Page 31 of The Soulmate Bakery

‘Rude,’ I muttered, but hated that he wasn’t wrong.

‘Second,’ Orion continued, ignoring my mumble. ‘Build common ground. Once he notices you, get him to like you. Make a connection with him, find similar interests. That’s how you build a strong foundation in a relationship.’

‘You know,’ I interjected, holding my whisk like it was a wand as I pointed it at him. ‘You’re speaking like a person with a lot of experience. Is there a story there, Hawthorne?’

‘Third,’ he didn’t even flinch at my interruption.

‘Boo!’

‘Third, seal the deal. Once you’ve established that there’s a connection – confess your feelings. You’ll obviously be doing that at the Fallen Leaves Festival when you’re doing the spell. But before that, we need to get through step one. Getting him to notice you. Positively.’

‘Story of my life,’ I said, while arranging the tart shells, pastry cream and berries in rows. ‘But every time I talk to Silas, or try to, I do something stupid.’

Orion paused, drumming his fingers against the countertop; silver scales erupted over the top of his hand before sliding back.

‘He’s a rugby player, right?’ Orion asked.

I nodded.

‘Go to one of his games. This town is obsessed with the sport – he must be having his first game this weekend, right?’

I nodded again. ‘But when I get there, what am I supposed to do?’

‘Well, if you see him, maybe, I don’t know, talk to him.’

‘Talk to him,’ I said, dubiously.

‘Yes, you know the thing we’re doing right now,’ he pointed at the space between the two of us.

‘Right, as if it’s going to be that easy,’ I replied, reaching out for the cream that I was now ready to enchant. ‘I’m not in love with you, Orion.’

For a moment, the air in the kitchen seemed to still.

‘Right,’ Orion said, after a second, with no hint of emotion. ‘Just go to the game, Reverie. Bake something good-luck adjacent for him. Bring it to the game. Sit in the front row and I’ll handle the rest.’

Before I could press him for more, he was approaching the counter and looking down at the cream I was going to pipe into the tarts.

‘Ready to enchant it?’ Orion asked, reading the situation, and me, perfectly.

I cleared my throat and avoided Orion’s gaze entirely. I pushed him out of my mind, out of my thoughts. This was my domain. I was the kitchen witch here, not Orion. I understood this kind of magic. And a part of me wanted to prove myself to him.

I traced the shape of an open flame above the giant bowl of cream before me and, infusing my voice with confidence, I said the spell aloud: ‘Smoke curdling in the chest, breathe in this cooling air and put the flames to rest.’

A familiar warmth collected at the tips of my fingers, and the whipped cream in the bowl began to glow. I waited until the warmth under my skin subsided, and the cream had settled back to its regular colour. The cinnamon speckles were now more vibrant against the white of the cream, and I felt my lips curve into a victorious smile.

With confidence bursting in me like a firework, I was a flurry of movement; piping the cream, arranging the berries atop like a treasure chest of jewels. Everything around me slipped away as I worked.

When I was done, there were fifteen perfectly curated tarts sitting before me.

‘All right, time to taste,’ Orion said, breaking me out of my spiral.

‘What! No,’ I said, horrified.

The doubt slammed into me, as I remembered the soulmate cookies that went horribly wrong.

Orion blinked. ‘You’re a witch.’

‘So?’