1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

Netti

T he moon hangs in the sky, casting an eerie glow through the shop’s windows. The air is heavy with autumn magic, creating the perfect atmosphere for witchy mischief. I, however, find myself with an unexpected splattering of frosting on my chest.

“Netti Ellsworth,” I grumble to myself as I hang my head and brace my hands on the rim of the industrial-sized Kitchen Aid mixer that has showered half its contents of buttercream frosting across my new dress and the bakery’s floor. “You had one job.”

The digital face of my watch lights up in a flash of yellow as I brush it against my apron. The glowing face beams back 18:35; an hour and a half still before closing. The sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries hangs heavy in the air as I work the closing shift—a solitary figure preparing for the morning’s frenzy. While the bakery, Magickal Morsels, is known for its enchanted baked goods, we also cater delicious treats to the locals for breakfast at the local coffee shop, EnchanTea.

The weight of my looming exam tomorrow and my overdue assignment—due before midnight—keeps me from falling into the relaxing rhythm of the closing tasks. It’s been almost three years since I left home and moved to Rusthollow to pursue my nursing degree, and I am only a semester and a half from graduating. I glance around the kitchen, from the cooling cupcakes I was preparing to frost down to the sticky sweet splattering covering every viable kitchen surface.

“At least it’s Wednesday,” I muse, blowing a strand of pink hair out of my face.

Wednesday, our least busiest day. The likelihood I would be disturbed was small. Grabbing a damp rag, I clean the counters, the cool, smooth surface of the wood feeling good under my fingers. As a descendant of elemental witches, I always feel a surge of power when near wood, plants, or dirt, a connection to my magic that ran deep in my veins. It’s one of the reasons I applied to the bakery when I first moved to the rustic town with its dense forest and small lake. From the moment I walked past the wooden sign into the cozy brick building, I felt at home.

I glance around me. The bookshelves, crammed with jars of dried herbs and books for customers to peruse, line the walls, adding a whimsical charm to the space. The kitchen has a large cast-iron stove and butcher block island counters.

That’s when I spot the mop propped up against the pantry door in the corner of my eye.

Netti, to magic, there is balance. My mother’s voice resonates in my head.

“What’s the point of being a witch if I can’t use magic to my advantage?” The corners of my lips curl into a feline grin. I grab the wooden handle between my palms and close my eyes. My palms heat as I reach inside myself for the flickering kernel of magic.

Heart of wood

Tool of good

To aleve distress

Clean up this mess

The wood beneath my palms seems to vibrate with energy.

Peeking open an eye, I wait with bated breath.

Seconds tick by.

Nothing.

I sigh, prop the mop back against the wall, and turn back to the counters.

This is why I left home. This is why I was pursuing a degree in nursing. Although I could tap into my magical abilities, I’ve never been able to wield them with great precision. I could bake up a spell or potion, but when it comes to incantation and levitation—our family’s greatest legacy—I can hardly spell a thistle to roll over. Mom had tried to convince me to stay and learn the family way, but I was too stubborn and frustrated to study ancient magic and take over the bookstore. I love books, but I want to make a difference.

So when my best friend since elementary told me she’d been accepted to a university out of state, I knew it was my sign to break out of my shell.

And look where I am now.

Working in a witch-owned baker by day and going to nursing school by night.

Keeping up with friends and a love life? I snort. As if.

I hardly have time for my studies and extra shifts to pay my half of the rent. Love is on the back burner of my stove. And that doesn’t even begin to touch the student loans stacking up. But the end was in sight. There was only a semester and a half left, and then I'd be able to use my knowledge and skills for the good of others.

The little bell above the door rings, and I turn to face the front door. I can’t imagine who is coming in this late at night, but hopefully, they won’t linger.

“Welcome to Magickal Morsels,” I say in my sweetest customer service voice as I plaster a smile on my face. After spending nearly the last two years working in the bakery, I knew almost every person who lived in town, their families, and the season regulars. Our little bakery, nestled in the heart of a picturesque town, was a hub of activity and a gathering place for locals and tourists alike. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries always filled the air, creating an inviting atmosphere that drew people in. As I greeted the customers, I couldn’t help but notice the familiarity in their faces and the warmth in their smiles.

However, today is different. The stranger walks in, catching my attention with his striking presence, and I can’t help but feel as though I know him. His piercing blue eyes meet mine as he turns, and my heart stutters. I’m certain that I’ve never seen this man before, but I can’t seem to shake the familiarity I feel. He holds my gaze for what feels like an age, the silence only broken by the ticking of the clock, before he finally breaks away. He rakes a hand through his short, dark hair as he silently surveys the quaint front room from our cozy brick walls to our picked-over display of pastries. The man reeks of money and business, from his pristine suit jacket to his polished shoes. The only thing standing out is a warm grey knitted scarf around his neck.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask, flashing him a smile.

His eyes land on me, and I feel the heat of his gaze as it rakes from my head to my toes, and suddenly the breath leaves my lungs. He tears his gaze away and steps up to our display counter. His lips press together disapprovingly as he silently observes our dismal display of goods, ignoring me. The moment hangs in the air, and I can’t help but wonder what brought this mysterious man to our humble bakery and what could possibly impress him.

“I’m afraid with it being fall break, the college kids picked us pretty clean today. If you know what you have in mind, I can put in a custom order for pick up—“

“This is Magickal Morsels?” He leans forward, his gaze intense as he asks. His hands rest firmly on the countertop. Something hot coils in my gut as he doesn’t break eye contact.

“Well, yes, that’s what I said.” From the short distance, I can smell the woodsy scent of summer nights in the forests. I shake my head and fidget with the edge of my apron.

“I’ve heard you sell spelled pastries,” he says, his eyes following my every movement like a predator.

“Well, that is what we’re known for.” My eyebrows draw together, but I step back, opening my arms wide. “What did you have in mind?”

His nostrils flare, and I could have sworn his pupils dilate until they nearly cover his irises, but in a split second, they are back to their cerulean blue.

“You have a little something—” He leans over the small glass counter and runs his finger along my collarbone. Heat prickles my skin, and I think I couldn’t possibly feel any hotter when he pulls back, holding up his finger, now smeared with white buttercream. The oven catching on fire couldn’t have made this room any more suffocating than how I feel with the way he’s looking at me.

“I, uhm.” Nibbling my bottom lip, I glance behind me at the nearly-cleaned kitchen. “There was a little accident, just some buttercream frosting. But don’t worry, it doesn’t happen often, and I wouldn’t dare feed misshapen frosting to a customer. We pride ourselves on our pastries. Oh gosh, I’m rambling. I’m so sorry.”

“Buttercream, you say?” He glances at his finger before licking the digit clean. His eyebrows raise a fraction. “Not bad.”

I could have died then and there. How could one man make eating frosting so sexy?

Get a hold of yourself. You seriously need to get laid. I chide myself.

Honey stretches his wings from where he’s been sleeping nestled against my hair bun, and a growl resonates deep within the stranger's chest, drawing his attention to my fruit bat.

“What is–that,” he says pointedly. Honey stiffens atop my head and lets out a small growl at the stranger.

‘It’s just… it’s just my familiar. He’s a fruit bat,” I blurt.

“Clearly.”

“You–you said you were looking for something in particular?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from rising to a new octave and turning the conversation.

“Yes, I have a meeting tomorrow, and it won’t do me any good to be distracted,” he says huskily. He glances away from my hair, down at my plastic name tag pinned to my apron, with a sense of authority in his gaze. “Would it, Netti?” he asks, his tone implying that the answer should be obvious.

Who was this man to think I knew what his plans were or how he should behave?

Heat flushes across my cheeks and down my neck. I can’t help but feel a bit intimidated by his intense gaze—as if I were a lamb facing off against a lion, completely outmatched. He raises an eyebrow, his polished leather shoes tapping impatiently on the tile floor, a clear sign that he is in a hurry.

“We have a variety of different things–” I begin, trying to sound helpful and cheery as I walk along the edge of the counter. My eyes roam over the nearly empty shelves, with neat little sold-out signs nestled in the crumbs. He follows my every move, his movements purposeful and predatory.

“Lemon tarts for luck, cinnamon rolls for confidence…” I trail off, realizing those items sold out after the morning rush. “I’m sorry. It looks like we sold the last of them.” Besides, this man exudes enough confidence that it is the last thing he needs. Why did he need a spelled pastry, anyway? For that matter, why did anyone? The magic in them was not strong enough to truly change one’s future, just enough to boost their natural feelings.

I continue along the display case, a coil of unease curling in my gut over disappointing a man I just met. Get a hold of yourself, Netti.

“I don’t have all night,” he says, his frustration evident as he crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight. I can’t help but feel a sense of guilt, knowing I can’t fulfill his request.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, mustering the courage to lift my eyes and meet his gaze. A chill runs across my skin as I see the determination in his eyes. “We usually sell out of our most popular items before lunchtime. It seems luck and confidence are in high demand these days.” I shrug sheepishly and smile at him.

“What do you have?” He meets my gaze with cold blue eyes, unimpressed by my ability to usually win over even the most unruly of customers. There is something wild and hungry in how he looks at me, which terrifies and excites me.

“Mini pecan pies for prosperity, a few macaroons for various ailments…” I trail off, ticking off on my fingers as I scan the shelves again. “Fudge for happiness, a few danishes that will–”

“No. None of those will do. I need something to help me focus, and that’s it.”

What he needed was a concentration scone. Those were some of the first things I learned to make when I first got hired because I knew they’d come in handy when studying. I glance at the nearly empty glass shelves, then back at the watch on my wrist. 19:40. Where had the last hour gone?

“We don’t have what you’re looking for–” I twirl a loose strand of my pink hair that had fallen from my twin buns while I nervously chew my bubble gum.

“But?”

My eyes widen as the gum pops, and he stares at me with pursed lips.

“What you need is a scone for concentration. I can have them ready first thing when we open at 05:00,” I blurt out.

“That would please me very much,” he says, the corners of his lips turning up into a wolfish grin as he leans over the counter. The way he looks at me turns my insides to molten chocolate and my ears to burn.

“How many are you looking to purchase?” I pull the notepad from my pocket and begin jotting down notes, anything to distract myself from staring into his eyes.

“How many do you think I’ll need, Netti?” His voice is smooth, rich, and husky, like hot cocoa on a cold winter's night.

“Well, all you need is one, but they only last a few hours, so it depends on how long your meeting is and if–”

“I’ll take a half dozen,” he says without question or hesitation.

“The only question is… vanilla or lemon?”

I avert my eyes from his intense stare, my gaze falling to the warm, comforting texture of the wooden floor. His warm, calloused hand cups under my chin, and I feel the pressure of his touch as he raises my face to meet his eyes.

“Well, Netti, why don’t you surprise me?”

I open my mouth to respond, but my voice seems to have deserted me. This was a new experience, as I usually jump in and fill the gaps in a conversation.

“That is, as long as they do their job,” he says, laying a one-hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “Just make sure they’re ready by 05:00. I don’t like to be disappointed.” He turns on his heel, his leather soles clicking softly on the tile.

“But sir–” I stare at the bill on the counter, enough for a half dozen orders at least. My face still tingles from the absence of his touch.

“It’s Connor. Conner Abernathy. Keep the change… Netti.” He glances at me one more time before the door clicks closed behind him, followed by a jingle of the bell.

My breath escapes my lungs in a rush, finally releasing the tension I hadn’t noticed I was holding, and I let my weight settle against the cool countertop. Honey squeaks in protest from where he’s nestled against my hair buns.

“Sorry.” I reach up and stroke his dark, velvety snout before turning and facing the kitchen. I was going to need a double-shot espresso to get everything done in the next four hours.