Chapter Nine Lyra
It had been over a week since the Mabon festival, and though there had been plenty of disasters in the interim, no more hedgehogs had appeared.
I considered that a very small win.
I also couldn’t stop thinking about Rab.
I hated that he still had an effect on me. I hated that my eyes were still drawn to him, and when he was near, I found myself leaning toward him, as though we were two magnets pulling each other closer.
I hated that after all these years, I still cared what he thought of me.
It shouldn’t be that way.
I should be over him.
Past thinking his opinion of me mattered.
And yet, as much as I tried to ignore it, I still found that he got under my skin.
I hadn’t told anyone about my run-in with Rab. What would be the point? My sisters would grill me with a million questions that I wouldn’t be able to answer, and I was too embarrassed about the hedgehog incident to tell them.
Because, upon further reflection, I had an idea of what had triggered the champagne-to-hedgehog pipeline, so to speak.
And if my hunch was true, well, then I could basically just never see Rab again.
Which was fine by me.
Sighing, I pulled another tray of almond croissants from the oven.
There had been this moment—actually, there’d been several moments—in my interaction with Rab that had dominated my thoughts this past week, but when I’d noticed he still carried the pocket square that I’d made for him?
And really looked at him? Not as a boy, but as a devastatingly handsome man who’d really grown into who he was as a person?
I’d wanted him.
Desperately.
I’d wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave. I’d wanted to kiss him for hours like we used to, lying in the fields, our future dreams ahead of us.
And because I couldn’t look him in the eye, at least not while thinking such thoughts, I’d stared hard at his champagne glass instead.
Which had subsequently turned into a hedgehog of all things.
Transmutation hadn’t been on my bingo card for my magickal powers, and it had surprised me as much as it had him.
I also hadn’t been able to replicate it since. No matter how hard I tried, it was thus far impossible for me to turn an inanimate object into a sentient being.
So why him? Why that?
It frustrated me and made me feel foolish, a feeling I deeply tried to avoid at all costs.
True to her word, Marcie had been an impeccable, albeit largely silent, boss.
I found I didn’t mind coming into the bakery in the early-morning hours, when the streets of Briarhaven were quiet and stars still twinkled softly in the sky.
This morning I’d noticed the leaves had begun to change, their colors shifting from green to golden to ruddy orange.
I loved this time of year. Not just because we were saying goodbye to summer and looking toward the holidays, but because there was something so special about the change of seasons, when nature began to quiet and put itself to bed for a while.
If you were in the Northern Hemisphere, that is.
I tried to imagine Christmas with sunshine and palm trees and laughed quietly to myself, shaking my head.
“What’s funny?” Marcie asked from where she piped frosting onto cupcakes.
Mostly, Marcie enjoyed listening to murder podcasts first thing in the morning, and though initially I found them jarring, soon I was equally as invested in the stories as Marcie was.
Today she’d put on classical music, which was also a far cry from the usual death metal she enjoyed.
When I had questioned her about it, she just shrugged and said, “Today the music must soothe.”
“I was just thinking about Christmas with sunshine and palm trees.” I moved the croissants to a cooling rack. “It must feel so different.”
“It does. But also fun. I dated a merman for a bit. He was a wild ride, let me tell you.” Marcie paused and gazed into the air, her eyes closed. “Glorious in bed. Absolutely rigorous, just—”
“Right, okay, and where was this?” I was desperate to get the image of Marcie and a merman shagging out of my head.
“Antigua. And Christmas is still fun. Twinkle lights look great on palm trees too. If you do them right. Otherwise the tree just looks like a huge penis.”
“Damn it, I wish I’d caught that on film.” We turned to see a handsome man with dark hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a flannel shirt standing in the door, a clipboard in hand.
“Do you, though?” I asked, laughing, and dusted my hands off. This must be the executive producer that Marcie had said was coming around this morning to check out the bakery before filming commenced.
In two days.
Nerves churned low in my gut, even though I pasted a sunny smile on my face and automatically went into charming mode.
“Oh, I really do. The unexpected always makes for the best television.” The man cocked his head and studied the both of us. “And you two are… very unexpected. Are you a couple?”
“Like she could handle me.” Marcie snorted, and my eyes widened. I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or not. But then, upon further reflection, Marcie was likely not wrong. In every part of the world, she was a terrifying woman, so I imagined she would equally be so in bed.
And now I was back to thinking about Marcie in bed.
Mentally slapping my forehead, I pressed my lips together and raised my eyebrows at the man.
“I’m Marcie, owner of Mystic Munchies,” Marcie said as she wiped her hand on a towel and shook the man’s outstretched hand so hard he jerked forward a step.
“I’m Vaughn Culloch. Executive producer of Bewitching Bake Off.”
“And an elf.” Marcie sniffed, looking him up and down in approval. “What clan?”
“Ah, of the streams. Aberdeenshire.”
“Good folk out there. Sit. You’ll eat.” Marcie pointed to a table, and Vaughn blinked at her before seeming to realize that resistance was futile. He cast me a help me look, and I smiled, dusting my hands off and pouring him a cup of coffee.
“Milk or sugar in your coffee?” I asked.
“Just plain. Thanks.”
Pouring myself a cup as well, I went over and joined him at the table.
It was still well before the bakery opened, and there was a short lull in time between when things went in and came out of the ovens.
Usually, Marcie took her cup of tea in her office, poring over receipts from the day before, during this time, while I tried to memorize the newest recipe she’d given to me.
So far, I hadn’t had any success with my baking, but Marcie was surprisingly patient.
She knew I had the learning curve of all learning curves at the moment.
The curse had settled its claws into me, making it virtually impossible for me to use my magick, and Briarhaven still suffered from darkness all day long.
“Welcome to Briarhaven,” I said, putting the coffee down in front of Vaughn. He blinked at me, a smile hovering on his lips.
“Please tell me you’re not on the show so I can ask you out to dinner.”
My smile widened.
“I’m Lyra MacGregor, one of your contestants.”
“Damn it.” Vaughn’s face fell, but then he brightened. “At least it’s just a Christmas special. It won’t take all that long to film. Can I ask you out to dinner after the show wraps up?”
“Um—”
“Can I ask if you like having your fingers broken, one by one?” Marcie asked, her tone mild, as she punched a mound of dough on her butcher-block counter.
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Vaughn said, wincing.
“You will not put my staff in a compromising position,” Marcie ordered, shooting him a disapproving look over her shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I bit back a grin. Marcie paused her dough punching and brought us a plate of pistachio-crusted croissants.
“Eat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Vaughn said again, and shot me a pleading look across the table.
“You’ll enjoy these,” I promised. “Her pistachio croissants are a house favorite. And she doesn’t always serve them along with the threat of bodily harm.”
“Oh, so I’m lucky, then?”
I laughed. Vaughn was actually really cute, and if Marcie hadn’t interrupted his advances, I might have actually considered going on a date with him.
Since we’d returned to Briarhaven, I’d abstained from dating.
I remembered what it was like to live in a small town where everyone was always in your business, and the last thing I needed was the busybodies discussing my dating life.
But this? This could be an opportunity to date again, at least when filming was over.
Vaughn didn’t live here, which meant it wouldn’t be anything too serious, and I could enjoy being in the company of a handsome man again.
I had to admit, a part of me did miss being wined and dined.
There was something to be said for dating men who put you on a pedestal.
It was far better than ones who threw you away.
Shaking my head before my thoughts went dark, I took a sip of my coffee and waited while Vaughn took a bite of the croissant.
“Och, Marcie. This is brilliant,” Vaughn said, holding the pastry in the air in a salute to Marcie. She nodded. He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.
“So, Lyra. What brings you to Briarhaven?” Vaughn asked, taking another bite of the croissant, his face creasing in pleasure at the taste. “Have you always lived here?”
“She grew up here, traveled for a bit, and now she’s back.” Marcie glowered from where she had resumed her dough punching.
“Right.” Vaughn’s lips quirked, and he flipped through a few pages on his clipboard.
“So, we’ll start contestant interviews today, just to get some backstory for when we film, and the production crew will be in to set up cameras, run wiring, make sure lighting and everything is in place.
We’ll need to block things out, make sure we have our angles, that kind of thing. ”
“Today?” The color drained from my face. I’d wanted to back out of this a million times since I’d gotten my magick, but everyone had convinced me to stay in. But now that it was all happening, I felt the urge to throw up.
“Aye, today. We start filming this Monday.”
“And when do we meet our partners?” I asked, hopeful for some information. For a small town, there had been surprisingly little gossip about who else had been picked for the show. Which, I’ll admit, was decidedly annoying.
“On the first day of filming. As usual.” Vaughn winked at me, and I groaned.
“I’m dying to know.”
“Everybody always is. That’s why we want to catch your reactions on camera. We like things unfiltered. Unpracticed.”
“Hmpf.” I dropped my chin into my palm.
“I do hope you’re not getting the jitters. I can already see the camera will love you, and we’d hate to lose you from the show.”
“If she wants to leave, she can leave,” Marcie cut in.
“I—”
“I agree, Marcie. But I hope she doesn’t leave, because I think our viewers will love her.”
“Why?” I asked, curious. “You barely know me. I could be absolutely vile.”
Vaughn’s smile deepened. “I highly doubt that. You’ve been nothing but smiley and welcoming since I came in. Plus, not to state the obvious, but you’re knockout gorgeous.”
“Which she well knows. You think you’re first man to be mooning about in here over the lass?” Marcie asked.
I winced. “I swear there aren’t that many men.”
“If there aren’t, there will be. After the show airs. We’ll make a star of you.” Vaughn beamed and polished off his croissant, and I took a sip of my coffee, gulping down the nerves that caught in my throat.
I’d used to think that was what I wanted. But now that my magick wasn’t working, my life had been turned upside down. What had been something I was excited about now loomed as my biggest fear—being made to look like an idiot on television.