Chapter 9 Alex #2
I turn and grab the carton of eggs, then hold them out toward him.
Ethan doesn’t take them straight away. Instead, he continues to look at me in a way no one ever has—intense, unguarded, like he’s seeing right through all my defenses.
Our breathing fills the air between us. The bakery is so quiet—nothing more than the hum of ovens, the milk’s quiet simmer.
Each breath tastes like vanilla. Ethan’s gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes.
My breath hitches, and the urge to lean in and find out if he tastes like the vanilla-scented air becomes unbearable.
I’m going to become the most unprofessional journalist that’s ever existed. I’m going to kiss the firefighter-calendar-look-alike baker at 3:30 a.m. in his bakery in this magical little town, and he’s going to taste like sugar.
“My dad’s here, in Magnolia Cove.”
Ethan accepts the eggs and turns from me, breaking the moment.
I let out a shaky breath. What the hell is happening to me? I’m going to get myself fired. I’m not sure what spell this little town and this gorgeous man have cast on me, but I need to finish out this week, get my answers, and get out of here.
Ethan cracks the eggs into a small bowl, then blends them in smoothly.
He grabs a whiskey bottle and pours a generous splash of what must be homemade vanilla.
The scent is so intoxicatingly rich I take a long breath, letting the aroma fill my senses.
It’s warm and layered, with hints of caramel and oak—almost tempting enough to taste on its own.
“The circumstance that’s keeping me stuck,” I whisper, “is family too.”
Ethan turns back to me. I never understood what people meant when they said someone appeared haunted, but I do now. Ethan’s eyes have gone dark, his forehead furrowed.
The mixer is whirring on unsupervised, and for a fleeting moment, I think this might be the dessert Mrs. Delehay finally gets to boast about—beating Ethan Hart’s abilities. Because with the way he’s looking at me, I won’t remind him he might overwhip the batter. That he should check the milk.
No, I’m going to kiss him, run my hands over his muscular chest, rake my fingers through his curls, and end up fired for unprofessional behavior—and I don’t even care.
“Taking care of parents?” he asks, his voice low and rumbling. The sound of it does strange things to my insides.
“A younger sister, actually.”
“Ah.”
He takes a step closer to me. I was wrong to think Ethan smelled only of the pastries he spends his days creating. That’s there, like a coat he wears, but beneath it, there’s something warmer—earthy, like cedarwood.
I tilt my chin up, because forget my career, forget the lavender cake, forget photographing, forget writing, even. All I want is his mouth on mine, his broad hand gliding along my neck, his—
“Hola, good morning, Boss.”
Zoe walks in through the back door and is halfway to hanging her jacket on a hook when she stops to stare at both of us.
“Sorry. Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Ethan and I both say together so quickly that it’s clear the answer is yes.
Zoe purses her lips until they pop, then turns and grabs her apron. “Okay, then.”
I step back, my heart hammering against my ribs. The loss of his nearness feels like stepping from sunlight into shade.
“I should take a couple of pictures,” I say before turning toward where I’d dropped my camera bag.
My fingers tremble. Ugh. Damn me for getting so flustered over this man.
I don’t get flustered. I ask sharp questions, take meticulous notes, and keep my emotions in check.
Even if he is six feet of gorgeous baker with eyes that remind me of summer skies.
Zoe gives her hips a little shimmy. “I have a playlist that’s going to knock your socks off this morning, Boss, City Girl.”
“City Girl?” I lift my face from behind the camera. Ethan has returned to the simmering milk, but he groans loudly enough for it to reach us.
“Ignore him,” Zoe whispers to me. “He won’t tell you this, but he hired me because I’m the fun half of the Whisk. Didn’t know a thing about baking when we started the place.”
I chuckle just as Zoe slips her phone out and starts blasting Earth, Wind & Fire through speakers I hadn’t noticed before.
How did Zoe and Ethan start the Whisk together? Why would he choose someone who had no baking experience? And how did he end up in Magnolia Cove of all places?
Throughout the morning, Ethan and Zoe act in perfect synchronization, like dancers who’ve rehearsed the steps a thousand times.
He doesn’t even look up when she slides a bowl of something that smells like cinnamon and sunshine to him.
For someone who supposedly taught her everything about baking in the last three years, their rhythm feels very… practiced.
And Magnolia Cove itself. I’ve visited dozens of small coastal towns for the magazine, but none of them feel quite like this. None of them have air that sometimes seems to sparkle, or shadows that move when they shouldn’t, or baked goods that taste like memories feel.
My camera captures Ethan as he pipes delicate swirls onto the lavender cake. His hands never hesitate, never falter. Like magic, I think, then I almost laugh at myself. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. There has to be.
Doesn’t there?