Chapter Four-Donny
I watched Jaxson and Evie for a whole minute before I turned and started loading my plate with some calorie-filled love.
I wasn’t jealous.
Not exactly.
Okay, so I envied them.
Not for long, mind you—just a fleeting moment.
Just long enough to see Jaxson scoop up my mayoral cousin Evie like she was the last donut on earth and smother her with one of those made-for-cable movie kisses.
The kind where the world fades out, the music swells, and somewhere in the background a raccoon sheds a single tear because true love is real.
And damn it, I was happy for her.
My jealousy slipped away like butter on a hot skillet, because if anyone deserved a happily ever after, it was Evie.
Especially after all the magical chaos, political nonsense, and bad date stories she’d had to endure as mayor and mateless Witch of Castor’s Corner.
Plate filled, I was about to find myself a quiet corner to eat when I was stopped in my tracks.
“Oooh, Donny! Check out this bread,” Bella gasped, pulling me back to the present like a high-pitched fairy godmother with poor impulse control.
I turned and followed her gaze to the table, where a holy offering of food awaited.
Baguettes.
Real ones.
Not the fake, keto-friendly, cardboard bread I’ve been trying out.
These were the real thing, sitting there like a treasure trove in all their gluten-glory.
Crisp crusts, golden brown, practically singing in French.
I zeroed in on one that had the right amount of air pockets and density inside—bready perfection.
I was pretty sure the last time I saw carbs that beautiful I had proposed.
“Where’d they get it?” I asked, already mentally composing a love sonnet to gluten.
“Me,” came the rumble from behind me.
And just like that, my inner peace shattered.
I felt him before I saw him.
The heat rolling off that massive body, like he was my own personal furnace—if said furnace smelled like cinnamon, warm cedar, and dirty promises.
Ryan McLeod.
The Grizzly Bear Shifter with forearms the size of Christmas hams, and a voice that did things to my reproductive organs that I didn’t have the time, energy, or emotional bandwidth to examine.
And let me tell you, that voice? It was pure slow-drip seduction.
Like dark-roasted coffee poured straight into your soul and stirred with a stick of sin.
I didn’t even glance over my shoulder.
Instead, I channeled my inner ice queen, rolled my eyes, and sauntered to the far end of the table in my fabulously impractical high-heeled boots.
I could feel him watching me, but I didn’t look back.
No way was I about to make bedroom eyes at the man who had single-handedly turned my brain into fondue the second he showed up in town.
Because I was not a one-night-stand kind of girl.
I was a whole damn seven-course-meal with candlelight and custom playlist kind of woman.
And I did not have time for hot, broody distractions with thighs that could crack watermelons.
And also?
My heart had the structural integrity of a meringue.
So no. No, no, nope.
“Fucking hell, this is gonna suck,” I muttered under my breath, just as a devious little voice purred in my ear.
“So, whatcha think of these guys? Looks like they’re fitting in around here.”
“Fucking fuckety fuck, Bella!” I shrieked, flailing so hard I dropped my plate like a doomed frisbee and slapped a hand over my chest. “You scared the fucking fuck outta me!”
The entire firehouse went silent.
Every eyeball turned.
Bella’s jaw hit the floor.
Evie winced like someone had just stepped on her crystals.
And me? I realized I’d just racked up a record-breaking number of f-bombs in one sentence.
Even for me.
Which, frankly, was impressive.
“Uh-oh,” Evie whispered.
Too late.
The Goddess was listening.
A streak of magic—bright, furious, and bubble-gum pink—shot down from the heavens like a cosmic slap on the ass.
And I mean that literally.
“EEEEEEEK! I’M ON FIRE!” I yowled, grabbing my butt and doing an involuntary twerk of terror. “SOMEONE CALL 9-1-FREAKING-1!”
But of course, the literal fire station was already here, and in the most humiliating twist of fate, it was Ryan Freaking McLeod who stepped in with the garden hose.
Not the fancy magical rain spell I’d spent years perfecting.
Not a cooling potion.
No. A basic ass hose.
Whoosh—I got doused like a cat in a bathtub.
Water splashed into my eyes, down my cleavage, and straight through my linen blouse.
I now resembled a drowned Witch rat in designer pants and ruined hair.
Excellent.
“You alright?” he asked, eyes full of genuine concern, which was just the cherry on top of my humiliation sundae.
Was I alright?
I was drenched, humiliated, and somehow still turned on by the seven-foot-tall Bear with a bakery apron and a rescue complex.
I did what any self-respecting Witch would do.
I straightened my spine, flipped my soaking wet curls over my shoulder with as much dignity as I could muster, spit out the water that had sloshed into my mouth, and hit him square in the chest with it.
Then I turned on my soggy heel and left.
Behind me, Bella was laughing so hard she snorted.
Evie clapped a hand over her mouth.
Ryan, well, the bastard just smiled.
Smiled.
Even though he had a wet spot right where I hit him.
Jerk.
I hated him.
I also maybe, possibly, wanted to climb him like a sexy, boulder-sized jungle gym and never come down.
FML.