Chapter 21 Alex
Alex
I’m glad I had time to stop by Celestial Sips before my meeting with Vivian.
The familiar scent of herbs and spices wraps around me, a stark contrast to the heavy humidity already building in the morning air outside.
The shop is mostly empty, save for Tish and me, the silence only broken by the soft clink of china and the whisper of pages turning.
Golden light dances across the worn wooden tables, cast by star-shaped lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Their intricate patterns throw constellations onto the walls, transforming the cozy tea shop into a magical realm.
“I’m an idiot to be so heartbroken over a guy I just met,” I mutter into my cup of tea.
Tish reaches across the table, her hand warm on mine. “Love doesn’t have a timeline, sweetie.”
I scoff. “Who said anything about love?”
Tish gives me a look that says she’s not buying it for a second. “Let me give you a reading. It’s been a while.”
It’s been more than a while. I’d only allowed her to read the tea leaves for me that first time when I’d interviewed her about the shop for Gastronomy Eats. I’d never believed in magic. Before.
Now, the word ‘magic’ sends a pang through my chest, reminding me of the way morning sunlight spilled into the Whisk and the heavenly smells that permeated the air.
“Fine.” I swallow all but the last of the tea, then push the cup toward her. “Work your witchy wonders.”
Tish’s eyes sparkle as she swirls the lingering tea and leaves around the cup, then gently turns them over onto the saucer. We wait in silence for a minute while she allows it to settle.
I remember doing this the first time. How she put so much attention and focus on it while I maintained a strictly neutral, professional expression. I’d known then that magic didn’t exist. Things have changed, and despite my lingering skepticism, I’m watching the cup just as intently as Tish.
She flips it over and tilts it toward the light. “All right, let’s look. Immediate future first. I see… hmm… a message with financial gain coming your way.”
“You sound like a fortune cookie,” I snort, but there’s no real bite to it. After Magnolia Cove, I’m not sure what to believe anymore.
Tish shoots me a mock glare, then returns her attention to the cup. “Hush, you. There’s more. I see… a journey. Not a physical one, but a journey of the heart or the soul. And… oh, interesting.”
“What?” I lean forward despite myself. Even if everything she’s said so far sounds as vague as a newspaper horoscope, with a little imagination, anyone could make those details fit their lives.
“There’s a bear. I don’t see that one very often.”
She’s frowning at the cup, and I shift in my seat, trying to remind myself I don’t believe in this stuff before I say, “And what does that mean?”
Knowing my luck, it means my life is about to become un-bear-able. Okay, that’s a corny thought, even for me, but my muscles tense, waiting for whatever premonition this rare sign means.
“Strength and endurance.” Tish tilts the cup again, into the light. “The ability to endure challenges. What’s strange is that the bear isn’t alone. There’s another figure beside it. That could mean that you’re about to experience support from another. Or that you’ve already gone through trials.”
I sit back in my seat. “That’s awfully vague, Tish.”
She sets the cup down, her gaze locking with mine, and there’s something in her eyes that makes my skin prickle—a knowing look, like she sees right through me. “The leaves don’t give specifics, darling. They just point the way. It’s up to you to walk the path.”
Her words hang in the air, oddly resonant, like a truth I didn’t realize I needed to hear.
My phone buzzes, snapping me out of my stupor.
I glance at the screen, groaning as I read the message.
“Speaking of paths, I’ve got to go. Vivian’s waiting, and I’m pretty sure ‘magic and tea leaves’ won’t work as a valid excuse for being late. ”
Tish stands, pulling me into one of her massive hugs, her arms warm and comforting. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” I linger there for a heartbeat, the warmth of her embrace a stark contrast to the rush of reality waiting for me outside. Reluctantly, I pull away, gather my things, and head for the door.
“And Alex?” Tish calls, her voice softer now. “Keep your heart open. You never know what might find its way in.”
I offer a small smile, a fleeting moment of reassurance before stepping out into the buzz of a New York City morning.
The sidewalk stretches before me like an endless runway, and I slip back into my “city” clothes—crisp blazer, pencil skirt, my hair pulled tight into a severe bun.
The contrast stings. I miss the comfortable t-shirts and flour-dusted aprons from The Whimsical Whisk.
I miss the wind in my hair and Ethan’s gaze softening when he looked at me.
.. No. I shake the thought away. Focus, Alex.
When I finally make it up to the office, Vivian’s waiting, arms crossed, her perfectly pressed blazer creasing just slightly in the middle. “Well, well. Ms. Sinclair in the flesh. Please, take a seat.”
I shut her office door behind me, standing tall despite the knot in my stomach, then walk across the room with measured steps. I perch on the edge of a chair, spine ramrod straight. “Vivian, I—”
“Save it,” she cuts me off, her voice icy, clipped. “You’ve been back for days, and still not a single word about The Whimsical Whisk. Care to explain?”
I swallow hard, the words stuck in my throat. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated?” Her perfectly manicured nails click against her watch face, the sound sharp, demanding.
She once embodied everything I wanted to be—independent, polished, well-paid.
Alone. That loneliness hits me hard, like a punch to the gut.
It might work for her, but I can’t live like this. Not anymore.
“You once wrote a stunning piece about haute cuisine during a cholera outbreak, Alexandra. What could possibly be ‘complicated’ about a small-town bakery?”
If only she knew. If only she understood the magic that hums beneath the surface of this place, how the people care for each other like a family, how a baker with gentle hands and a guarded heart sacrifices everything to protect a world she barely comprehends.
I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. “This assignment was different from any other, and I’m still processing the experience. I went there expecting a gimmick and found something real.”
Vivian eyes me with suspicion, her gaze sharp as a blade, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I want to do the experience justice.”
“You’ve pushed every deadline I’ve given you on this piece. Missed meeting after meeting. More than doubled your travel time. If you were a less-valued writer or had neglected any of your other articles, I’d fire you.”
I gulp at the implication, my heart thundering. Magic or not, bills still have to be paid. I can’t afford to be fired.
“I’ve remained patient because you’re one of our best,” she continues. “But you’ve exhausted the patience I possess.”
“I know, and thank you. I promise I’ll have the article to you by the end of the week.”
“By midnight tomorrow.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.
“And it had better be the best damn thing you’ve ever written.
This piece needs to sing, Alex. It needs to sell enough copies of Gastronomy that our board stops breathing down my neck about budget cuts and ‘adapting to a modern media landscape.’ I need you to take some of The Whimsical Whisk’s magic and put it into an article, understand? ”
I flinch at the word magic but nod. “It will. I promise.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. “Good. Now, is there anything you need from me to get this done?”
“No, I—” I begin, but she’s already reaching for something on her desk.
“In that case, this came for you earlier.” Vivian holds out an envelope.
I take it, confused. There’s no return address, only my name, Gastronomy Eats, c/o Alexandra Sinclair. Thick red letters are stamped across the front: First Class. Overnight.
“Thank you, Vivian. I won’t let you down.”
She skims her eyes over me, then lifts her chin. I can’t tell if it’s an expression of faith or simply a you know the way out. Either way, I take the cue and leave as gracefully as I can manage.
When I’m in the elevator, finally alone, I open the envelope.
A whiff of something familiar fills the air. Cinnamon and the rich tones of overpriced vanilla… Ethan. My hand shakes as I fish the papers free.
I find myself staring at an application form for a scholarship program.
My eyes widen as I scan the details. It’s for the exchange program in Paris that Missy has been dreaming about. A full-ride opportunity that would cover everything—tuition, travel, food. It’s perfect. And the deadline… it’s tomorrow.
Tears spring to my eyes. He did this. Ethan found this opportunity and made sure it reached me in time.
A realization hits me like a tidal wave.
I never believed the lies he told me on the ridge overlooking the ocean.
I knew Zoe was right—they were falsehoods meant to push me away.
But some doubt must have lingered in the back of my mind.
A fear that real love didn’t exist. That it was always a lie. A false magic that comes crashing down.
Ethan loves me too. But we can’t be together because of our differences. Because of the secrets he keeps.
I clutch the envelope to my chest just as the elevator dings open on the ground floor.
Stepping out of the lobby and into the smog and rain of a New York City day, my chest aches with joy for Missy, with relief over the financial situation, but even more deeply with a pain that threatens to swallow me whole.
In that moment, standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk, I have never felt more alone.