Page 14 of Chasing Stripes

What is happening to me?The thought flashed through her mind, followed immediately by a more disturbing realization: part of her wanted to close that remaining distance between them, to press herself against his solid frame, to discover if his lips tasted as good as he smelled.

The thought shocked her with its intensity. She barely knew this man. Had never spoken to him before. Yet her body reacted as if recognizing something essential and necessary.

“The bowl,” she finally managed, her voice embarrassingly husky. “It’s unstable.”

Bartek nodded, his expression shifting to focused determination. The overhead lights flickered wildly as his grip on her waist tightened fractionally. “Can you stop it?”

Artemis swallowed, trying desperately to ignore how his touch sent molten heat cascading through her body. “Yes. Just... don’t let go.”

The request slipped out before she could censor it. His eyes darkened in response, pupils dilating slightly.

She pressed one palm to the counter, grounding herself through the solid surface. With her other hand, she reached toward the chaotic vortex, drawing on her fae magic. The familiar energy bubbled up from her core, flowing along her arm to her fingertips, visible now as golden light that danced across her skin.

She whispered an incantation, ancient words carried on measured breath:

“Sielu rauhoittua, taikuus tasapaino.”

The words echoed with power, their resonance magnified by Bartek’s physical connection to her. The swirling vortex faltered, then collapsed inward like a dying star. The mixing bowl’s spinning slowed. Wayward utensils clattered back to the countertop. In moments, the magical surge dissipated, leaving only a thoroughly flour-coated kitchen in its wake.

But Bartek didn’t release her.

His hands remained at her waist, their heat branding her through cotton and flour. Artemis became acutely aware of their position—his broad frame sheltering her smaller one, their bodies separated by mere inches of charged air. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, smell his earthy scent, almost taste the electricity that seemed to crackle between them.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice embarrassingly breathless. She cleared her throat and tried again. “For rushing in, I mean. I don’t know why it reacted like that. The pollen seemed stronger than?—”

“You’re glowing,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping to where his hands held her.

Artemis looked down. Golden light radiated from beneath his fingers, spreading across her waist in an unmistakable outline of his large hands. The glow pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, sending sparks of pleasure through her nerve endings with each beat.

“Oh,” she breathed, unable to formulate a more coherent response. In all her years of baking with magic, she’d never seen or experienced anything like this. “That’s... new.”

Their eyes met again, his now decidedly more amber than brown. Something unspoken passed between them—a question, an acknowledgment, perhaps even a challenge. The air around them thickened, heavy with possibility and unnamable tension.

A throat cleared from the doorway.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Tilly’s amused voice broke the spell. “Should I come back later when you two aren’t having a moment?”

Bartek stepped back suddenly, his hands leaving Artemis’s waist with obvious reluctance. The absence of his touch left her oddly bereft as if something essential had been taken away. She rubbed her arms, trying to dispel the lingering sensation of his hands on her body.

“Aunt Tilly,” Artemis managed, horrified by the breathy quality of her voice. “This isn’t—I mean, there was an accident with the?—”

“The magical explosion?” Tilly grinned, fanning herself dramatically with her hand. “Yes, I heard it all the way from the sidewalk. I see you found assistance of the tall, dark, and handsome variety.” She winked at Bartek, who stood uncomfortably amid the flour wreckage, looking both powerful and oddly discomfited.

“Bartek Arbor,” he introduced himself with formal stiffness, extending a hand. “From across the street.”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” Tilly said, accepting his handshake with obvious delight. “Matilda Honeysage, but everyone calls me Tilly. Owner of this establishment—or partial owner now that my niece is back.” She looked between them, her eyes twinkling. “My goodness, the energy in this room could power the whole town for a week! Does it get hot in here whenever you two stand close, or is that just today’s special effect?”

“Tilly!” Artemis exclaimed, mortification heating her cheeks.

Bartek’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before he controlled his expression. “I should go,” he said, glancing down at his flour-covered clothes. “My staff will wonder where I am.”

“Nonsense,” Tilly waved dismissively. “It’s barely dawn. No respectable bar opens before noon, especially in a magical town. Stay for breakfast! I make excellent blueberry pancakes, and we clearly need to discuss whatever—” she gestured between them, “—this sparky business is.”

“Another time, perhaps,” Bartek replied with surprising diplomacy. “I have deliveries arriving soon.”

“Such a shame,” Tilly sighed with theatrical disappointment. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Our door is always open to neighbors—especially ones who rescue my niece from magical baking disasters.”

Bartek nodded politely, his gaze returning to Artemis. Something softened in his expression, a barely perceptible shift that nonetheless made her heart stutter. “Be more careful with the wild magic,” he said quietly. “It responds differently here than in the city.”

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