Before I can decide whether I’m brave enough to actually do it, Wick claps again.
“Okay!” he says. “Move ’em out. We have an excellent booth and an entire town full of people waiting to stuff themselves with sugar.”
Wren huffs a laugh and grabs one of the utility carts. I take the other. Wick and Ethan wrangle the wagon between them, Ethan walking behind it to keep the flats from tipping as we head out the bakery door like our own ridiculous little pastry parade.
The booth is already decorated thanks to Wick and Ethan setting it up earlier, so all we have to do is haul everything down to Main Street and fill it with treats.
Wick glances back at us as we turn onto the sidewalk. “I do not expect either of you to stay at the booth all day. I want you to enjoy yourselves, too.” He winks, not subtle in the slightest. “This is a celebration of summer.”
“I’m not fond of summer, if I’m honest,” Wren says, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “I’m from the Autumn Court and raised in the Winter Court. I wasnotmade for heat and humidity.”
I snort. “You picked a funny place to live, then.”
He hip checks me as we walk, not hard enough to throw me off balance but enough to make me grin. “There happens to be a certain griffin baker here that I’m very fond of.”
Before I can answer, he reaches up, tugs lightly on my beard, and steals a kiss. It’s quick. Soft. Barely there. Still enough to make my pulse rise.
“That reminds me,” Ethan says. He digs into his pocket and pulls out several tiny glass vials full of pale blue liquid. “Cooling spell. Florence and I perfected it after too many summers of melting. It’ll keep you comfortable until you go to sleep tonight and it’ll wear off by morning.” He hands one to Wren and one to me.
Wren downs his immediately. A second later, his shoulders loosen and he lets out a blissful sigh. “Oh, that’s amazing. Thank you.”
I tuck my vial into my pocket. “I’ll save mine for later. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Ethan drinks his own and shivers. “I’m putting extras at the booth for anyone who needs them. Just wait until you see Main Street. The council absolutely outdid themselves. It looks like a magical?—”
We round the corner and all four of us stop dead. Hex has transformed. Lanterns hang between every building, casting warm golden light over the streets even in the daytime, each one threaded with tiny spells that make them glow brighter when someone laughs beneath them.
Banners ripple overhead in shades of yellow, pink, and orange, trailing sparkling dust every time the wind catches them. Floating moss roses drift above the street in a broad floral canopy, their pink and buttery yellow blooms linked by vines of living magic that throw cool shadows over the crowds below. Lavender and jasmine scent the air, layered over fresh bread, kettle corn, grilled meat, and sugar.
Residents hurry between booths carrying armfuls of flowers and signs and crates of festival supplies. Children dart between legs wearing flower crowns and painted faces.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hex look this happy.
“Holy shit,” Wren whispers. His hand finds mine without thought. I lace our fingers together and hold on.
“Let’s do this,” Wick says. “Come on, come on, our pastries deserve to be admired.”
He leads us to the bakery booth, a three table setup with enough room to display everything if we’re smart about it. Wick immediately falls into command mode, pointing at spots and directing us where to place trays for the best visual spread. Sweetrolls to the left, brownies and bars in the center, fruit pastries up front, pet treats on the side in a basket with a little hand painted sign.
By the time we finish unloading, the booth looks incredible. All golden crusts and bright fruit glazes and sugared tops catching the light. Even I have to admit it looks like a festival display worth stopping for.
Wick stands back with his hands on his hips, eyes sparkling.
People are already drifting past and eyeing the setup. By the time the festival officially opens, we’re going to be slammed. The thought should make me anxious. Instead, I feel… proud. Proud of the booth, proud of the bakery, proud of Wren for helping with all of this while half asleep and still smiling through it.
Wren squeezes my hand. “Do you mind if we walk around a little before everything starts?”
“Please do,” Wick says before I can answer. “We can man the fort.” He flutters his fingers at us. “Shoo.”
Wren tugs me away, grinning, and I let him pull me across the street toward a booth overflowing with flower crowns, floral hair combs, vine bracelets, and little glass bottles filled with pressed petals.
Lou, the fox shifter who runs the booth, lights up when she sees us. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite bakery boys.”
“I need your expertise,” Wren says with great seriousness. He turns me toward the display and gives me an assessing look. “He needs something blue. To make his eyes pop.”
Lou’s grin turns sly. “Morning glories.”
She plucks a flower crown from a hook and hands it to Wren. It’s woven with pale blue morning glories, little white blossoms, and soft green trailing vines. Before I can object, Wren rises onto his toes and settles it onto my head. His fingers brush through my hair as he adjusts it. Warmth crawls up my neck.
