Chapter 5 Rhianna
Rhianna
The bell over The Whimsical Whisk’s door jingles as Eli and I step inside.
The smell of cinnamon and butter hits me like a sugar-coated freight train, and I have to physically restrain myself from doing the happy dance I usually perform when walking into my favorite bakery.
Play it cool, Rhianna. Act professional. Don’t be too much.
“And this,” I say with a flourish that would make a game show host proud, “is the crown jewel of Magnolia Cove’s culinary scene. Home of the ‘I’d sell my soul for another bite’ cinnamon rolls. And, as of today, the official headquarters for our matchmaking consultation.”
Eli’s grin tugs up the corners of his mouth, emphasizing the dark stubble on his jaw. My stomach twists but it’s only because I’m hungry and for absolutely no other reason.
“That good, huh?” he asks.
“Trust me, one bite and you'll plot your way to marrying into the family just for the recipe. Unfortunately, Ethan is an only child.”
“A shame,” Eli whispers, like it’s a secret joke just between the two of us. My heart flutters and I find myself in the strange position of being at a loss for words.
Our energetic vibrations brush together, soft and electric, like the crackle of static before a storm. His aura mingles with mine in that quiet, unmistakable way that happens when two energies align just a little too well.
But it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t.
I’m the matchmaker. And I’ll find someone who sparks with him even better. Someone open. Someone brave. Someone who doesn’t flinch at the thought of love.
I’m about to pray desperately for any intervention when, as if on cue, Ethan emerges from the back, his apron flour-dusted. His eyes light up when they land on me. “Rhianna! And you must be the newest resident. Eli, right?”
Eli shakes his hand and there’s a little spark of magic recognition—the tiniest flicker that passes between magical beings.
It’s like a secret handshake, but with more sparkle and less awkward finger movements.
I notice the moment Eli realizes he’s shaking hands with a shifter—when the magic becomes apparent.
His eyes widen slightly but to his credit, his smile doesn’t falter, and he only bobs his head.
We settle into a cozy booth, and I pull out my new notebook.
I’ve already covered it with stickers of books and cats, because apparently, I never outgrew my middle school aesthetic.
I flip it open to reveal a list of names that would make Santa’s naughty-or-nice roster look brief.
My head hurts from the brainstorming—and from the mental gymnastics I’ve been doing to avoid considering the one name that keeps popping up anyway: mine.
“All right, let’s get down to business.” I tap my pen against the page. “I have several suggestions that would make Cupid himself jealous.”
Before Eli can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the air like a sugar-coated knife.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our love guru and the town’s newest resident.” Zoe saunters over, carrying two glasses of milk and a plate piled with gooey, icing-dripping cinnamon rolls. “Or is this a date? Please tell me before Mia. She’d be so jealous if I brought the tea home first!”
She’s twisted her purple highlights into what can only be described as a pastry-chef-chic messy bun, and her apron looks like it’s been through a sprinkle-war and back. Typical Zoe. I grin.
“Zoe! Do you have no filter? This is my new coworker, Eli. I had to introduce him to The Whisk’s cinnamon rolls.”
“Zero filter.” She winks at Eli as she slides the pastries between us. “coworker, sure. You’re in for a treat, newbie. These rolls are so good they’ve been known to cause people to fall instantly in love.”
Heat spools across my cheeks. It would really not hurt my feelings if this town could get a little less interested in my romantic life.
I’m about to interject when Eli, charming smile in place, replies, “Love-inducing pastries? I knew I should have read the fine print better before moving to Magnolia Cove. Is there a return policy on small-town magic, or am I stuck here forever?”
Zoe laughs. “Oh, let’s hang onto this one, Rhianna. He can keep up.”
I shrug. “It looks like you’re stuck here now. Sorry, Eli, I don’t make the rules.”
“Damn.” His eyes are a different color in every single light and that’s the only reason I’m staring at them so intensely.
Zoe smirks at me, and I clear my throat and grab for the glass of milk. I don’t even like milk, really, I just need something to do with my hands.
“Well, I think the pastry case needs to be cleaned.” Zoe continues grinning like a cat that found a dish full of cream. “Let me know if you need anything else, Sugar.”
“Thanks,” Eli says, either missing the silent conversation Zoe was burning into me with her eyes or choosing to politely ignore it.
He leans forward. “Before we dive in”—and I don’t know if he means the food or the conversation—“can you tell me about the Blue Moon Festival I keep hearing about? Something about an Elvis impersonation contest?”
Oh for the love of moon pies. Of all the things for him to experience as his first major Magnolia Cove event it would be the corniest one of the year. Well, maybe they’re all corny. “Ah, yes, the festival. There may or may not be an Elvis theme.”
“May or may not be? That’s cryptic. Are you preserving the mystery or denying your involvement in said festival?”
I snort. “Oh, there’s no denying it. If you were born here, or even visited at the right times of year, you’ve attended the Blue Moon Festival. Elvis has as much of a starring role as the moon itself, if not more.”
“Well, The King is classic for a reason. His music is timeless.”
“His voice was timeless. His hips were timeless. His songwriting? Nonexistent.”
Eli’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch. Tell me how you really feel about Elvis.”
I lean in and lower my voice conspiratorially. "Let's just say if I had to choose between listening to Love Me Tender on repeat or dealing with an overtired toddler and a melted popsicle, hand me the diaper bag.”
Eli grins. He hasn’t looked away from me for so long it wouldn’t surprise me if a dozen other people had walked in and I’d missed them. “I guess he had great charisma and charm and loved sparkly clothing. I can see why people would be into that.”
My cheeks flood with so much heat I look down, hoping to hide it.
Eli can’t be talking about me. He’s a coworker.
Plus, we’re very specifically meeting so I can introduce him to eligible singles on the island.
He literally brought the flyer tab to me.
He’s interested in dating—real dating. Not.
.. whatever this is. Whatever we’re doing.
Because it’s definitely not flirting. Right?
I swipe at a bit of lint on my shirt only to realize I’m wearing a bedazzled t-shirt that gleams in the light, reflecting sparkles onto the table. Sparkly clothing. Like he just complimented. I have to redirect this conversation.
Because even if he is flirting with me, I’m decidedly not available for falling in love. Love always feels good at this stage—when you’re eating cinnamon rolls and staring into warm eyes and suddenly convinced you could run a marathon or take up interpretive dance or finally finish your taxes.
But later?
Love has a cost. It sinks into you—the way you care for someone, the way you start building your life with them in the center of it. And when they see the messiest, truest part of you? They leave. And I’m never letting anyone close enough to hurt me like that again.
It’s casual or nothing—and with the fellowship hanging in the balance, with the possibility of traveling the world finally within reach, it’s probably nothing.
I need to keep my head down. Focused. No distractions.
Especially not ones with hazel eyes that somehow manage to look like every comforting coffee shop I’ve ever wanted to live in.
“Okay, fine. Elvis had a great voice and yes there’s definitely an Elvis impersonation contest at the Blue Moon Festival.
It’s a whole thing. ‘Blue Moon of Kentucky’ and all that.
The town council fifty years ago thought it would be hilarious.
Now we’re stuck with glittering jumpsuits and questionable hip thrusts every year. ”
Eli’s laugh is as warm and rich as hot chocolate. It does funny things to my insides that I promptly ignore. “That sounds amazing. I can’t wait to see it.”
And then, because apparently I’ve lost all control of my mouth, I blurt out, “I’ll find you the perfect date for the festival! By the blue moon. Scout’s honor.”
Eli’s lips pinch slightly, and I tell myself it has nothing to do with me. Still, a part of me hopes—stupidly, dangerously—that he doesn’t want to date someone else.
I shake the thought off. No. That way lies trouble. Attachment. Risk.
I’m not doing that again.
He claps his hand around his milk, but doesn’t take a drink. “Were you even a scout?”
“Umm, no.”
“All right, that sounds like a very reliable oath for my fate to rest on. I’m game.”
I chuckle. “We should dive into these cinnamon rolls. They’re best warm.”
We reach out at the same moment. Our hands brush, and I swear a jolt of electricity races down my arm. I snatch my hand back like the touch burned me. Eli does the same and mumbles something about “after you” that doesn’t help the heat that has to be burning my face into an apple-red color.
We both grab separate rolls the second time. Eli takes a bite and groans.
“Good, huh?” I can’t help but grin. Several big food magazines have featured Ethan’s baking. His secret cinnamon rolls are objectively the best thing since coffee shops discovered the power of pumpkin flavor.
“You weren’t kidding.”
The way he’s looking at me makes me wonder if he’s referencing my comment about how good the rolls are or how they’ll make you spontaneously burst into a marriage proposal. I rush the conversation forward, eager to move away from that kind of thinking.