Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“You’re a witch!”
The three words echoed in Andrea’s mind, reverberating off the inside of her skull and rendering her speechless. She had never let her magic slip before. There were protocols, of course, but at that moment, she couldn’t get her thoughts together enough to formulate a plan.
Wes reached out a hand, but it wasn’t for her, instead for Emma, and the subtle gesture suddenly made Andrea feel even more monstrous.
She didn’t want to give anyone a reason to be afraid of her, but especially not the person she was falling for. He didn’t think she would hurt Emma … did he?
She blinked, her words coming out in clipped fragment, “I—this was—I don’t know what—”
Then, before Andrea could make a new attempt at composing herself, Emma burst forward, bypassing Wes’s attempt at corralling her, and raised her hands into the air, beaming from ear to ear. “That was so cool! Dad! Why didn’t you tell me she’s a witch? Like Grandma! And Mom!”
Andrea’s mind bent in an entirely new direction, but before she could even begin to get a handle on the entirely new train of thoughts, Emma swept her hands over the mess on the floor, and within a split second, the bowl and bits of frosting splattered across the floor began to levitate.
The blue pigment from the frosting didn’t lift out completely, but Emma flicked her hand and the bowl and most of the frosting flew into the sink and landed in the dishwater with a plop.
Wes whipped around, his expression even more panicked than it had been at Andrea’s initial use of magic. “Emma!” he snapped.
“What?” Emma raised her eyebrows in the kind of skepticism reserved solely for quizzical ten-year-olds. “She’s a witch, like me! You saw it, too!”
Wes looked at Andrea, willing her to speak.
Andrea shook her head and stared at the now-clean floor. “I—wait, you’re a witch, too?”
It was a stupid question, considering the girl had just levitated a mixing bowl and several cups’ worth of frosting off the floor right in front of her eyes.
But it just wasn’t making sense. What were the odds of finding another witch in a tiny town like Maple Crossing in the first place, let alone in the kitchen of a man she was sort of dating?
Wes squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if willing time to rewind itself, though of course that was in vain. When he opened his eyes again he looked from his daughter to Andrea and back again before speaking. “Emma is a witch, like my late wife.”
Andrea’s mouth opened, but once again no words came.
“Dad says I got her magic and her eyes,” Emma declared with a matter-of-fact nod. “Grandma has it, too.”
She was obviously referencing Tilda. Magic had a strong genetic predisposition. Sometimes it could be a recessive trait and skip a generation or two, but in most cases, witches begat witches.
Men could have magic too, of course, though it was generally not as strong or prevalent as in women. Which Andrea considered only fair, given the general state of the world.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Andrea finally stammered. “I didn’t mean to—” She gestured at the kitchen floor, and the stubborn smudges of blue dye. “I have a cleaning spell for that,” she added almost as an aside.
“I’m super careful, but sometimes I make mistakes, too,” Emma told her, as though patting her on the shoulder and telling her there, there.
Andrea smiled at the girl’s warmth and easygoing spirit. “That was an impressive levitation spell.”
Emma’s eyes glittered as she beamed up at Andrea. “Thanks! Now, let’s finish these cookies, ’cause I told Renee I’d go to her house on the way and help her finish packing.”
Andrea’s mind spun, even as Emma set about decorating the newest freshly cooled batch of cookies, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she focused intently, as though the whole thing had been just another Saturday morning.
“So,” Emma asked in between cookies, “was your mom a witch, too?”
“Yes, although she doesn’t really use her magic,” Andrea replied, not really wanting to dwell on thoughts of her mother.
She hadn’t bothered to reply to her last text message.
“Her talent lends itself toward needlework, which is something she doesn’t really enjoy.
Obviously, my magic is in baking. Do you know about the magic districts?
” Andrea looked from Wes to Emma, hoping it wasn’t some secret he was keeping from her.
Emma nodded and set about piping little red bubbles onto a Christmas tree–shaped cookie that she’d already frosted with green to make the branches. “I’ve been to a couple, but there isn’t one close by. So, wait, does that mean you live in a magic district?”
Andrea nodded, and something within her relaxed a bit. “I do. The one in Los Angeles is called Hecate’s Kitchen, and it’s pretty big. There are a lot of witches there. My bakery is actually inside the magic district, too. And my cookbooks are magic.”
Emma’s head shot up at this. “Then you can make fizzy frosting! Oh, and you could make an ice cream frosting that wouldn’t melt! All you need is a little magic!”
Andrea smiled at the girl’s renewed enthusiasm for cookbook ideas.
“What about one where the frosting is shaped like a dragon and it bursts out little flames and could crème br?lée itself!” Emma said, gesticulating wildly with her frosting bag as her imagination spiraled off in all directions.
Wes chuckled and gently took the tube from her before she painted the kitchen red. Literally.
“Technically, the recipes have to be something that anybody could cook in their home kitchen,” Andrea told the girl. “But I could come up with something like that for my bakery!”
Emma started rattling off her ideas for how to make it a reality, and her happy chatter filled the space as they finished decorating the final batch of cookies.
When they were done, Emma set aside her bag of frosting, washed her hands, and surveyed their work, her hands on her hips.
After a long appraisal, she proudly declared them to be the prettiest Christmas cookies she’d ever seen.
And Andrea tended to agree.
When the last of the cookies were safely packed and ready for Emma to take to her sleepover, Wes looked at the scattered dishes across every counter in the small kitchen and winced. “Now that the magic cat is out of the bag, you said something about a cleaning spell…?” he asked, one eyebrow peaked.
Andrea laughed and took a beat to freshly clip back her hair to get it out of her face. “Magic can only go so far,” she replied with a grin. “My pastry shop still keeps three dishwashers on staff for a reason. But teamwork makes the dream work, as they say.”
Wes chuckled, his hand finding her hip once more as he stepped in close.
“Leave the dishes. You’ve done more than enough.
” He brushed his thumb across her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when it fell from the clasp she’d just pinned in place.
“I should go check on Emma and make sure she’s all set for her sleepover.
But let’s plan to rendezvous at your place later tonight?
” He leaned in closer, his lips closer to hers but stopping short of a kiss.
“We could go get something to eat, put on a little music, see where the night—”
The rest of the suggestion died as Crumpet jumped up from the mat near the back door.
His first woof coincided with the sound of the front door closing in the other room, and before Andrea could react, Tilda appeared in the opening between the living room and kitchen, her arms wrapped around a pair of paper bags.
A baguette stuck out of one bag, a bouquet of grocery store flowers from the other.
Her bespectacled eyes took in Wes, Andrea, and Wes’s hand on Andrea’s hip.
“Here,” Wes said, moving toward Tilda, arms open, “let me take those.”
Tilda handed over the bags and muttered a quick thank you, but her brows remained pinched in silent question.
Andrea offered a smile and reached for the nearby platter of leftover cookies, if only to have something to do with her hands. “It’s nice to see you again, Tilda. Would you like a sugar cookie?”
Wes grinned as he set the bags of groceries on the counter. “Emma set aside some she thought you might like.”
“Perhaps later,” Tilda replied as she unzipped her thick winter coat. “Where is Emma? I thought I was taking her to Janine’s house? Or did you make other arrangements?” The woman’s eyes moved back to consider Andrea.
Andrea set down the plate and straightened. “You know, I should really get going.”
Wes looked at her, his hands going still for a moment, his unpacking paused.
“Oh. Right, yeah.” He stacked a few containers of blueberry and vanilla yogurt beside the fridge, then stepped back.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, then added to Tilda, “Emma’s upstairs.
She should be ready to go soon, although it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to double-check her bag and make sure she isn’t forgetting anything. ”
Tilda gave a curt nod and swept through the kitchen before disappearing into the hall leading to the stairs. When she was gone, Wes turned back to Andrea. “Sorry,” he said, a hint of a grimace on his handsome face as he reached up to massage the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what that was about.”
Andrea lifted an eyebrow and Wes released a soft breath that was almost a laugh. “Right. I guess this is uncharted territory for us.”
“I understand if this is too much,” Andrea said, her chest tightening as soon as the words left her mouth. She searched Wes’s eyes, the ache building. “You’ve got Emma to think about, and I’m only here for another week and a half. And after that…” She trailed off.
Wes took her hand and squeezed it, instantly warming her.
“I don’t want this to be over, Andrea. I know it’s fast and honestly the last thing I would have ever seen coming, but it also feels right, and today—” He smiled then, full and brimming with emotion as he looked around the kitchen.
His eyes were glossed over when they returned to hers.
“At the risk of being cheesy, you having magic—being who you are—well, it feels like a sign.”
Andrea’s heart leaped. “Wes, I—”
Footsteps thundered down the hall and Emma burst into the kitchen, carrying a hot pink backpack that appeared to have at least two dozen enamel pins stuck to the front pocket.
She beamed at Andrea. “Thanks again for coming over! If you’re still here next Saturday, you could join our team for the gingerbread house competition. It’s on the Solstice!”
Andrea smiled and looked at Wes, noting that he hadn’t let go of her hand. “I’ll let you know,” she said, looking back at Emma.
Tilda emerged and shepherded Emma from the house, going out the back door, which had a straighter path to the detached garage and driveway. She gave both Andrea and Wes a look through the paned windows on the door before disappearing.
“I’ll talk to her,” Wes said when they were alone. “Don’t worry about it. Okay?”
Andrea nodded as she turned away and started to clean up, but Wes quickly interceded, insisting he would see to it, and instead walked her and Crumpet out to her car, promising he’d be over in time for dinner after running some errands.
“I figure I should let you try to get some work done,” he said with a grin after kissing her goodbye. “After all, you have fire-breathing dragon cupcakes to invent.”
Andrea laughed. “Right! Self-br?léed cupcakes.”
Wes kissed her once more, then held open the driver’s side door and waited for her to get in. “See you soon,” he promised.
And as she drove off, she was already counting the minutes.