Chapter 23 Alex
Alex
The rain pounds against the windows, matching the tumultuous beating of my heart.
Missy is on her way out, umbrella in hand, a whirlwind of energy and independence.
She’s grown so much. For so long, I’ve seen her as my little sister—needing help tying her shoes, needing someone to watch out for her.
But that’s not who she is anymore; she’s a woman carving her own path.
“Don’t forget your mail,” she calls over her shoulder, tossing a stack of envelopes onto the coffee table. “I’m staying at Jenna’s tonight. I’ll bring more milk home tomorrow.”
As the door clicks shut behind her, I sink onto the couch, fingering through the pile until I spot it—the latest issue of Gastronomy Eats.
My breath catches as I take in the cover.
The photo is of Ethan, but not like the Foodie Frenzy image where they’d photoshopped him into wrinkle-less perfection, completely fake.
No, in this image, the light is golden and hazy, his face slightly out of focus, but the wrinkles around his eyes are visible. He had just finished laughing at a comment I made. The actual subject of the photo is his hands—strong and sure, rolling out a pie crust.
There’s magic in this picture, just not the kind Magnolia Cove hides.
With trembling fingers, I flip to my article and read.
The words flow like a river, a story not just about the Whisk and Magnolia Cove, but about the true magic of food and the stories it crafts.
The tale of a little boy creating courage with a mixer, a woman who brings her exuberance and passion into her relationship with customers, a fourth-generation pie recipe passed down with love.
And at the heart of it all: Ethan—a man who makes room for every person around him to shine.
Who absorbs bits and pieces of everyone he meets, his empathy and compassion transforming them into food that embodies what baking should be about. Home. Comfort. Love.
It’s the best piece I’ve ever written. Even Vivian agreed with that.
Despite taking a different angle, she was pleased with it.
I never once mentioned magic or Magnolia Cove’s secrets.
Because the real magic, I’ve realized, is the people.
The relationships that create the food. Everything else is just.. . extra.
I close the magazine, my shoulders rolling back even as my heart thunders anxiously.
Alongside the article, I’d turned in my resignation.
Missy got her scholarship—I smile at the thought—but I still have bills to pay.
I’m terrified, but it’s time to pursue my own passions.
Tell Me Something Sweet is getting a revival, focusing on heart-filled recipes.
I’ll pick up some freelance work too. When Missy moves, I’ll get a roommate.
I don’t have it all figured out yet, but for once, that feels okay.
A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. I laugh softly, setting the magazine aside. “Forget your keys again, Missy?”
But when I swing the door open, it’s not my sister standing there.
It’s Ethan. And Dean.
My heart stops, then surges back to life at double speed. They’re both dripping wet, rain plastering Ethan’s curls to his forehead. His eyes are a storm—hope, fear, longing—each emotion battling for dominance. I drink in the sight of him, too stunned to believe he’s actually standing there.
I remember how I silently cried into my pillow for weeks after I came back.
I scolded myself for it, for the foolishness of it all.
Writing the article had brought the best parts of Ethan back to me—his soft smiles, the thoughtfulness in his pale blue eyes.
But now, standing in front of me, he’s real again, and I realize something else.
The man I created for that article wasn’t him. He was a myth.
This is the real Ethan.
The man who laughed about his Parisian neighbor’s dislike of him—as long as she kept sharing her recipes.
The man who drives his grandfather’s classic car and fits in as well at a farmer’s market as he does on the cover of a pop-culture magazine.
The man who has secrets and shame he hid from me. The man who pushed me away.
“I... Can we come in?” Ethan’s voice is soft, uncertain.
I step back and gesture for them to enter. “Of course.”
There’s a pause as Dean closes the door behind them.
Ethan sweeps his gaze across the apartment.
If I’d known he was coming, I would have shoved more stuff into closets.
It’s not messy, exactly, just lived in and blaring with the details of mine and Missy’s lives.
A few cameras sit on a desk in the corner, magazines are stacked haphazardly on a side table, and baking paraphernalia litters the counter.
Ethan’s attention returns to me, and I forget about the apartment. About Missy or my career or Magnolia Cove or anything else.
I’d longed to see him again. Even for just a moment.
“There’s something I need to tell you—show you, really,” he says so quietly I strain to hear the words over the rain’s clatter. “Sorry for bringing Dean along. I had to.”
“Because he’s your parole officer?” The words slip out before I can stop them. Ethan smells like vanilla, even five hundred miles from Magnolia Cove. He looks like home, and it makes my heart ache.
Ethan grimaces. “Not exactly. You know about magic already, but—”
“She what?” Dean speaks for the first time since walking in.
His eyes have turned into ebony beads, but then he sighs and gives Ethan a nod before jerking his black leather jacket off and turning toward the windows like he has to shift his focus to the city’s illumination in the distance to stop himself from intervening.
A shiver runs down my spine. I hadn’t fully considered the weight of knowing Magnolia Cove’s secret—and what it could mean for me.
Ethan exhales a long, slow breath. I ache to curl into him, to touch his skin just to make sure he’s real.
His eyes lock onto mine with a fierce intensity, as if trying to forget Dean’s presence in the room.
“What I said that night on the cliff… I was trying to push you away, to keep you and the others safe.”
“I understand that now,” I say softly, my voice tight with the sting of old wounds.
“But it still hurts that you didn’t trust me.
” I’d known it since Zoe’s magical display at the B&B, and I’d suspected it long before.
Ethan’s jaw clenches, his eyes flicking away like he can’t bear to face the truth.
That lack of trust had been our undoing.
“Yeah, but there’s more.” Ethan turns away from me, his profile carved in tension.
The man who’s captured my heart—the ClipClop heartthrob, the baker with a soul warmer than his banana bread—is standing in my shabby apartment.
He clears his throat, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are raw.
“I was a coward. I was afraid if you knew who I really am—”
“I want to know.” My voice is barely a whisper.
I want to reach out, to brush the curls from his forehead, to let my fingers trace the curve of his cheek, the line of his lips.
A part of me is terrified that if I don’t touch him now, he’ll vanish into thin air.
“I’ve always wanted to know you, Ethan. Maybe at first as a journalist, but later…
” I glance at Dean’s stiff shoulders, his stance like a sentinel by the window.
If only he weren’t here for this conversation.
“Later, I wanted to know you—the real you.”
“The real me scares some people. It has... before.”
“This isn’t before,” I whisper, as if I could erase Dean from the room. I know better, of course—our apartment is smaller than a breadbox. “You can trust me.”
“I think I can. And I want to show you. But—no matter what happens, promise me you won’t panic. That’s why Dean is here. He won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay?”
I glance quickly at Dean, who’s moved closer, his focus entirely on Ethan. Ethan steps away from me, his gaze dropping, head bowed like he’s bracing for something heavy.
I want to tell him that whatever it is, I can handle it—that I’ve already seen the real him. But before the words leave my mouth, something happens.
It starts with a shimmer in the air, like heat rising off sun-baked pavement. Ethan’s skin pulses with a soft golden light. The air around us crackles, charged with energy, thick with the sensation of a storm on the horizon.
The same glistening magic Zoe had shown me in Magnolia Cove surrounds Ethan, but this is different. It’s not just a spark—it’s alive, vibrating with power, as if every cell in his body is singing in a language I can’t understand but feel deep in my bones.
His eyes, normally pale blue, flare with an inner fire, the color swirling in a whirl of gold and amber against a sea of endless black. The transformation is breathtaking, and yet, utterly terrifying. I can’t look away.
I hold my breath, watching as his fingernails stretch into sharp claws. Golden-brown fur ripples across his skin, replacing his flesh in an instant. His hands, once soft and gentle, elongate into massive paws, tearing through his clothes as they fall to the floor in shredded remnants.
My heart pounds, the world shrinking to this moment—this impossible, breathtaking moment.
Where Ethan stood a moment before, there is now a massive bear. For a terrifying second, I choke on my breath. Dean dashes forward, positioning himself between the bear and me.
I stumble back toward the kitchen, my back colliding with a stool. It topples with a thud. The bear cowers, ducking its head, its brows furrowing together.
That’s when I realize—it’s not a bear I’m looking at. Not really.
“Ethan?” I whisper.
The bear’s eyes look nothing like Ethan’s.
But somehow, I know it’s him. And he’s not frightening.
This is Ethan—the gentlest man I’ve ever met.
The baker who coaches a boy who needs to see that you don’t have to fit the mold to matter.
The man who hands out free treats to neighborhood kids and talks about baking with passion and vigor.
And a person who can change into a bear, apparently.
I realize it changes nothing. I spent a night wrapped in his arms without a drop of fear. Gulping down a deep breath, I straighten.
This is still Ethan. And even though a wild creature takes up the limited floor space in my apartment, I know it—he—won’t harm me.
I step forward, slowly raising my hand. Ethan-the-bear pulls back slightly. Dean moves even closer, and I want to shove him away. Ethan wouldn’t hurt me. He only ever fought to protect me, and now that all the secrets are out, there’s nothing left between us but the truth.
My hand lands on the fur around his face, and the bear shudders, but I twine my fingers into the thick strands. “I see you, Ethan,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “And I’m not afraid.”
In a blink, he’s back—human, naked, and crouching on my cheap laminate floor. I barely notice the lack of clothing as I drop to my knees beside him and pull him into a fierce hug. His arms wrap around me, strong and sure.
“Okay,” Dean’s gruff voice breaks the spell. “This is outside of my pay grade. Where’s your bathroom?”
I point vaguely down the hall, not taking my eyes off Ethan. As soon as we hear the bathroom door close, I cup Ethan’s face in my hands and tilt it up, trying to make out the bear in his features, but I can’t see it anymore.
“This is what you were hiding?”
Color flushes his cheeks. “I’m dangerous, Alex. Even other people with magic fear shifters.”
I study his strong jaw, the length of his nose, still searching for the powerful creature I just witnessed. All I see is Ethan—kind, gentle Ethan with his soft blue eyes and a worried frown. “You don’t seem dangerous to me.”
“You’re not… afraid? Or disgusted?”
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips.
“Ethan, I’ve heard you wax poetic about sugar grades.
I’ve listened to you patiently teach Jas how to pipe the perfect rosette.
The most dangerous thing about you is how easily you’ve made me fall in love with you.
If this is the only thing standing between us, then there’s nothing standing between us at all. ”
His eyes widen, something blooming within them, making them sparkle. “Alex, I—”
My mouth finds his, cutting off his words.
The kiss is gentle and warm. “I love you,” I say when I finally pull back.
“All of you. The baker, the shifter, the man who unfairly won the Baking Bonanza with his kitschy shortcake.” He chuckles, and my fingers find their way into his curls.
“I love the man who can transform into a bear just as much as I love the man who can transform simple ingredients into something magical. You’re not dangerous to me.
You’re… You’re the first time I’ve felt like I’ve found home. ”
Ethan’s breath catches, and then he pulls me into a fierce embrace that I can’t help but think of as a bear hug.
“I love you too,” he whispers against my hair. “Can you forgive me for being such a fool?”
“You don’t even need to ask.”
As the rain continues to pour outside, I hold on to Ethan, marveling at the magic I’ve found—not in food that tastes like comfort or an island fit for a calendar, but in finding another soul who has allowed me to see past the surface and loving him, not in spite of it, but because of it.