Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROSE
“Carter?” I call, pulling my robe tighter around my shoulders, my bare feet padding softly across the cold tile as I tiptoe into the kitchen.
Ginger meows and rolls onto his side where he’s been sunning himself in the light streaming through the window. Bending down, I scratch under his fluffy orange-and-white chin, rewarded with a deep, rumbling purr.
Straightening, I reach for a mug when I spot a note on the counter in Carter’s familiar scrawl.
Rose,
Ran out to run a few errands and give you some time to work. I’ll be back around one for lunch. — Carter
As I reread the note, warmth blooms in my chest; I inhale deeply, the paper carrying the faintest whisper of his cedarwood-and-vanilla scent.
Waking in his arms and spending the whole day getting to know each other again would’ve been ideal, but he has a point.
The lounge opening is tomorrow, and I have a mountain of preparations to tackle after the chaos of the past few days threw everything off schedule.
Still, all I want is a break—one spent in his arms.
“First things first, let’s check in with the bakery before I try to fix this decorations mess.” After typing in the store’s number, I press call and lift the receiver to my ear. It rings and rings before flipping to voicemail.
“Maisel’s Macarons. We are with other customers at the moment. Please provide your name and number so we can call you back as soon as possible.”
The phone emits a loud beep.
“Good morning. This is Rosemary Sinclaire. I have an order placed for tomorrow for the Wise Fox Lounge opening. I just wanted to call and confirm everything is still on track to be delivered.”
I set the phone face down on the counter, unease twisting low in my stomach.
“It’s just pre-event jitters, Rose. Pull yourself together. They’re probably just busy and will call back. Focus on the real problem at hand—those blasted chartreuse decorations.”
As the coffee pot begins to brew, I dial the number of a childhood friend. Angela picks up on the third ring.
“Rosemary! I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she says warmly. “Is everything alright?”
“Hey, Ange. Sorry I’ve been distant—I’ve been up to my neck in projects and work.”
“You always were a busy bee—even in school, making sure everyone and every detail was just right.” She chuckles, and I wince at the sound of children in the background.
I’ve been so wrapped up in my projects and work, everyone I used to know has gone on to start families of their own.
A tug pulls at my chest as my thoughts stray to Carter, wondering if children are something he’s ever wanted.
From what Netti’s told me, he’s never settled down.
“That’s actually why I’m calling. I’m juggling multiple events, and there’s been a mistake with the decorations.”
“You’re going to work yourself to death one of these days, Rose. How can I help?”
“Well, the decorations are chartreuse green, and they’re supposed to be cerulean blue. Somehow, the store has been completely bought out of blue stock and can’t substitute,” I explain, drumming my fingers on the counter.
“So you’ve got a mountain of ugly green decorations and need them to be blue?”
“Yes, exactly. And I vividly remember you charming the homecoming decorations into opal—shifting between every color of the rainbow for our under-the-sea theme. You always had top scores in transfiguration.”
“You flatter me, Rose—but that is true. I suppose I could come out and see what I can do. When’s your event? A week? A month?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
My stomach twists in knots as the phone falls silent.
“Angela?”
“Rose, I really want to help you. I do, but with two small boys under three, I can’t drop everything to fly out.”
“I know. I knew it was a long shot, but I figured I’d try. Thank you.”
“Have you tried Marcelene? Let me text you her number.”
“Not yet, but I’ll give her a call.”
An hour and two cups of coffee later, I’ve called half the witch contacts I’ve met over the years. Either their skills in illumination weren’t up to the task, or they had other obligations and couldn’t fly out on such short notice.
I sigh, pick up one of the putrid green balloons, and scrunch my nose as I concentrate, pulling on the magic in and around me. Although I don’t know any spells to change an object’s color, some magic can be coaxed with focused intention.
“Make it blue, make it blue,” I whisper under my breath. My fingers tingle as I think of the sky, the ocean, even Carter’s blasted blue bike. I peek one eye open, and a wave of disappointment washes over me when the atrocious green balloon in my hand remains unchanged.
“Maybe she won’t even notice in the lounge’s dim interior?” I mutter to Ginger, who gives me a single glance before returning to a thorough lick of his paw.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Take what as a no?”
I jump and spin, my heart racing—and then a grin spreads across my face at the sound of Carter’s voice.
“You’re back! Oh, here, let me help you with that.” I rush to his side, grab the drink tray from his hands, and carry it to the kitchen. He leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek, the scruff of his beard brushing my skin.
"Sorry, I need to shave, but I didn’t want to wake you this morning,” he says, cupping my face, his thumb rasping gently along my jaw.
“Don’t be sorry. It looks good on you.”
I only hope he doesn’t see the lovesick look plastered across my face. Every moment with him, I feel more at ease. More comfortable in my own skin. Like sunshine on a warm day.
“How are preparations for the lounge going?” Carter moves through the kitchen with ease, grabbing two plates and setting down flaky, buttery croissant sandwiches after tossing his bags on the couch. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you.”
He pops open a can of cat food and places it on a tray on the floor. Ginger prances over, tail flicking as he all but inhales the meal.
“You’re going to spoil him,” I chide, picking up one of the sandwiches.
“This cute face?” He lifts the scrambling kitten before setting him back beside his food offering. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not deflecting, I’m eating.” I nod toward his untouched sandwich, licking crumbs from my fingers.
“Maybe I’m hungry for something else,” he purrs, voice husky as he catches my wrist. My insides nearly melt when he licks my fingers clean, then drops my hand only to tug me against him. A breath escapes me, lips parting—and then his mouth is on mine.
Our tongues tangle, teasing, his hands roaming my back. I’m consumed, yet utterly full, as Carter kisses me like his life depends on it. A thrill races through me, my magic humming over my skin, though I still can’t read his emotions.
The buzz of my phone shatters the moment. We break apart, panting. Heat floods my face as I fumble through my purse for the blasted device, torn between gratitude for the reprieve and disappointment at the interruption.
“Rosemary?”
“This is she,” I reply, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel.
“This is Maisel from Maisel’s Macarons.” I blow out a breath and run my fingers through my hair, turning away from Carter.
“Oh, Mrs. Maisel. Thank you so much for returning my call. I just wanted to confirm everything was on track for tomorrow’s event.” I begin pacing the length of my small kitchen.
“Well, honey, that’s why I’m calling.” In the distance I hear sirens. “Unfortunately, there was a little accident—our main oven caught on fire. Everyone is safe, but the kitchen will be down for at least a week. I can issue you a refund for your deposit, or you can apply it toward a future order.”
My stomach plummets. First my car, then the wrong color decorations, the band canceling—and now no macarons. I was a dead witch. No, worse than a dead witch. This could end my career if word got out.
“Rosemary, are you still there?” Maisel asks.
“Sorry, a refund of the deposit will be fine. Thank you for letting me know.” I hit end on the call and slowly sink to the floor, covering my face with my hands.
This is it. I’m ruined. This was my last chance to salvage the opening night, and now it’s doomed to fail. No amount of magic or money can fix this.
“Rose?” Carter’s warm hands squeeze my shoulders as he kneels beside me. I peer into his bright blue eyes, my head resting against the wooden cabinets.
“I’m ruined. The event is ruined.” I bury my face in my hands, but he pries them away, tilts my chin up, and forces me to meet his gaze.
“What happened?” His voice is a soothing balm to my senses, and I blink away unshed tears.
“There was an accident at the bakery.” My voice cracks on the last syllable. “They canceled the macaron order.”
“Well, why don’t you call another bakery?”
“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just call another bakery and have ten dozen custom macarons ready the next day.”
“Well, why don’t we make them?”
“You don’t just—” I laugh at the absurdity and wave at my tiny kitchen from his lap. “First, this is not an industrial bakery. And second, I might be a witch, but I can’t wave my magic wand around and make miracles happen.”
“You have a magic wand?”
“You know what I mean.” I start to stand, but he pulls me right back into his lap.
“I know.” He cradles my face in his hands, pressing gentle kisses to my forehead, eyelids, and then cheeks. “Let’s just make them.”
“Have you ever made macarons before?”
“No, but they can’t be that hard.” He helps me to my feet with a shrug.
“I don’t know the first thing about making macarons.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you know someone who does.” He reaches behind me, grabs my phone, and presses it into my hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive up?” My phone is cradled between my ear and shoulder as I jot down the last of Netti’s tips. My small couch is already overflowing with bags—we’d hit two grocery stores and a bakery supply shop to get everything on her list.