Page 123 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“You’ll have to decide if it’s a risk worth taking.” Talula grinned.

They both dug their forks into the cake. Talula took a bite and moaned. Airy sweetness melted on her tongue, the exterior of the cake caramelized just so to add contrast to its cloudlike interior. She looked over at Mrs. Bochart.

The baker’s face was a study in ecstasy. “This is unbelievable.”

Their slices were gone in moments.

Talula set her empty plate down. She put herself back in that magical mindset. She knew that the particles of air that “filled” her plate were made of atoms, too. Really, it was just a quirk of perspective that air wasn’t cake. She wrapped herself up in her magic again. In her mind, she saw the atoms as what they could be, how she wanted them to be.

Her once-empty plate now held a midnight-black slice of devil’s food cake, four layers tall and glistening with dark chocolate ganache. Startled, Mrs. Bochart jolted, swearing like a sailor.

Talula laughed. “Give it a try.”

Mrs. Bochart stuck her fork in the new illusion and took a bite. She swore again. “It’s cake. Out of nothing. Damn good cake, too.”

Talula flopped back into the couch cushions, beaming at her work.

“Don’t you dare think that magicking cake is the same as baking it, missy.” Mrs. Bochart shook her fork at Talula. “Let’s go check on a real cake.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Talula grinned. “Then, I have somewhere to be.”

The baker raised a flour-colored brow. “You’re going to go get that girl, aren’t you?”

Talula just kept grinning.

Later that afternoon, Talula stood on the sidewalk in front of the Joneses’ house. She held still, arms full of the day’s baking efforts, eyes locked on the front door. Talula’s heart made a racket in her rib cage—in this moment, she was more terrified than she’d been at the town hall. But, if she could wrangle jackalopes, befriend a jinn, master an ancient magical cookbook, turn the hearts of an entire town, and bake a cake to satisfy a secret agent baker, she could knock on that door.

Summoning her courage, Talula knocked.

The door swung open, and Talula’s ricocheting heart stilled. Dahlia looked as rumpled as Talula had ever seen her, with red-rimmed eyes, a threadbare hoodie, and mismatched socks. She looked exactly how Talula had felt since the moment she’d left Dahlia at the Magic Box the night before.

Dahlia’s eyes flicked to Talula; then her gaze sunk to her toes. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Talula shook her head. “No! There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Dahlia didn’t look up. “I pushed too hard last night, and I ruined it.”

“Listen—”

“I was just so proud of you after that speech, and then we were dancing, and you’re just so beautiful, it’s really hard to go around not kissing you. That’s not an excuse, sorry—”

“Can I just—”

“If you want me to leave you alone from now on, I completely understand—”

Talula set her cake box on the ground. Then she cupped Dahlia’s face in her hands before finally, finally pressing her mouth against Dahlia’s.

This kiss was worlds away from their desperate, hungry first. This time, Talula was fearless. She kissed like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, who cradled it in her hands. She kissed Dahlia deeply, determinedly. Because Talula had something she needed Dahlia to know, something she could only say with her hips flush to Dahlia’s, her hands tangled in black curls, her lips moving as though oxygen, her Magical Destiny, and the rest of the world, could go fuck themselves so long as Talula could breathe Dahlia’s every soft gasp.

I choose you I choose you I choose you I choose you.

And Dahlia? Dahlia kissed like she had a whole lot to say right back.

Eventually, they came up for air. Talula tore her gaze away from the perfect pink o of Dahlia’s mouth to meet her wide brown eyes.

“Just to be clear,” Talula said. “I’m yours. I have always been yours. Romantically. For a while. Since the first time you came into the café.”

“Oh,” Dahlia said, her voice a little creaky. “Then why did you run away last night?”