Chapter Ten #3
‘Story of my life,’ I said, while arranging the tart shells, pastry cream and berries in rows. ‘But every time I talk to Silas, or try to, I do something stupid.’
Orion paused, drumming his fingers against the countertop; silver scales erupted over the top of his hand before sliding back.
‘He’s a rugby player, right?’ Orion asked.
I nodded.
‘Go to one of his games. This town is obsessed with the sport – he must be having his first game this weekend, right?’
I nodded again. ‘But when I get there, what am I supposed to do?’
‘Well, if you see him, maybe, I don’t know, talk to him.’
‘Talk to him,’ I said, dubiously.
‘Yes, you know the thing we’re doing right now,’ he pointed at the space between the two of us.
‘Right, as if it’s going to be that easy,’ I replied, reaching out for the cream that I was now ready to enchant. ‘I’m not in love with you, Orion.’
For a moment, the air in the kitchen seemed to still.
‘Right,’ Orion said, after a second, with no hint of emotion. ‘Just go to the game, Reverie. Bake something good-luck adjacent for him. Bring it to the game. Sit in the front row and I’ll handle the rest.’
Before I could press him for more, he was approaching the counter and looking down at the cream I was going to pipe into the tarts.
‘Ready to enchant it?’ Orion asked, reading the situation, and me, perfectly.
I cleared my throat and avoided Orion’s gaze entirely. I pushed him out of my mind, out of my thoughts. This was my domain. I was the kitchen witch here, not Orion. I understood this kind of magic. And a part of me wanted to prove myself to him.
I traced the shape of an open flame above the giant bowl of cream before me and, infusing my voice with confidence, I said the spell aloud: ‘Smoke curdling in the chest, breathe in this cooling air and put the flames to rest.’
A familiar warmth collected at the tips of my fingers, and the whipped cream in the bowl began to glow.
I waited until the warmth under my skin subsided, and the cream had settled back to its regular colour.
The cinnamon speckles were now more vibrant against the white of the cream, and I felt my lips curve into a victorious smile.
With confidence bursting in me like a firework, I was a flurry of movement; piping the cream, arranging the berries atop like a treasure chest of jewels. Everything around me slipped away as I worked.
When I was done, there were fifteen perfectly curated tarts sitting before me.
‘All right, time to taste,’ Orion said, breaking me out of my spiral.
‘What! No,’ I said, horrified.
The doubt slammed into me, as I remembered the soulmate cookies that went horribly wrong.
Orion blinked. ‘You’re a witch.’
‘So?’
‘So, how is the spell going to work for you when it’s been tailored for dragons?’ Orion asked, sounding all reasonable.
‘But – but,’ I spluttered, grasping for something. ‘But you haven’t shifted yet, it won’t work for you either.’
‘I did when I went to get you lunch and my chest is like a sputtered-out candle right now,’ Orion retorted, and that smug look was painted over the planes of his handsome face again. ‘So, spoon, please.’
Resigned, I did what he asked because I knew better than to argue.
From my apron, I proffered one of my twenty spoons in his direction.
He must have noticed the slight tremor in my hand, because he grabbed the spoon and held on – not taking it out of my hand.
I looked away from the magical treat and into his eyes.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Orion said, with such unshakeable confidence.
‘What if a second head erupts out of your neck?’ I blurted.
Orion shrugged. ‘Then I’ll be twice as good-looking.’
And with that, he took the spoon and dived straight into the tart.
Orion’s eyes slid shut as he swallowed, and his closed fist went to his chest. Slowly, a smile tugged at his mouth. Relief loosened the tension in my chest, replacing the nerves with unadulterated excitement.
‘So?’ I probed, eager for the compliment.
‘It’s good, Reverie,’ Orion said, finally opening his eyes. I watched, transfixed, as he took a second bite. This time, he dragged the spoon out of his mouth like he was savouring every morsel. ‘You’re really, really good.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, pride bursting through me. ‘But remember, I didn’t bake these. If Ivy finds out I’m working at another bakery, I’ll lose the apprenticeship. So, when Melodie sells them, she has to say she outsourced them or made them herself.’
‘Promise,’ he replied and gave me a grin. ‘I’ll keep your secret; you’ll keep baking for the Treasure Trove, and we’ll break the love curse.’
My heart jumped and my stomach hollowed upon hearing his use of we. I couldn’t help but think of what a disaster it was for me the last time I wanted us to be a we.
Instead of saying something though, I just reached out to take a bite of the tart.
‘Mine,’ Orion said, possessively, as he stuck his spoon into the tart once more.
I grinned and allowed myself to be comforted by the one thing that was always the same about Orion Hawthorne: he had a sweet tooth.