Chapter One
Lovely Lollipops
The spellroot powder sparkled like fresh snow as I scooped it from the bag. 32 grams. Approximately three tablespoons. But I didn’t do tablespoons. Or approximations.
The scale, an old one that used metal ingots of weight, was still heavier on the ingot side than the spellroot side. I carefully sprinkled a few more grains at a time into the bowl on the right until it dropped a bit and the weights evened out with the powder. I triple-checked the measurements. Yes, this was correct.
I needed to talk to my boss, Gladys, about getting a new digital scale. They’d been around for over a decade now, and were more accurate in my opinion. But Gladys was so old-fashioned about everything.
Nia, my tiny black fluff-ball of a cat, mewed from her perch on my shoulder.
“I know, I know. It’s the third time.” I wiped my palms on my apron. They’d gone clammy. “But this has to be perfect.”
The candy store didn’t open for another hour and thirty seven minutes. Gladys lived upstairs and hadn’t come down yet. This was my chance to prove myself—to show her that taking me on as her apprentice hadn’t been a mistake.
I dumped the spellroot powder into the sugar syrup bubbling on the old iron stove. The mixture hissed and shimmered. Magic pooled in my chest, warm and bright, pushing against my ribs like it wanted out. My breath caught. The sensation flooded through my arms, down to my fingertips, and poured into the candy, invisible but very tangible.
It was too much. Too fast.
I gripped the wooden spoon tighter, knuckles white. “No, no, no! Slow down.”
But the magic didn’t listen. It never did. The syrup roiled, shimmer intensifying until the pot practically glowed.
Nia’s claws dug into my shoulder through the fabric. Her tiny body vibrated with a warning growl.
“It’s fine.” My voice cracked. “It’s—I just need to add the beautyberry syrup now.”
I grabbed the bottle, measured out exactly 24 grams into the bowl that had held the spellroot powder—checked the balance on the scale twice—and poured it into the mixture. Purple bloomed through the sugar like watercolor on wet paper.
The recipe book sat open on the counter beside me, Gladys’s cramped handwriting marching across yellowed pages. I scanned the instructions again. Sugar, water, spellroot powder, beautyberry syrup, food coloring. Pour onto marble slab. Knead. Pull into ropes. Twist. Coil.
Simple.
Except my magic writhed inside the candy, wild and uncontrolled. I could feel it—too strong, too intense. The same wrongness that ruined everything I touched.
“Not this time.” I turned off the burner and poured the syrup onto the large marble slab in three sections. “This time I’m getting it right.”
Nia leaped down to investigate, nose twitching. I added food coloring to each section—deep purple, medium purple, light purple. The colors swirled as I stirred them in. Lovely.
As the candy cooled enough to handle, I worked it first with a metal scraper, and then with my hands. The warmth seeped through my skin. Magic buzzed beneath my palms, frantic, as I tried to hold it back. I kneaded the first section, then picked it up and pulled it into a long rope using the metal hook on the wall. The candy stretched, glossy and smooth.
“See? Nothing wrong.” I twisted the rope, looped it back over the hook and pulled again. Twist, loop, pull. Twist, loop, pull. “Just had to follow the recipe exactly.”
Nia sniffed the purple rope, then batted at it with one paw.
“Don’t touch. It’s still hot.”
She squeaked indignantly but sat back on her haunches, tail swishing.
I thwapped the first loop of candy onto the counter and pulled the second section into a rope, looping it onto the hook. My fingers moved faster now, muscle memory taking over from all my practice at the academy. The candy lightened as I stretched it over and over. I moved onto the third color, the motion rhythmic, hypnotic. This was one of the parts I liked best.
Then I rolled out each color into a log of purple candy and laid them one atop another. Hefting it up, I pinched one end of the log and let the candy stretch, thinning where I held it as gravity did its job. When it was the right thinness, I set it down and rolled the fat end with one hand, extruding and twisting with the other. The spiral pattern emerged—dark, medium, and light. Beautiful.
I cut and coiled the ropes into spiral lollipop shapes, speared them with a wooden stick each, and set them on wax paper to harden. Twelve perfect spirals.
“I did it.” My hands trembled. “I actually did it.”
Nia headbutted my ankle, purring.
The door leading to up Glady’s private quarters opened. Gladys stepped through, gray braid swinging, shirt buttoned to her throat. Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. There was still forty-three minutes until the shop opened.
“Up early,” she said.
“Wanted to get a head start.” I gestured at the lollipops. “Made Lovely Lollipops. From your recipe book.”
She moved closer, peering at them. Her expression shifted—something I couldn’t read flickered across her face. “They look perfect.”
The words should have filled me with relief. Instead, my stomach twisted.
“Measured everything three times,” I said. “Followed every step.”
“I see that.” She picked up the recipe book, running her fingers along the spine. The leather creaked under her touch. “This book has been in my family for generations. Some of these recipes are older than the Magical Council itself.”
“Really?”
“My grandmother wrote this one. Her grandmother wrote that one. That Lovely Lollipop recipe is from my great aunt.” She flipped through pages. “But recipes are just guidelines, Jazmine. Candy-making is about more than measurements.”
My throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
“You have to trust your instincts. Let your inner magic guide the work.” She set the book down and looked at me. “That’s the part you’re missing.”
“I—” The words stuck. Because she was right. My magic felt like a wild animal I’d caged inside my chest, pacing and snarling. I didn’t trust it. How could I, when every time I let it loose, everything went wrong?
Gladys touched one of the lollipops. “These will work, but they’ll be stronger than intended.”
My heart sank. “How do you know?”
“Because I can feel it.” She tapped her chest. “Your magic is in there, frantic. Trying too hard.”
I looked away. Was it that obvious? Trying to shift the conversation away from me, I asked, “Are the recipes in your book dangerous? If they’re that old? At Spellroot Academy our professors said we shouldn’t use any recipes older than seventy-five years or so because when the Magical Council was founded in 1879 a lot of the current recipes had to be thrown out due to safety concerns-“
Gladys threw her head back and laughed, a full-bodied sound that made Nia’s ears flatten. “Oh, honey. Half of these would be considered illegal now, I suspect. The Magical Council has gotten so strict about what witches can and cannot make.” She tapped the open page. “My great-grandmother brewed love potions that actually worked. Not the watered-down romance nonsense we sell in Delicacies of Desire. I’m talking true love, permanent and binding.”
My stomach dropped. “But that’s—”
“Against the law? Yes. Now it is.” She closed the book gently, almost reverently. “Times change. The Council regulates everything these days. But magic used to be wilder. Messier. More honest.”
I stared at the lollipops lined up on wax paper, their purple spirals gleaming. More honest. The phrase lodged in my chest like a splinter.
The iron pot sat on the stove, a thin layer of purple candy solution clinging to the bottom. Still warm. I moved toward it before I could talk myself out of it, picked it up, and traced my finger through the thick candy, gathering a finger-full.
“Just a taste,” I said. “To see if—”
“Jazmine, wait—”
The sugar touched my tongue. Sweetness exploded across my taste buds, followed by the unmistakable shimmer of magic. It rushed through me like champagne bubbles, fizzing in my veins. My skin tingled. My hair felt lighter, softer. Even my eyelashes seemed to flutter with new weight.
Gladys pressed her lips together, eyes dancing. A snort escaped. Then another.
“What?” I touched my face. My cheeks felt smooth, softer than usual. “What’s wrong?”
She gestured toward the small mirror hanging by the door that led to the front of the shop—the one we used to check ourselves before going out to work the counter. “Have a look.”
I crossed the room, Nia trotting behind me on tiny paws. My reflection stared back from the glass.
My hand flew to my mouth.
My pale skin glowed like I’d been dipped in moonlight. My freckles had vanished entirely. My eyes, normally a plain green, shone emerald bright—almost neon – even more than the faint glow they gave off when working with spellroot powder. My cheekbones jutted out like someone had carved them with a chisel, too sharp, too defined. My lips looked bee-stung, unnaturally plump and red. Even my short black hair gleamed with an unnatural sheen, each strand catching the light.
I looked like a cartoon. A caricature of beauty, everything enhanced until it crossed the line into grotesque.
“Oh no.” My voice cracked. “Oh no, no, no.”
Gladys gave up trying to contain her laughter. It poured out of her, warm and sympathetic but helpless. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but your face—”
“This isn’t funny!” Heat flooded my cheeks, which probably only made them glow brighter. “How long will it last?”
“A few minutes, maybe a half hour at most. You only had a small taste.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “If you’d eaten a whole lollipop, you’d look like this for at least a day.”
I turned back to the mirror, horror crawling up my spine. My eyelashes were so long they brushed my eyebrows when I blinked. My nose looked narrower, more delicate—like it might break if I sneezed too hard.
“They’re ruined.” The words tasted bitter. “The lollipops are completely ruined.”
“Well, they’ll certainly make an impression.” Gladys’s laughter faded into something gentler. “But yes. They’re too strong for customers.”
I reached for the lollipops, fingers trembling. Twelve perfect spirals. So much work. I’d measured everything exactly. Followed every instruction. And still—still—my magic had poisoned them.
“I don’t understand.” My throat burned. “I did everything right.”
“You did everything the recipe told you to do.” Gladys moved beside me, her reflection appearing in the mirror next to mine. Her face looked normal, kind, ordinary. Everything mine wasn’t. “But you didn’t listen to yourself.”
“Because myself is broken!” The words ripped out of me. “My magic is wrong. It’s always been wrong. Everything I touch turns out too intense, too strong, too—”
“Too you.” Gladys put her hand on my shoulder. “Your magic isn’t broken, Jazmine. It’s just powerful. And you’re scared of it.”
I pulled away, wrapping my arms around myself. My dress felt too tight across my chest. My polished boots looked stupid and small beneath my ridiculous glowing legs.
Nia wound between my ankles, purring. I scooped her up, burying my face in her black fur. She squeaked but didn’t protest, just pressed her tiny body against my collarbone.
My fingers found the large silver locket at my throat. The metal was cool and solid, grounding. I popped it open—the familiar click a small comfort. Mom’s face smiled up at me from the photograph of her holding me as a baby, her eyes warm and real. Nothing like my own neon-bright ones.
I flipped the photo over in its little frame in the middle of the locket, like turning the page of a book. “All my love, my little Jazmine flower.” I read the inscription on the back of the photo for the thousandth time, and then eyed the small piece of candy I kept in the locket too. The words blurred.
My mom – Anna Eklund – had been a renowned magical confectioner. The best. Everyone at Spellroot Academy knew her name. And I couldn’t even make a simple lollipop without turning myself into a glowing freak show.
“Your mother would be proud of you.”
I snapped the locket shut. “She’d be ashamed.”
“She would never—”
“She’d be ashamed that I’m failing. That I almost flunked out of the academy. That you’re the only witch who would take me on as an apprentice.” The truth scraped my throat raw. “That I’m wasting her legacy.”
Gladys was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “You don’t have to be perfect, you know.”
“My mom was.”
“She was talented.” Gladys touched the recipe book. “But magic doesn’t care about perfection, Jazmine. It cares about intention. About heart.”
I looked at the lollipops again. They sat there, mocking me with their flawless spirals and toxic shimmer.
Twelve failures. Just like the piece of sour slime candy I kept in my locket—the remnants of my final project disaster.
My reflection caught my eye again. The glow had started to fade, just slightly. My cheekbones didn’t look quite so knife-sharp.
“How am I supposed to finish my apprenticeship if I can’t make candy properly?”
“You can make candy.” Gladys picked up one of the lollipops, holding it to the light. “You just made twelve beautiful lollipops. The magic works. It’s just stronger than average.”
“Too strong.”
“Maybe.” She set it down. “Or maybe you just need to learn to work with your magic instead of against it.”
Nia mewed in agreement against my chest.
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to think that somehow, some way, I could figure this out. But the evidence sat right in front of me—another batch ruined, another morning wasted, another piece of proof that I didn’t belong here.
That I’d never be the witch my mother was.
Chapter Two
Warm-Up Wafers
I wiped my eyes, frustrated. “I’ll get changed,” I muttered, ducking behind the storage closet door.
I peeled off the sticky apron and my own dress, then reached for the uniform—the orange dress with its crisp black sash and bow. The fabric felt heavy and professional in my hands. I pulled it over my head, then smoothed it over my hips, tied the sash, and checked that everything was neat and tidy. Then I eyed the black pointed hat with its orange sash.
“You can wear the hat, you know.” Gladys’s voice drifted from the other side of the door.
I stepped out, holding the hat against my chest like a shield. “I’m not licensed yet.”
“You’re my apprentice. That’s close enough.”
“It’s not, though.” I set the hat on the counter, away from me. “I won’t graduate for another year. I can’t—”
“The hat doesn’t make you a witch, Jazmine. Your magic does.”
I ran my thumb along the counter’s edge, feeling the wood rubbed smooth from countless hands. “The hat means you’ve earned your license. That you’ve proven yourself capable.” My throat tightened. “I haven’t.”
Gladys tilted her head, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners and fingered her pearl necklace, the one she always had on. “You’ve only been here two weeks. Give yourself time.”
Time wouldn’t fix what was wrong with me. I’d had three years at Spellroot Academy, and I still couldn’t make magical candy without ruining it.
“I’ll wear it when I’ve earned it,” I said.
Gladys opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, then closed it. Her fingers went to her necklace again, absently rolling one of the pearls between her thumb and forefinger.
“That’s a beautiful necklace,” I said, eager to change the subject.
A slow smile spread across her face. “Thank you. Come here, I’ll tell you a secret.”
I moved closer. Nia hopped onto the counter and sat between us, her tail swishing.
Gladys leaned in and lowered her voice. “These aren’t real pearls.”
I blinked. “They’re not?”
“They’re Persuasion Pearls. Candy. Pop one in your mouth and you’ll find it easier to convince people with your words.” She winked. “But only to an extent. It doesn’t take away a person’s autonomy. People will be easier to persuade if they’re already inclined that way.”
My eyes widened. “That’s—” I caught myself. “Is that legal?”
“Not strictly, no. Which is why we don’t sell them.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “Our little secret.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Gladys wore illegal magical candy. Every day. Right out in the open where anyone could see.
The doorbell for the back door, a literal little bell that jingled, chimed.
Gladys straightened. “That’ll be Bob. He wanted to talk to me about something this morning. I’ll be right back.”
Bob was the local baker and also Gladys’s boyfriend, or as she called him, her “beau.” I found it adorable.
Gladys grabbed a light cardigan from the hook by the door and stepped outside, closing it behind her.
I stood alone in the back room, Nia purring beside me. Through the window by the door, I could just make out Bob’s broad shoulders and Gladys’s gray braid as they moved down the alley and away from the shop. Their voices were low, muffled, growing distant.
I touched the brim of the witch’s hat again, then pushed it farther away.
Not yet.
As I watched, a pickup truck pulled into the alley, faded blue paint and rust spots along the wheel wells. A guy climbed out and approached the back door. Then the doorbell chimed again.
I grabbed Nia and went to answer it, annoyed at the way my enhanced eyelashes kept brushing my eyebrows when I blinked.
The delivery driver was already at the back of the truck, dropping the tailgate with a clang that echoed off the brick walls.
“Morning! Delivery for Spellbinding Sweets.” He turned around, grinning. Then stopped. Stared.
Heat crawled up my neck.
“Wow.” He blinked. “Sorry, I—you just—wow.”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “I had a candy-making accident.”
“Some accident.” His grin returned, lopsided and warm. “You look like you walked out of a painting or something.”
I groaned. “I look ridiculous.”
“I didn’t say that.” He hopped down from the truck bed. Tall, maybe six feet, with short brown hair that stuck up a little in the front like he’d run his fingers through it. Hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Tan skin. A faded t-shirt under a flannel jacket. Handsome in an easy, comfortable way.
Nia squeaked and wiggled in my arms, nose twitching toward him.
“Hey there, little one.” He held out his hand for her to sniff. “What’s your name?”
“That’s Nia. I’m Jazmine. Jaz.”
“Killian. Everyone calls me Ian.” He scratched behind Nia’s ears and she started purring so loud I felt it vibrate through my chest. “She’s so tiny. How old?”
“Three years. She’s full grown, just small.”
“Adorable.” He gave her another pet on the head, then turned back to the truck, grabbing a box. “I’ve got some boxes for you. Where do you want them?”
“I’ll show you.” I led him into the back room, Nia still purring against me. “You can just set them on the counter.”
He dropped the box with a thud, then went back for another. And another. I counted seven boxes in total when he was finished, in two neat stacks.
“You deliver for all the shops in town?” I absently squared up the corners of the boxes in each stack, then pulled down and opened one of the top boxes. Dried lavender, the scent immediate and soothing.
“Yeah, I’m based out of Talmo, down at the bottom of the mountain. But I come up here a every other week or so. Everyone here has their ordered delivered to Talmo from all the different companies. Then I make the trek up here to drop them off. Makes it easier for everyone.” He leaned against the counter. “You new? I haven’t seen you before.”
“Started two weeks ago. I’m an apprentice.”
“Cool.” He glanced at the lollipops cooling on the marble slab. Tri-colored spirals, purple on purple on purple. “Are those what did that to you?”
“Unfortunately.”
“What were they supposed to do?”
“Enhance natural beauty. Subtly.” I touched my swollen lips. “This is not subtle.”
He laughed, low and genuine. “I think they’re cool. Can I try one?”
“They’re going in the trash.”
“Seriously? Come on, let me have one.”
I hesitated. I hated waste. And they weren’t dangerous, just overpowered.
“Fine. But don’t blame me when you can’t leave the house without drawing stares.”
His grin widened. He picked one up, twirled it between his fingers, then popped it in his mouth.
It only took a second. There was a sparkling from his head to toes as the magic took hold. His jaw hardened to a chiseled edge, sprouting a day’s worth of rugged scruff. His hair went from more of a non-descript brown to a deep rich silky brown like chocolate mousse. His nose sharpened, his eyebrows thickened.
I tried to hold in my laugh.
Nia chose that moment to leap from my arms to the counter, sniffing at the dried herbs. She sneezed, shook her head, then stuck her whole face in the lavender box.
“Nia, no—” I pulled her back, thankful for the distraction. She had purple flower bits stuck to her whiskers.
Killian chuckled. “She’s got opinions.”
“She’s nosy.” I brushed lavender off her fur, glancing again at Killian’s altered features. In his flannel shirt, he looked like a rugged mountain man who could pose for an ad that sold you tents and climbing gear. Nia squeaked in protest, and I realized I was staring at Killian and still absently brushing off Nia’s now-clean face. I averted my gaze as she squirmed out of my grasp.
“So, how does the whole magical candy thing work?” Killian tucked the lollipop in his cheek, seemingly unconcerned about his looks. “I mean, I know about spellroot crystals, of course. But I’ve never really understood how you turn it into candy that does stuff.”
I set Nia on my shoulder. She settled in, tail curling around my neck. “You might want to spit that out. The longer you suck on it, the longer the effects last.”
He shrugged. “It’s delicious.”
I eyed him for a moment, then gave up. “Spellroot is the base for magical candy. It amplifies intention and magic. You mix it with sugar to activate it, then add at least one plant that naturally has the properties you want and use that to direct the magic.”
He scratched his newly stubbled chin. “Maybe explain it to me like I’m five?”
I considered. I was so used to discussing magical confections in an academic setting, I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“So, spellroot is a magical crystal,” I said.
He nodded.
“You grind it into powder and add it to a sugar syrup – sugar and water. The sugar is important. Without sugar, spellroot is just a sparkly powder. But once you mix it with sugar, it’s like- Like starting up a magical truck.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You did say you wanted the five-year-old version.”
He grinned. “A magical truck. Excellent.”
“So the spellroot powder is the truck. The sugar is the key in the ignition that gets it going.”
“So no sugar-free magical candy?”
“Unfortunately not. But even once the spellroot is mixed with sugar, then you have to drive the truck somewhere. If you don’t do anything else to the candy, it won’t really do anything. You have to direct it.”
“So how do you do that?” he asked.
“You add other ingredients.” I gestured to the boxes of dried herbs he’d delivered. “They’re like the roadmap.”
“Telling the magic truck where to go?” I could tell he found my metaphor amusing, but I pressed on.
“Exactly. The plants natural properties direct the magic in a specific direction. Beautyberry for beauty, chamomile for sleep, lavender for calmness, ginger for warmth, etc. The plant directs the spellroot, telling it what to do.”
He nodded. “That seems pretty straightforward. So any candy made with beautyberry makes you beautiful? What went wrong with these ones? Too much beautyberry?”
I shook my head. “The uh- magic truck needs one more thing to get where it’s going: a driver. That’s the witch who is making the candy.”
“Your magic goes into it?”
“Yes. The witch follows the road map laid out by the herbs, but she, or he, uses her own magic to drive the truck. That’s the part I—” I stopped. Shook my head. “It’s complicated.”
He tilted his head, studying me with those hazel eyes. Not pushing. Just listening.
“Anyway,” I said, busying myself with closing up the lavender box and stacking it back with the others, corners lined up just so. “That’s the basics. It gets a lot more complicated with different measurements and ratios, and where the spellroot was mined, and all the different plants you can use, not to mention combinations of herbs, and don’t even get me started on broom-making because that’s a whole other thing, and- And I’m rambling so I’ll just stop now.”
Killian smiled. Not in a teasing way, but just a warm smile like hot apple cider on a chilly fall day.
“It sounds like you’re passionate,” he said. “And super knowledgeable.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Obsessed is probably more accurate.”
“Call it what you want,” Killian said, pulling the lollipop from his mouth. “But these are fantastic.”
“You haven’t looked in a mirror yet. “
“Don’t need to. I feel good.” He winked, tucked the lollipop back in his mouth. Nia jumped down and head-butted his hand, asking for pets. He obliged. “Do you want a treat, little kitty?” he asked. Then looked at me. “If it’s okay with you.”
I shrugged. “Nia makes her own rules.”
He grinned. “I’ll be right back.” Heading out the back door, he reached into his lunch cooler in the truck cab. He came back with a small container and popped the lid. “Custard. Homemade. By my uncle, not me. My aunt’s recipe.”
Nia’s ears perked. She leaned forward, nose working overtime.
“Want some?” He held out a finger with a dab of custard. Nia launched herself off the counter, landed on Killian’s arm, and licked the custard off his finger with single-minded determination.
Killian laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.”
He set the container on the counter, and Nia immediately stuck her whole face in it.
“She really likes custard,” he observed.
“Apparently.” I tried to pull her back. She made a tiny growling sound and kept eating.
“She can have it,” he said, laughing. “I brought it for my lunch but I’ve got a sandwich too.” He wiped his hand on his jeans. “I should get going. Got four more deliveries this morning. Want me to take those lollipops off your hands? My nieces will get a serious kick out of them.”
“If you’re sure they won’t scream in terror when they see themselves.”
He chuckled as I scooped up the lollipops and put them in a brown paper bag f0r him, folding over the top.
“Thanks for—for the custard. Nia is clearly loving it.”
“Anytime.” He accepted the bag, then paused, his eyes widening as he looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
A huge grin lit up his face. “This must be what you really look like,” he said. “I guess the lollipop wore off.”
I ran to the mirror beside the door, realizing the brush of my too-long eyelashes was gone. Sure enough, my own face looked back at me – small nose, plain green eyes, narrow chin, regular features.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I said. “I thought I was going to have to open the store looking like a mutant beauty queen.” I turned back to him, suddenly a little self-conscious.
“I liked the mutant beauty queen look,” Killian said. “But your real face is even cuter.”
Before I could process that he’d definitely just called me cute, he grabbed his clipboard and held it toward me. “If you could just sign here.”
I wrote carefully, not meeting his eyes, and handed it back.
“Thanks. Tell Gladys I’ll be in town for a couple days if she wants me to take anything back down the mountain.”
I nodded. He headed for the door. Stopped. Turned back. “And maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”
I fought down a blush. “I’ll be here.”
His grin went lopsided again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I grabbed a bag of warm-up wafers from the counter and handed them to Killian, mostly to try and cover my pink cheeks. “For the road. It’s chilly out there.”
His fingers brushed mine as he took the bag, and that grin got wider. “Thanks.”
“Thank you. For being nice about the lollipops.”
He tucked the wafers under his arm with the paper bag of lollipops and the clipboard, and headed for his pickup truck.
I pulled Nia away from her custard and followed him out, then stood in the doorway, watching him climb into the cab. The engine coughed, sputtered, then caught. He waved through the windshield before backing out of the alley.
Nia squeaked, wiggled out of my arms, and bolted down the alley, opposite the way Killian’s truck had gone.
“Nia, no—” I ran after her.
She darted around a dumpster, black fur disappearing behind the brick wall of the neighboring building. I rounded the corner and stopped.
Gladys stood near the street, Bob beside her. His arms were crossed, jaw tight, eyes angry. Gladys’s hands moved in sharp gestures. Bob shook his head, stepped back.
Their voices were low, urgent, upset, but I couldn’t make out words from this distance.
Gladys and Bob were dating though. Or at least, they had been this morning. This looked like one of those conversations that might end that relationship. It was definitely one I shouldn’t be witnessing.
Nia trotted straight toward them, tail high.
Bob’s gaze dropped. Followed the cat. Lifted to me.
His expression hardened. He turned on his heel and stormed off down the sidewalk, shoulders rigid under his flour-dusted apron.
“Bob!” Gladys called after him, but he didn’t turn around.
I scooped up Nia and approached. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is everything alright?”
Gladys’s fingers went to her pearl necklace, twisting the strand. Her jaw worked. Then she smoothed her cardigan, forced a smile. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Are you sure? I can—”
“We have a store to open.” The edge in her voice left no room for argument. She turned and walked back toward Spellbinding Sweets.
I followed, Nia heavy in my arms. The cat’s ears were back, whiskers twitching as she stared over my shoulder at Bob’s retreating figure.
Whatever had just happened between Gladys and Bob, it wasn’t nothing.