Page 18 of Chasing Stripes

Late afternoon broughta lull in customers. Lost in thought, Artemis wiped down tables. The bakery seemed calmer now, quieter without the morning rush. Perfect for reflection—or overthinking, as her father would have called it.

“You’re glowing again.” Tilly observed casually, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked scones.

Artemis glanced down. Sure enough, golden light pulsed from the handprints. “Why does it keep doing that?”

“Magic responds to thought as well as touch,” Tilly set down the tray. “I’m guessing a certain someone is on your mind?”

Before Artemis could formulate a denial, the bell above the door chimed. Her heart performed a ridiculous somersault before she could control it.

And there he stood.

Bartek Arbor filled the doorway, his powerful frame blocking much of the late afternoon light. He’d changed clothes since the morning’s flour apocalypse, now wearing a dark gray Henley that stretched across his broad shoulders and emphasized the lean strength of his arms. His dirty-blond hair, slightly damp as if freshly showered, was pushed back from his forehead.

But it was his eyes that captured her—intense golden-brown orbs that locked onto her with laser focus as if she were the only person in the universe.

For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken awareness. The lights overhead dimmed, then brightened dramatically. A muffin on the display counter suddenly rose an inch into the air before dropping back down with a soft thud.

Tilly observed this phenomenon with undisguised fascination. “Well, I suddenly remembered some very urgent... things... I need to do. In the back. Far away from... whatever this is.” She backed toward the kitchen, pointing between Artemis and Bartek. “Carry on. Pretend I was never here.”

She disappeared through the swinging door, though Artemis strongly suspected her ear remained pressed against it.

Bartek cleared his throat, finally stepping fully inside. “Your magic seems... responsive today.”

Artemis swallowed hard, trying to ignore how his deep voice sent shivers cascading down her spine. “Side effect of this morning’s mishap,” she managed, knowing the excuse sounded feeble.

He moved closer, each step deliberate and fluid. The predatory grace in his movements made her pulse quicken. “Is that why you’re still glowing?”

Her hand flew to her waist reflexively. The golden imprint of his hands brightened at his proximity, now clearly visible even through her apron. “I can’t seem to make it stop,” she admitted.

Something flickered in his expression—satisfaction, perhaps, or curiosity. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “It feels... warm. Like...”Like your hands are still there, she almost said, but caught herself. “Like residual magic.”

Bartek nodded, stopping a few feet away—close enough for her to catch his scent, far enough to maintain a semblance of propriety. “I came to check on you. The kind of magical surge I witnessed this morning can have lingering effects.”

The concern surprised her. “Everything’s fine now. Though I did accidentally give Mrs. Oakhart an operatic singing voice for the morning.”

That earned a short, deep chuckle—a rich sound that reverberated in the quiet bakery and did strange things to Artemis’s insides. “Creative side effect.”

“Better than some alternatives. Last year, I made cupcakes that temporarily turned people’s hair the color of whatever frosting they chose. The blueberry ones were particularly vivid.”

His laugh deepened, the sound shockingly intimate in the quiet bakery. Artemis found herself staring at his mouth, wondering how someone so intimidating could have such a warm laugh. The overhead lights flickered in response to her thoughts, and she forced her gaze away.

“Your bakery in the city specialized in these magical treats?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

SIXTEEN

Artemis nodded, grateful for the neutral topic. “Crumb & Sugar. Nothing too obvious—humans came for the taste and left feeling inexplicably better. Supernatural clients understood the additional benefits.”

“Smart business model.” Bartek’s eyes tracked her movements as she nervously rearranged pastries in the display case. “Why leave it behind?”

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal to this virtual stranger who somehow felt anything but strange. “Success isn’t always measured in profits,” she said finally.

Something in her tone must have revealed more than intended. Bartek’s head tilted slightly, his gaze sharpening with unexpected perception. “You were lonely,” he stated simply.

The accuracy of his assessment shocked her. “How did you?—”

“Recognition,” he said, the word carrying weight beyond its syllables. “I understand loneliness in a crowd.”

---