“So we might be sucked back inside the book at any time.”
Oh, no, no, no! Mortification flushes through me. If Luke hated having to dance with me, what’s he going to do when we get to the first spicy scene?
CHAPTER FOUR
Skye
I spend the next day stress baking, my usual answer for how I deal with things, but I’m not sure there’s enough pastry in the entire world to work through my embarrassment. A full-body cringe ripples through me every time I remember Luke’s glower at being made to dance.
The aunts arrive right as I pull two loaves of sourdough and a batch of chocolate chip cookies from the oven, filling my sunny yellow kitchen with the delicious scents of yeasty bread and sweet chocolatey goodness.
“Skye, sweetheart,” Aunt Irene sets her canvas shopping bags on the counter and leans over to give me a hug, her beautiful brown face creased with worry. “You started without us. That’s never a good sign.”
“It sure isn’t.” Aunt Betty tackles me from the other side. Short and plump and blonde, she’s like looking into a mirrorand seeing a future version of myself. All the pictures of her and my mother make them look like twins, even though Aunt Betty’s a year older than my mother would be if she were still alive.
I close my eyes for a moment, losing myself in their twin embraces, the mixed scent of their gardenia and rose perfumes comforting and familiar. I lost my parents when I was a baby, and the newly married couple took me in, the only parents I’ve ever known. They’ve always been very careful for me to call them aunts instead of moms and constantly tell me stories of my parents, a pair of high school sweethearts with a storybook romance, who passed as they lived: happy and together, driving home from a date one rain-slick night.
“I’m okay,” I say. When Aunt Irene shoots me a doubtful look, I add, “Or I will be.” Then I tell them the truth, even if only part of it. I tell them all about being forced to take vacation and Luke’s offer of extra work. “I’m not sure I got the job, and I really want that extra money for my charity.”
I don’t say a word about magic or sucking him into a romance book or him being a grumpy dragon. How can I? Neither of them has said a single thing about all the fae flooding our town, so they must not be magical.
“He’d be a fool not to hire you!” Aunt Betty gushes, unloading baking supplies from their bags. “Now, what are we making today?”
“I need to make Grandma Summers’s vanilla cupcakes with butterscotch buttercream frosting for my book club meeting tonight.” I pull out the prized recipe card, browned with age and covered in the faded ink of my grandmother’spretty cursive handwriting. My fingertip brushes over the dark-purple thumbprint I left on the top corner when I “helped” her bake for the first time at five years old.
Since I’ve been making it for our weekly Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club meetings, I know the recipe by heart. But it’s a family tradition—or maybe it’s more accurate to call it superstition—that you can only make one of grandmother’s recipes if you read it off the card she wrote. No working from memory. No copies allowed.
“Good.” Aunt Irene taps at her phone. “We found a recipe for chocolate strawberry shortcake we want to try.”
“If it’s good, it’ll be our Valentine’s treat.” Aunt Betty hugs her wife, beaming up at her.
They’re a true example of opposites attract, both in looks and temperament. The more serious of the two, Aunt Irene is tall and regally beautiful in simple blouses and tailored slacks. My short and plump Aunt Betty has never met a ruffle she didn’t love and dresses in bright colors that match her sunny personality. But they’re so perfect for one another, so happily in love after all this time. They always tell me about my parents as if their story is the perfect romance. But it’s seeing my aunts choose each other every single day that’s made me believe in love.
We set up along the counter, working side by side. The baking and company keep me distracted right up until I wave goodbye to them. Then everything that happened yesterday rushes over me again, twisting my tummy with worry. Thank god I’ll have the help of my witchy besties, because I need to break my spell before it sucks me and Luke back into the romance book and he hates me even more than he does now.
Okay, maybe my new boss doesn’t hate me-hate me, but it’s not like I had the best first day of work ever or anything.
The darkening sky of evening softens everything as I drive into downtown, which is bright with the glow of lights from all the open shops. Ferndale Falls looks so different these days: cute stores and cafés painted in fresh, vibrant colors; a town green full of plants ready to break into bloom as we warm toward spring; plenty of people on the sidewalks, both human and fae. Everything’s bright and colorful, and a lively buzz of magic hums through the town. The light frosting of winter snow only makes it look more perfect, magic keeping it white and pristine instead of turning into yucky slush.
There’s a short line outside Cake My Day as people on their way home stop in to snap up the last of the yummy breads and desserts for their dinners. Grounds for Celebration is also packed with everyone already in love with the new Valentine’s coffee drinks: cocoa kiss cappuccino and chocolate strawberry love latte.
As I park outside I Touch My Shelf, Kayla walks toward me, striding along easily in snow boots, jeans, and a puffy winter coat that exactly matches the color of her wavy purple hair. Technically, we probably wear the same size clothes, but my friend carries her plumpness differently, since she’s almost six feet tall and more hourglass than apple. She reaches me right as I pull out the tray of cupcakes, a small smile brightening her light face. “Hi, Skye. We having cupcakes and cocktails at the meeting?”
“You know it!” I beam back, happy to see her and even happier to see her smiling. Kayla can be kind of serious,but we’ve bonded a lot over the years due to our love for books. As a game designer, she reads a lot of regular fantasy, but the increasing popularity of fantasy romance in recent years means we’ve been able to buddy read quite a few books together.
She opens the door to the bookshop for me, and I step inside, breathing in the comforting smell of paper and ink. Aside from the library, I Touch My Shelf is my favorite place in Ferndale Falls, another home away from home. The multicolored stained glass of Tiffany lamps brightens the room in a warm glow. Wooden bookshelves line the side wall, and the most popular books top little display tables at the front of the store.
I weave between a table dedicated to orc romances and one filled with werewolf romances. The monster romance section sure has grown since the fae came to town. A sense memory strikes me: Luke’s arms wrapped around me, his big body pressed close as we flew through the air, his tail wrapped around my bare legs. I wonder how hard it would be to get Naomi to add some weredragon romances?
A sideboard with a little coffee station stands behind a seating area made up of comfy old couches covered in burgundy and gold velvet. Autumn’s already there, mixing up cereal-milk cocktails. “Hey, you.” She bumps her hip against mine in hello. Short like me, Autumn’s thinner, with bright red hair and pale, freckled skin. If I dress retro 1950s, she dresses like the 1970s in a modern version of hippie-chic, with lots of flowing, embroidered tunics and dresses and an abundance of bangles and natural-stone necklaces.
She’s also deliriously happy, an orange sapphireengagement ring sparkling on her left hand as she pours out some of her famous cinnamon toast crunch cocktails. Rune, her werewolf fiancé, absolutely adores the ground she walks on, and she wears a permanent smile these days. I couldn’t be happier for her, even as I worry a bit whether anyone will ever love me like that.
“Hi!” I get to work, taking the little baggies of crushed cereals and sprinkling them on top of the buttercream frosting to make matching cupcakes.
We settle into a groove. She makes the cocoa puffs white Russians and crunch berry cocktails as I top more of the cupcakes. This is our thing, the flavors perfected over the years. There are a dozen members of the Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club, and we’re equally split in liking the three different flavors.
Hannah bustles inside, unwinding a scarf as she hurries across the room. “Hello, Witch Bitches!”
