Chapter 14 Ethan
Ethan
Alex Sinclair has absolutely no idea how to milk a cow. She’s crouched on a wooden stool, swallowed by the adorable overalls she’s donned, frowning at the animal. The rules state I can’t physically help her, but attempting to talk her through it is just making things worse.
“Gently but firmly,” I whisper. My own pail of milk sloshes softly as I shift my stance.
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” she says before timidly reaching toward the cow again.
Outside the barn, others shout as they gather their supplies, and the crowd cheers. This might actually be the year I lose by running out of time helping Alex. She clunks her bucket against the hay-scattered floor in frustration. The cow startles and flicks her tail before shooting Alex a glare.
This is entirely worth losing the competition for.
“You know, you could actually just make a dairy-free dessert,” I offer.
“Children milk cows. I can do it too.” She peers up at Grammie Rae in the far corner, who is watching us to make sure we follow the rules. “Just explain it one more time.”
I sigh, but there’s no mistaking the determination in her eyes—the same relentless drive that probably landed her at the top of her field.
It’s not just stubbornness; it’s the refusal to back down from a challenge.
The same trait that made her a force in journalism is now being applied to, apparently, dairy farming.
“You need to squeeze a little harder. Then glide your hand up and down like you’re—” I trail off, and my cheeks heat. God, my thoughts around Alex lately have veered off a cliff. I can’t stand near her without wishing I could touch her.
Alex looks back at me, and her expression has transformed into one of twinkling eyes and smirking lips. “Like I’m doing what, Chief?”
I clear my throat, and she bursts into a laugh. But something about the conversation must have inspired her, as she turns toward the bucket, and a hiss of milk hitting the pail sounds.
“Yes!” She cries, startling the cow again. She sinks down then pats the creature’s side. “Sorry, girl.”
The barn soon fills with the sound of sloshing milk. As soon as she’s filled her pail enough, she jumps up, and we run back out toward the outdoor kitchen area.
The makeshift workspace is a flurry of activity. Contestants rush around, grabbing ingredients and fighting for stovetop space. Zoe furiously whisks something in one corner, her hair atypically disheveled, purple flyaways sticking to her sweaty brow.
“What are you making?” I call to her as I pass by, the strawberries I’ve gathered rocking in their bucket.
She grins maniacally. “Lavender-infused goat cheese ice cream with candied beets. It’s going to be brilliant or disgusting. Maybe both!”
I roar with laughter. I really do love the Bonanza.
The chaotic energy of it, the cheers from people in the crowd, including Jas, who has made a poster that says, “GO ETHAN! BAKE THOSE CAKES!” in wobbly letters.
The smell of fresh-chopped onions and ripe tomatoes, and the sizzle of pans on portable burners, fills the air.
Alex appears at my elbow, her arms full of cucumbers and dill. She nods towards Jas. “Your protégé seems excited.”
“He’s a good kid.” I grab a mixer and start whipping cream. Alex slices her cucumbers into thin circles, her brow furrowed.
“Chilled soup?” I guess.
She nods but doesn’t look up. “Cucumber and dill with crème fra?che. It’s such a beautiful summer day—perfect for it.”
“Sounds fancy,” I tease as I find my chef’s knife and begin chopping strawberries. “You know the judges here prefer food that’s never very... fussy, right?”
Alex shoots me a glare, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’ll have you know cold soup was originally a humble dish meant to hydrate laborers who worked in the heat all day.”
“Okay, sure, and that’s exactly who eats gazpacho nowadays.” I grab a free bowl and begin sifting ingredients for a dough.
“Are you saying my food is pretentious, Chief?”
“If the designer shoe fits...” I trail off and grin.
She tosses a piece of cucumber at me, and I catch it effortlessly.
Her eyes widen in surprise. Behind her, I catch a glimpse of Dean Markham at the judges’ table, his gaze sharp and calculating.
He didn’t miss that. My reflexes—unnatural reflexes, no ordinary person should have on display for a human journalist.
She doesn’t understand how I can move that fast, and she never will.
But if Grammie Rae is even partially right, Alex might be able to see something more, something hidden beneath the surface.
It’s always a problem when tourists start sensing more than they should.
That’s an issue for Dean Markham to deal with.
Normally, I’d be the first to voice my suspicions, but with Alex? I don’t want Dean anywhere near her.
I know all too well what happens when the council decides someone knows too much.
Dean doesn’t wipe memories unless it’s absolutely necessary—it’s a last resort, and they only do it when magic is truly at risk.
But magic is unpredictable, and when memories are erased, other things can go with them—names, moments, feelings.
I can’t let that happen to Alex. I can’t let them decide she’s seen too much and take something from her—something she can never get back.
She’s still staring at me, waiting for an answer. I try to act casual as I pop the cucumber into my mouth. I chew, swallow, then offer a playful smile. “Mm, delicious. Maybe you have a chance after all.”
She snorts but turns back to her dish, a smile tugging at her lips.
The next hour speeds by in a blur of mixing, baking, and chilling.
Before I know it, it’s time to face the judges.
We all line up with our creations in front of the panel of five—locals who love free treats and the attention more than they care about actually judging food.
The real motivation for the contestants is the chance to try each other’s creations, but there’s always one exception: Dean Markham.
His presence on the panel has raised more than a few eyebrows.
He never participates in these events. But today, here he is, methodically tasting every dish, his eyes flickering between Alex and me.
I can’t shake the feeling that something more than just food is on the line today.
Zoe’s ice cream gets some raised eyebrows and hesitant tastes, but a few judges seem pleasantly surprised. It’s not for me, but I like the idea of where she was going with it. She was only mildly curious about the culinary world when we met, but her interest has bloomed in the last few years.
When Dean tries Alex’s soup, his expression remains carefully neutral, though I catch the slight tightening around his eyes.
He writes something on his scorecard with sharp, precise movements.
The other judges give appreciative nods, but nothing more than that.
Then they dig into my dessert. The judges eat everything on their plate, and I realize the verdict before they make their announcement.
“And the winner is... Ethan Hart with his Classic Strawberry Shortcake.”
The crowd erupts in cheers. Jas shakes his poster so hard the words blur. I can’t help the smile stretching across my face. This town has wound its way into me like ivy claiming an old brick wall. I peek over at Alex, wondering if she’s disappointed, but she’s shaking her head with a wry smile.
“Ugh,” she groans dramatically, but the smile remains. “I guess I should have taken your advice.”
I lean in close, breathing in her sweet perfume scent blended with earthy hay and rich dill. “If it’s any consolation, in an actual competition, your soup definitely would have won. It was sophisticated but not fussy and had the perfect balance of flavors.”
“Flatterer.” She ducks her head, and her hair spills over her cheek. I long to tuck it back, to let my fingers brush her soft skin again. “I suppose I’ll have to up my game next time.”
“Next time?” I can’t help the hope that creeps into my voice. It’s impossible, yet I cling to it. Maybe she’d choose to stay. Maybe she’d see me for who I really am and accept me.
Just as quickly, a knot forms in my stomach.
I’ve let myself hope before, only to be bitterly disappointed.
This time won’t be any different—it can’t be.
Even people with their own magical abilities are wary of mine.
I learned that early on. The way teachers watched me too closely, the way other kids’ parents whispered behind my back.
One slip-up, one moment of losing control, and suddenly I wasn’t just another kid with magic—I was a problem to be managed.
Alex is human. If she saw my world, my reality, she’d never want any part of it. Even if magic calls to her like Grammie Rae suggested, that doesn’t mean I do.
Alex shrugs as she finishes tidying up her station. “Well, I can’t leave Magnolia Cove forever without a win to my name, can I?”
Hope sparks in my chest, bright and sudden, like a candle catching fire.
I clench my teeth and force myself to focus on the task at hand, because with Dean’s sharp gaze burning into my back, I should know better.
I’ve already made mistakes that cost the council before, and Dean never lets me forget it.
As the crowds begin to disperse, Alex and I gather up the extra supplies—bowls, spoons, measuring utensils.
We both reach for the same whisk at the same time, our fingers brushing.
For a brief moment, I don’t pull away. I let the warmth linger between us, just long enough to make my heart beat a little faster, then gently withdraw.
I can’t encourage this. Whatever this is between Alex and me, it’s only going to end in her getting hurt.
And that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.
“Ready to head back to the inn?” I gesture towards Dad’s pickup.
“Yes, I’m exhausted and desperately need a shower.”
I want to tell her that’s the last thing she needs.
That I’d love to hold her close and smell the earth-fresh scent on her.
Brush the hair away from her neck as my knuckles follow its curve.
Peel her clothes back. I close my eyes and walk towards the truck.
That’s the last place my mind needs to go.
Alex follows, and we both climb in. Like before, she slides into the middle seat, wedged between me and the door, her shoulder brushing mine as she buckles in.
The truck purrs as we drive down the winding country road.
The sun sets beyond the tree line, painting the sky in dramatic splashes of tangerine and peach.
Alex stares out the window, the browns of her eyes reflecting the sunset’s gold. She sighs, then looks up at me. “What if I don’t want to return to the inn yet?”
My breath catches, and in that single inhale, I breathe her in: sweet floral notes still lingering above the farm-fresh earthiness. She’s settled beside me, her body warm, her head resting on my arm. “What would you rather do?”
I don’t add: you could talk me into anything. You could talk me into bad decisions and regrets. Though those are both true.
“I was thinking of taking a walk on the beach.”
My shoulders drop. I feel like I can breathe again.
A beach walk is safe territory. The Cove is beautiful but busy this time of the year.
Maybe we could grab ice cream at Grant’s shop—Sweet Harmony.
Alex would like the place, it has a touch of city sophistication, and he makes all the flavors in store.
My mind is running away with imagined plans for the evening—safe, no-one-gets-their-feelings-hurt plans—when Alex speaks again. “Do you know of a quieter beach that isn’t so busy?”
“I do.” I say the words before I can think better of them.
Before I can remember the danger of getting too close to this beautiful, passionate woman.
Dean Markham hasn’t forgotten. He’d torn into me after the farmer’s market and growled when I’d explained Grammie Rae’s invitation.
And now he’s inserted himself as a judge for the first time in the Bonanza’s history—just to keep an eye on us.
“Any interest in spending the evening with me?” Alex asks as if it’s even a question. As if I’d rather go home or to Paris or to the moon if spending the night with her was an alternative option.
I take a deep breath. One more day with Alex Sinclair, then she’ll be out of my life forever. Dean has nothing to worry about. And I’m just going to make the most of the day we have left. “That sounds great.”