Allie stepped inside but turned around instantly.
“Thank you again, Mr. Ranford. I promise I won’t let you down,” she declared enthusiastically.
Dominic grunted and headed for the stairs, with no further instructions for her job. A problem for tomorrow. Allie closed the door and noticed the lock wasn’t working. Panic grew hot inside her, but she gripped it by the neck and shoved it away. Everything would be fine, and she was not defenseless. Although it would be such a pity to set this cozy bakery on fire. Allie started a mental list, with a door lock at the top.
The space was more like a studio than just a simple room. The kitchen was immediately to her right, a narrow island with two bar chairs separating it from the rest of the room. She had everything she needed: a stove and oven, a small fridge, and a counter next to the sink. Two cupboards were nailed against the wall, and a big window—the only window—revealed the bright moonlight above the sink. She pulled the deep green curtains and decided firmly that the color did not make her think about Dominic’s eyes.
On the other side of the room, a wooden desk lined the left wall, and a plushy yellow sofa sat opposite the kitchen. It looked like a sofa bed, like the one in Green Creek, and more comfortable than her single bed at the manor. Suddenly, Allie wished Sam had let her handle more things around his house, but she would figure out how to expand it.
The bathroom was next to a closet where she found sheets, a pillow, a duvet, and enough space for her clothes.
All right.
This was great. She could do this. She would wake up early, clean, bake, deliver, and do anything else Dominic would ask. And come evening, when the bakery was closed, she wouldexplore the town’s surroundings and find her perfect place to practice.
She could do this. After all, she’d just left the Silverbarks this morning and already found a place to stay and a job. More like Brandon had found her on the brink of despair, but what did it matter now? Allie would forever be grateful to him and thought the first thing she baked should be for Brandon.
Maybe not exactly thefirstthing; she had a strong feeling that her baking might not be edible anytime soon. The thought that she lied to her boss about her baking skills sent shivers down her spine, his scrutinizing eyes coming to the forefront of her mind. Or maybe it was the cold. Yes, definitely the cold, so different from the sticky heat of Pearls Fields.
Allie drew a bath and made another plan, since the one she’d made this morning was successfully completed. Mainly by Brandon. She needed to buy warm clothes and to learn about baking. And about her magic. She added the clothing store and a bookstore to her list, deciding to leave the outside exploration for the next day.
Freshly out of the hot bath, Allie felt the chill in the air worse than before. The cold seeped through her skin and clung to her bones with pointed claws as she fumbled to get her blue camisole nightgown on. She wished that the duvet was as warm as it looked.
Allie shivered in front of the yellow sofa, pondering whether she really needed a bed for tonight. It looked as if she could squeeze in on the sofa if she slept with her knees pressed against her chest.
No.
She could figure it out. She had found a job and a place to stay on the same day. There was nothing much she couldn’t do. Except bake or master her power. But she refused to letan inanimate object best her, even if she was known as the clumsiest Witch in the world.
Allie kneeled in front of the sofa like Sam used to do. She looked under it and behind it for a mechanism or a button to turn the cursed thing into a bed. With new magic, there was a button for everything. If only she had been paying attention to his actions instead of gawking at his face like a lovesick idiot.
A loose string was tucked in a crevice at the front, and her memories of Sam’s movements clicked into place. Allie stood up and pulled on the string, but nothing happened. She pulled harder, certain the thing was stuck, and even jiggled it left and right. Unsuccessful, Allie decided she would try one more time before giving up. Sticking her heels into the floor, she grabbed the stubborn string and put her entire strength into this last pull. The string slipped from her hand, and that force worked against her.
She went stumbling back, tripped over one of the bar chairs, and plunged down with it.
“Ouch,” she hissed and rubbed her hip. She glowered at the sofa, dubbed it her worst enemy, and resolved to sleep on the floor rather than try to convert it into a bed.
Loud footsteps drew her attention as the sound grew closer and closer and turned into an urgent knock on her door.
“What’s going on?” Dominic’s voice carried through the wall, thick and low and drastically annoyed.
“Nothing!” Allie shouted and heard the nerves in her voice. Her skin heated, as if Dominic could see her sitting on her ass in nothing but a see-through nightgown. Allie hurried to stand up and, in her rush, hit the fallen chair with her ankle. She sat back and suppressed her groan of pain, but the clattering noise echoed loudly through the room.
“I’m coming in,” Dominic announced.
“No—” But the doorknob turned before she could protest further.
Dominic knew he was going to regret hiring the Witch first thing in the morning, as soon as the daylight cleared the fog that had clouded his mind when he agreed to take her in. He was so damn tired he would have left a fire-spitting dragon in just to go back to sleep. He imagined the long string of colorful phrases he’d throw at Brandon the first time his friend dared show his face.
Why did he put that sign in the bakery’s window in the first place? Did hereallyneed help? Dominic should have known better and found a way to make it work on his own, like everything else in his life. No help needed, no one to crowd his space.
And definitely no one to wake him up in the middle of the night, for the second time, with a banging noise so loud it rattled his walls. It took a moment for his brain to connect the dots—Brandon, the Witch, hiring her, her living right under him—before he jumped out of bed and stormed down the stairs.
The manners Brandon had promised were the only thing that kept him from barging into her room without knocking first. But he could hardly be expected to act the gentleman after a certain time of the night.
The room was warm and dewy, wrapped in tangerine soap smell. Dominic took in the image before him: the Witch was sitting on the floor, one hand clasped on her ankle, the bar chair tipped over next to her. He ran various scenarios through his mind, but nothing made sense of the scene before him.
“What happened?” he snapped, glowering at Alecsandra.
