Page 42 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
We don’t speak as we head back toward the stairs.
But the tension? That lingers like electricity in the dark.
Chapter twenty-six
Cam
The kitchen smells like toasted bread, cinnamon, and something bright—lemons maybe—thanks to the tangy glaze Jamie's whisking in a bowl. Theo's at the stove, flipping slices of buttered bread in the pan like he's done it a hundred times, and maybe he has. I sit at the table, elbows planted beside my sister's old notebook and the folklore book we found at the library. Pages are spread out everywhere, scribbled notes on napkins mixed in with newspaper clippings and photocopies. The comforting clatter of dishes and low voices makes it feel like we’ve been doing this for years. Like they’ve always been here.
It’s not lost on me how easily they’ve slotted into my life.
Zae would’ve liked them.
“Okay,” I say, tapping the edge of the page with one finger. “So, the plant mentioned here—called 'Solara Petalis' in the book and Zae's notes—was apparently used in a lot of local sweets during the late 1800s.”
Jamie peers over from the counter. “Sounds magical.”
“It kind of is,” I say, excitement threading into my voice. “It was used in celebratory candies, wedding bonbons, evenrecovery sweets. The petals apparently crystallize naturally when dried. And the flavor changes depending on who prepared it.”
Theo turns down the stove burner and raises an eyebrow. “Flavor that changes? That's not candy, that's alchemy.”
“It’s probably folklore,” I admit, flipping the book around to show them. “But even if half of it is true, it could be incredible. Our signature recipe.”
Theo brings over the toast and sets a plate in front of me, then nudges a mug of tea my way. Jamie follows with the glaze, drizzling some on top. The warmth of the mug seeps into my hands as I breathe in the fragrant steam, grateful more than I can say.
I offer them both a grateful smile. “Now for the bad news.”
Jamie mock gasps. “There's bad news?”
“Of course. There's always bad news in magical candy quests.”
They both sit, leaning in.
“The flower’s nearly extinct,” I say. “According to the botanical records and my sister’s notes, the last known population was sighted on an island just off the coast. Little place called Tern Hollow.”
Theo frowns. “I know it. Technically not off-limits, but no one goes there.”
Jamie squints. “Wasn't there a whole story about it being abandoned?”
I nod, pulling out a folded map I found tucked into the folklore book. It’s old, but the island is circled in ink, with Zae’s handwriting beside it:Maybe here?
Theo and Jamie lean over to look at the map with me.
“It's small. Rocky. Boat access only, and even that’s tricky. No pier. Just a narrow beach.”
I rest my chin on my hand, glancing down at Zae’s script.Maybe here?
She’d written it with such hope. That flicker of adventure she always carried—the one that pulled me along, half-laughing, half-protesting, always curious. Her handwriting makes my chest ache.
“It sounds like an adventure,” I say, unable to hide my grin. “Though probably not a smart one.”
I fall quiet for a moment, the weight of everything creeping in. One week until opening day.
One week.
“Is this crazy?” I ask, lifting my head. “I mean... the shop opens in a week. Shouldn’t I be testing flavors and hanging signs instead of running off to chase mythical flowers on abandoned islands?”
Jamie tilts his head. “You’re creating something that matters. That candy—it’s part of your story. Of Zae’s too. If this recipe is important to you, then it’s worth the time.”
