Chapter 1 #2
Paige shrugged. “All right, whatever you say.”
The bell on the front door chimed, and a willowy woman with cool beige skin and an elegant topknot of glossy black hair strode in, not glancing up from the newspaper her pert nose was buried in as she swept into the pastry shop.
The frown on Andrea’s face melted away as she smiled at the distracted witch, her best friend. “Lainey? What are you doing here? Also, why is the front door unlocked?”
Paige scurried off to check the lock.
Without looking up, Lainey Park stopped just shy of the front counter, as though she had some kind of echolocation built into her head. Like a dolphin. “This is bad,” she muttered.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” Andrea said, placing her index finger at the top crease of the paper. “What is it?”
There, printed in a bold font, was the word FOOD.
Andrea’s heart sputtered, stalling out momentarily. “Lainey?” she asked, a twinge of panic in her voice.
The witch finally looked up and met Andrea’s eyes, her own wide behind eggplant-purple glasses. “Andi, it’s—”
Andrea snatched the paper from her friend’s hands. “He wouldn’t dare!”
It turned out that he would.
There, above the fold, was the Sunday morning Magic Bites column, alongside a smarmy-looking headshot of a man in his mid-thirties, with thick, dark hair—magic plugs she’d paid for two years into their relationship, when he’d started grumbling about his ever-so-slightly receding hairline—a square jawline, sharp nose, and a smug smile, one side of his lips higher than the other in a way that he thought made him look smart, but in reality made him look like he was laughing at his own joke.
Andrea’s eyes skimmed ahead as she began reading aloud, her molars clenched together between words.
“‘As long-time readers of Magic Bites know, I’ve often sung the praises of Sunset Sweets, and as the most festive of all seasons approaches, I popped in to see what magical delights might tickle my tastebuds. I’ll admit to having visions of sugar plums dancing through my mind—or at the least, the figgy pudding–inspired torte of yesteryear—only to leave wondering if celebrity cupcake chef, Andrea Wickham, has lost her magic touch. ’”
Paige took a running leap as she hurried back across the room and tried to snatch the paper away, but Andrea turned and Paige slumped over the counter between them. “It’s not worth reading, Andi!”
Andrea forged onward, “‘—the cranberry orange scones were uninspired, the gingerbread houses like those left on display in a sad department store window, their gumdrops adornments crumbling.’”
Lainey shook her head and jabbed an angry finger at the paper. “He uses both the words chalky and moist in this piece-of-garbage review, and I’m honestly not sure which one makes me more upset. I mean, honestly, who is still using the word moist these days?” She shuddered.
Andrea’s eyes flicked away from the photo of her ex, now on a mission to hunt down the offending words. The four-hundred-word review was a complete and total hit piece.
“In lieu of a holiday treat, I reverted back to an old favorite, and departed with a slice of seven-layer Belgian chocolate cake, normally rich and moist, only to find it chalky, leading me to wonder if perhaps I’d been served something day old, by mistake.”
“Day old?” Andrea snarled, her blood boiling more with every word she ground out between clenched teeth. “That little worm!”
“Oooh, shall we turn him into one?” Lainey suggested, coming around the counter to stand between Andrea and Paige. “Granny is excellent with hexes. We’ll have to bring her a six-pack and a fistful of scratch-offs, but she’d do it!”
Andrea continued reading aloud, the words tumbling out more quickly, one after the other, as her eyes scanned the rest of the column to its conclusion: “This spells bad news for the pending release of Ms. Wickham’s third cookbook.
All told, I’d suggest looking elsewhere for your favorite holiday treats this year.
Perhaps Ms. Wickham could use the break. ”
Fire caught at the edges of the paper.
Lainey took the paper from Andrea’s hands before a full-blown inferno could ignite.
She quickly crumpled it with a wave of her own magic, before sending it to the trash can on a burst of conjured wind.
“I’m so sorry, Andi. I probably shouldn’t have even brought it in.
But the audacity! Ugh!” She shook her head, her eyes sparking with indignant fury.
“But you should just forget it, Andi. And forget him, seriously.” She squeezed her upper arm with warm fingertips.
Lainey was a plant witch, all peace and love and good vibes.
She practically radiated all the warmth and nurturing of Gaia herself.
Though that didn’t mean she couldn’t kick some serious ass if the task called for it.
And her granny was downright scary as hell.
“Forget it?” Andrea repeated, her voice screechy. “How am I supposed to do that, Lainey? This is a public attack!”
Paige started to offer her own advice, but her tablet buzzed with a notification that sent her fumbling through the pockets of her jacket to retrieve her phone.
“I should get this,” she said, not looking up, as she rounded the front counter and headed toward the double doors that led to the back of house.
Lainey grasped both of Andrea’s shoulders. “Breathe, Andi, breathe.”
“He cheated on me!” Andrea exclaimed. “Not the other way around! Where does he get off publishing something like this?”
Lainey nodded. “I know. I know.”
“And sure, I’ve smashed a few pastries and lit a few of his belongings on fire—”
Lainey blinked. “You did?”
Andrea scoffed. “It was all little stuff—stuff that shouldn’t have been in my house in the first place.
I always hated when he left stuff behind.
We agreed from the beginning to keep separate places, and he was packing a bag every time anyway, so why did he need a toothbrush at my place?
Extra ties in my closet? His brand of hot sauce in my fridge? ”
Lainey bit back a smile. “You made a bonfire out of hot sauce, neckties, and toothpaste?”
“It was a toothbrush,” Andrea corrected, but then gave a small nod. “And it wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped. Though the tie was one of his favorites. Hugo Boss. So, that’s something, I guess.”
“Even so, that’s not why he wrote this drivel,” Lainey replied.
“He wrote this because he’s a small, petty man, who couldn’t handle being in a relationship with a successful woman.
He’s a burned-out chef who couldn’t hack it, and now has to write about people who are out there living the dream he had for himself. Of course he’s short-circuiting!”
Andrea knew the remarks were meant to cheer her up, but her heart was hammering too loudly in her ears to fully appreciate them.
The kitchen door swung open and Paige reappeared. “That was The Grimoire Gourmet,” she said, her tone all-business. “Cliff had a cancellation this morning, and wants to come do the interview now.”
Andrea’s eyes went wide.
Paige cringed, the rest of the words rushing out in a breathless whirlwind. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
Lainey shifted modes immediately. “Is this a TV piece?” she asked Paige.
Paige shook her head. “Article only.”
“Hmm. Still…” Lainey grabbed Andrea by the wrist. “We need to get you a little cleaned up, babe. These eye bags are reaching checked luggage status.”
Andrea wanted to protest, out of sheer principle, but she knew Lainey only had her best interest at heart. In truth, she couldn’t remember her last night of restful sleep. She was stuck in a loop of three o’clock wake-ups that led to doomscrolling until sunrise.
And she knew she couldn’t fully blame it on William.
It was the cookbook. It was the shop. The persnickety brides, the demanding corporate customers, and the rumblings of complaints over the stagnant menu that had started in the fall, when all she’d mustered up was mini pumpkin spice bundt cake and a brown butter apple tart to add to the seasonal menu.
Sighing, she looked down at the trash can where William’s column resided.
Uninspired.
Well, he’d gotten one thing right.
“Don’t worry about a thing, boss lady,” Lainey continued, offering up her most reassuring and warm grin.
“We’ll get you all fixed up. I’ve got a little potion in my bag that will erase all that red, puffy stuff like that!
” She snapped her fingers, then flinched back as a blue spark shot from between her pinched fingers.
“Oops! Guess I was more fired up than I thought.”
Andrea laughed—her first, honest-to-goddess laugh in the weeks since the breakup—as she looped her arm through Lainey’s and escorted her to her office at the back of the bakery.
She had a small powder room to herself, and while it was a bit of a squeeze, the two witches stepped inside so Lainey could work her magic.
The air was fragrant and warm, permeated with scent from the Christmas Tree candle sitting beside the soap dispenser. Andrea had bought it on a whim at the market, thinking perhaps it would perk up her mood and stave off a midnight visit from the Ghost of Christmas Present.
“Okay, now this might sting a little,” Lainey said, a wince pulling the corners of her full mouth as she produced a small gold pot from somewhere in the knitted bag hung across her chest.
With a nod, Andrea sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, one hand absently gathering tissue paper to dab away any excess potion.
Gently, Lainey swiped the tip of her pinkie through the contents of the small jar and began applying it to the thin skin underneath Andrea’s blue eyes. “If you ask me, you should call his editor and file some kind of complaint,” Lainey said.
“I doubt it would do any good.” Andrea tilted her chin up as Lainey moved her finger across the bridge of her nose to work on the other eye. “You know how it is over there. A good old boys club.”
Lainey clucked her tongue. “Well, then we’re back to my suggestion of letting Granny hex him six ways to Sunday.”
Andrea smiled, even while her eyes watered at the subtle stinging sensation as the potion went to work. “I’ll think it over.”
Lainey’s mouth twisted to one side as she screwed the lid back onto the pot of potion.
Andrea watched her friend and the easy, confident way she moved. “Lainey?”
“Hmm?”
“What if he’s right?”
Lainey blinked. “Right about what? You?” She shook her head and tucked the pot back into the depths of her woven bag.
“Absolutely not. Your bakery is one of the hottest spots in all of Hecate’s Kitchen!
Your cookbooks fly off the shelves so fast that no magical bookstore in the country can keep them in stock.
You’re gorgeous, hilarious, driven. And you have great taste in friends.
” She smiled and Andrea laughed softly, but the humor faded before it could reach her eyes.
Looking down, she realized she’d shredded the hunk of wadded tissue paper, the thin confetti dotting her black pants.
Lainey followed her gaze, and with a twirl of her fingers, sent a gentle breeze to swipe away the debris, guiding it to fall into the wastepaper basket nestled up against the vanity cabinet.
“I don’t know if I can do this interview,” Andrea confessed, fighting the temptation to grab another handful of toilet paper. “They’re going to ask me about my inspiration for the next book, and fish around for hints to the new recipes yet to come. What am I supposed to say?”
Lainey’s jet-black brows worked together, and a pair of lines appeared between them.
She was one of the only witches Andrea knew in all of Hecate’s Kitchen who wasn’t hopelessly addicted to Botox, and Andrea applauded her for her approach to graceful aging, even as she made quarterly appointments with her own esthetician and begged for any magical potion that could pump the brakes on Father Time.
She was only thirty-six, but when you lived in a city like LA, age might as well be counted in dog years.
Lainey offered Andrea a hand and helped her up. “Fake it. You know, like you probably had to when you were in bed with William!”
Andrea burst out laughing and Lainey slung an arm around her, the two witches standing side-by-side in the mirror over the sink.
Lainey smiled as Andrea wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You are magic, girl. Don’t let anyone dull your glow.”
“Knock, knock, ladies,” Paige called, sliding the two narrow pocket doors open. “Andi, Cliff is here. I seated him at table seven.”
Lainey winked. “Lucky number seven! See? You’ve got this, witch.”