“I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re stress-baking at four AM. You only do that when you’re spiraling, avoiding something, or both.” Her eyes narrowed. “Oh god. It’s both, isn’t it?”
Marina focused on the new batch of dough. Fold. Turn. Fold. The motions should have been soothing. They weren’t.
“I just want everything to be perfect. This is my chance to prove that The Salty Siren can handle big events. That I can handle big events.” She pressed too hard. Eased up. “What if I mess it up? What if they hate everything? What if I?—”
“Marina.” Bea set down her scone. “What’s really going on?”
The question found the thing she’d been avoiding.
“I don’t know,” Marina admitted. “I woke up at two and couldn’t get back to sleep. I keep feeling like something’s about to happen. Something big. And I can’t tell if it’s the summit or…” She gestured vaguely at the window, at the salt-thick air. “Something else.”
Bea was quiet. That was alarming. Bea was never quiet.
“My grandmother used to say that selkies can feel the tides of fate,” Bea said. “That when something major is coming, the sea tells them first.”
“Your grandmother also said that mercury retrograde was caused by angry pixies.”
“And she was right about that.” Bea set down her scone. “Look, I’m not saying you’re having a premonition. I’m justsaying… maybe pay attention? Your instincts might be trying to tell you something.”
Marina’s instincts were telling her to crawl back into bed and pretend the summit didn’t exist. But she didn’t say that.
“I need to practice my welcome speech,” she said instead. “For when the organizers come in. Something professional. Confident.”
Bea’s grin returned, wicked and familiar. “Oh, please. Let me hear it.”
Marina cleared her throat. Wiped her hands on her apron. Stood straighter.
“Welcome to The Salty Siren. I’m Marina Pearl, the owner and head baker. We’re so pleased to be catering this year’s summit, and I hope you’ll enjoy…”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“You sound like a hostage reading a ransom note.”
Marina slumped. “I know.”
“Try again. This time, pretend you’re not terrified of your own shadow.”
“I’m not terrified of my shadow,” she said. “I’m terrified of rooms full of important people who are definitely going to judge my pastries and find them wanting.”
“That’s weirdly specific.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”
Bea laughed, really laughed, and Marina felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease.
“You’re going to be fine,” Bea said. “And if anyone gives you trouble, I’ll hex their coffee.”
“Please don’t hex the lawyers.”
“Fine. I’ll only hex them a little.” Bea drained her mystery tea and headed for the door. “I’ve got a moonstone shipment comingat six. But call me if you need backup. Or a calming hex. Or both.”
The door swung shut.
Silence. Except for the sea.
