Page 24 of Chasing Stripes

Defeated, Artemis attempted to wipe the worst of the flour from her face, succeeding only in smearing it further across her cheek. With a frustrated exhale, she pushed through the swinging door into the main shop.

The sight of him stole her breath.

Bartek Arbor stood with his back to her, examining a display of miniature fruit tarts. Morning sunlight streamed through the front windows, illuminating his broad shoulders and the muscles visible beneath his fitted Henley. He’d pulled his dirty-blond hair into a small knot at the nape of his neck, exposing the strong column of his throat and the sharp angle of his jaw.

The marks on her waist flared hot enough to make her gasp.

Every pastry in the display case levitated three inches off its tray.

Bartek turned at the sound, his eyes—deep golden-brown with amber flecks—widening slightly at the floating confections. His gaze moved to her face, lingering on the flour smudges, then down to her messy apron, before returning to meet her eyes.

“Bad timing?” he asked, his deep voice sending an inexplicable shiver down her spine.

Artemis drew a steadying breath, forcing the pastries back to their places with a subtle gesture. “No. Just... magical fluctuations. Happens sometimes.”

He studied her face, his expression unreadable but intense. “You look...”

“Like I lost a fight with a flour sack?” she offered, attempting humor to mask her self-consciousness.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I was going to saybusy.”

“That too.” She moved behind the counter, grateful for the barrier it created between them. Being near him scrambled her thoughts worse than any magical mishap. “Aunt Tilly mentioned you’re here for coffee?”

“Apparently to discuss some festival coordination.” He shrugged, the movement rippling across his shoulders in a way that made her mouth go dry. “Your aunt can be persuasive.”

“That’s one word for it,” Artemis muttered. “She has many talents, subtlety not being among them.”

A low rumble that might have been a chuckle emanated from his chest. The sound did strange things to her insides like butterflies taking flight beneath her ribs.

“How do you take your coffee?” she asked, turning to the machine to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

“Black,” he answered, predictably.

As she prepared his drink, Artemis felt his gaze on her back, tracking her movements. The sensation sent awareness skittering along her spine, her fae magic humming just beneath her skin. The handprints pulsed in rhythm with her quickening heartbeat.

Why did he affect her this way? She’d met attractive men before—dated a few, even—but none had triggered such an immediate, visceral response. It wasn’t just physical, though heaven knew that was potent enough. There was something more, something primal and magnetic that pulled at her very core.

Coffee in hand, she turned back to find him closer to the counter than before—much closer—his presence commanding the space between them.

“You’re troubled,” he stated rather than asked, voice dropping to a low rumble.

“What gave it away?” she replied, sliding his coffee across the counter. “The magical surges or the flour in my hair?”

“Neither.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. Even that fleeting contact sent a spark racing up her arm. “Your scent changed. Less vanilla, more... sharp spice. Like cinnamon with a bite of clove.” His nostrils flared subtly. “Tiger senses,” he added, as if that explained everything.

The casual reminder of his shifter nature sent another flutter through her stomach. She’d grown up around supernatural beings of all kinds, but something about Bartek’s raw, contained power both intimidated and thrilled her.

“Is that why you’re really here?” she asked, trying to sound casual as she wiped down the already-clean counter. “Your tiger senses tingling about trouble at the bakery?”

He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “Tilly called about festival planning. But yes, I sensed something was off the moment I walked in.” His gaze intensified. “What happened?”

The directness of his concern caught her off guard. She hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. He wasn’t just any neighbor—his pride had connections to the council. And something about him made her want to trust him despite barely knowing him.

“Our family recipe book is missing,” she said finally. “And apparently, it contains more than just baking instructions.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, inviting her to continue.

“Information about supernatural families in town,” she elaborated. “Records, secrets, maps to magically significant locations. Things that could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

---