face?” Poppy asks.
Which means I just got caught staring. Shit.
“Y-yeah,” I say quickly. “You’ve got a bit of flour.
Right . . .” I reach out slowly, giving Poppy a chance to pull away.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t. “Here.” I sweep my thumb gently across her warm brown cheek, and it flares red beneath my touch.
There wasn’t actually any flour on her face, but I couldn’t pass up that opportunity.
My thumb tingles where it brushed her skin. I drop my hand slowly back to my side.
“Thank you,” Poppy whispers. “That would’ve been embarrassing, walking around with flour on my face.” She lets out another laugh, but this one is lined with a touch of nervousness.
“Nah, not embarrassing,” I say, turning now to cut us each a slice of cake. As I hand Poppy her plate, I say, “It looked cute on you.”
She turns redder than the apples decorating our cake.
And if she keeps blushing like this when we’re together, I think I might be in trouble.