Chapter 13
Lochlan
“PANCAKES: THE NEW APHRODISIAC.” —THE STELLA RUNE GAZETTE
Lochlan stood at the edge of Third Street, watching the crowd weave between vendor tables and clusters of cops with their canine companions.
Nearly everyone held a plate stacked with pancakes, fruit, and breakfast sausage, a delicious spread served up for The Charis Foundation’s inaugural fundraiser for police dogs.
The event had drawn families, couples, and a ridiculous number of dogs happily weaving through the sea of legs.
Strands of orange and gold leaves decorated lamp posts, and the scent of maple syrup clung to the crisp air, making it feel like October had arrived early.
He would’ve brought Jade, but she didn’t have the patience for this kind of chaos. Honestly, neither did he.
Nia stood by one of the large portable griddles, her black shirt speckled with splatters of pancake batter—a streak of the same marked her cheek—as she smiled and talked animatedly with a mother of three.
The youngest, a little girl with wild curls and a syrup-sticky face, tugged at Nia’s skirt.
Lochlan watched as she bent down, giving the child her full attention, nodding thoughtfully.
Nia’s expression shifted into something playful and, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she opened her hand to reveal a small cluster of deep purple flowers.
Their five-petaled shape mimicked a desert rose.
The little girl’s eyes widened with wonder, flickering from the flowers to Nia’s face, before breaking into a delighted, gap-toothed grin.
“Just a little magic trick,” Nia murmured.
Lochlan heard her as though she’d spoken directly to him, though he realized belatedly he’d stepped closer. With so many regulars around, magic had to be used discretely, but the joy radiating from the child in that small moment was pure and unbridled.
“So cool!” the little girl exclaimed, clutching the flowers as she skipped back to her mother and siblings.
Lochlan’s chest tightened. His father had used magic the same way—conjuring a flower in his palm, holding it out with a quiet smile.
Tell me its properties, he would say. What medicines could it make? What spells might it strengthen?
On his loneliest nights, Lochlan would summon a flower in his palm, reciting its properties into the empty room, pretending his father was still there. Now, watching Nia wield the same magic through their bond, he felt a bittersweet pang.
“Lochlan?” Nia’s voice pulled him back. He exhaled sharply, shaking off the memory as her face came into focus.
He cleared his throat. “You picked that up easily.”
She glanced down at her palm, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “I guess I did,” she said, a trace of pride in her voice. “What’re you doing here?”
“How could I miss it?”
“We haven’t done the promise spell with my father yet,” she warned. “It won’t count.”
“I just came to see you, and to see how well the hard work you’ve put into this turned out.”
For the briefest moment, her eyes met his. “Ivy did most of it.”
Lochlan knew better. He’d heard her talking in her sleep about lists and RSVPs, seen the open notebook filled with painstaking calculations to ensure they sold enough tickets to cover the cost of K9 care and safety equipment. She’d poured her heart into this fundraiser.
Before he could say any of this, a pale blonde woman bounded over, her energy bright and uncontained. “Hi!” She extended a delicate hand. “I’m Ivy, the other half of Charis.”
He felt himself return her infectious smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lochlan.”
Ivy giggled. Beside her, Nia let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes.
“We’ve met before,” Ivy said with a playful lilt. “But, from what I hear, you were pretty deep into the fairy wine at the time.”
Lochlan’s brow furrowed. He wished he could remember—not because he doubted Ivy, but because he’d been fearless that night. Free. He wanted to know what it had felt like to be this version of himself.
“Anyway,” Ivy continued, breezily, “I’m so happy you came. We could use an extra set of hands. Johanna—the owner of Peter’s Diner—just ran off to grab more batter. The turnout has been even bigger than we expected.”
“No, he doesn’t need to—” Nia started, but Lochlan cut her off before she could finish.
“I’d love to help.” He liked cooking. And he wanted to be near her.
Instead of heading to the empty griddle, he stepped up beside her. Their arms brushed as he reached for a spatula.
She didn’t say anything, but he caught the subtle hitch in her breath.
Don’t be thick. Say something. Anything.
“How’s your ass?” he asked, before his brain could catch up with his mouth.
Nia froze, her pancake hovering mid-air. She gave him a look. “You just jumped straight to butt stuff, huh?”
“I meant… after you fell. On the stairs.” He winced. “I’ve been worried but didn’t know how to ask, and now I’ve made it weird.”
“It was already weird,” she said, grinning.
They fell into a rhythm, handing plates across the griddle and keeping up with the steady line of people waiting.
“My butt is fine, by the way,” Nia said. “Did you do something to the stairs? I don’t remember them being carpeted.”
Lochlan’s face heated. He had installed it yesterday, telling himself it was for Jade. She wasn’t getting any younger. That was true. But it wasn’t the whole reason, and he didn’t know how to say the rest.
Before he could answer, Nia swore as smoke curled off a pancake. It wasn’t the first to catch fire.
“You’re not very experienced at this, are you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
“Just because I can’t craft edible flowers and puppy dogs from batter like you,” she said, waving her spatula toward his side of the griddle after she’d removed the scorched pancake, “doesn’t mean I’m not needed.”
“You’re definitely needed.” He stepped closer, guiding her toward the tray of chocolate chips and blueberries, his hand lingering on her back.
She didn’t move away. The scent of her filled his head—smokey vanilla, amber, and maple syrup.
His voice came out low and rough. “But how about you take toppings, and I’ll handle the pancakes. ”
Nia’s breath whooshed out in a surprised laugh, her cheeks flushed with a heat Lochlan hoped he’d caused, though it might just have been the griddle.
“Are you trying to fire me from my own fundraiser?” She sounded bemused.
“Not firing, just… reassigning.” Nia had many talents, but cooking clearly wasn’t one of them. “To a role where you’re not a danger to yourself. Or anyone’s breakfast,” he said with a grin before turning back to the griddle.
Lochlan threw himself into the task of making pancakes, crafting them into flowers, cats, and dogs that earned delighted giggles from the children crowding around.
But as hard as he tried to focus, his attention kept drifting to Nia, working too close beside him.
It was a test of restraint he hadn’t been remotely prepared for.
Every accidental brush of her arm, every fleeting touch of her hand sent a pulse of heat through him.
His thoughts wandered to the night before—and what might have happened if Becket hadn’t, well, been Becket.
Nia leaned behind him to grab a clean cloth, brushing against his back in a fleeting, maddening caress that made him fumble the spatula.
He bit the inside of his cheek, desperately willing his body to behave—the last thing he needed was to flip pancakes while battling a very inconvenient, very obvious problem.
Divine intervention would be nice right about now. Or, at the very least, an apron.
Intervention did come—just not in the form Lochlan had hoped for.
A weary-looking woman waddled up, hauling an industrial-sized bucket, her presence dousing the fire kindling between him and Nia.
“I brought more batter,” the woman announced gruffly.
“Thanks, Johanna, you’re the best.” Nia pried off the bucket’s lid and used it to fan herself.
Johanna grunted in response before shuffling off toward the fruit station, muttering something about strawberries.
Moments later, Ivy appeared, her arms full of empty batter dispensers. “I’ll fill the bottles,” she said brightly. Before anyone could protest, the batter began pouring itself neatly into the dispensers, as if guided by an invisible hand.
Nia gasped, grabbing the bucket. “Don’t use magic! There are too many people. We don’t want to piss off Aurelia.”
Aurelia, the eraser witch of Stella Rune, was a name that could silence even the boldest witches.
Her job was to clean up magical slip-ups before they caused real trouble—wiping memories if necessary, issuing fines, and in more serious cases, handing out jail time.
Lochlan had never met her, and had no intention of doing so.
He’d seen her once wag a finger at a werewolf twice her size.
By the time she was done, the wolf had looked like a scolded puppy.
“Oh, please,” Ivy scoffed, trying to wrestle the bucket back. The batter sloshed dangerously. “No one’s paying attention. They’re too busy wondering if you and your husband are about to make out.”
Nia’s face went red as she yanked the bucket back, her voice low and sharp. “Shut up.”
“Admit it!” Ivy teased, her grin wide and unapologetic.
Lochlan stepped in as the batter swayed dangerously close to the rim. “Easy there,” he cautioned, hands outstretched—
But he was too late.
A tidal wave of batter surged over the edge, drenching him and Nia in thick, sticky streaks. Somewhere in the background, Johanna let loose a string of muttered curses, the kind usually reserved for particularly bad burns—magical and otherwise.
“Oops,” Ivy chirped, not even attempting to hide her glee. “I guess you two better go get cleaned up.”