A Little Taste of Magic

by M. J. O'Shea

  Gray decided he’d had enough one night – nearly a month after Arlo had blown into town. They’d been bumping into each other all over the place, Arlo had charmed his two best friends, he’d enchanted his sisters, Gray had even seen Jake of all people in Arlo’s shop with a cup full of something laughing softly and talking with Arlo. Enough already. Gray decided to take action.

  It was getting close to dusk; the days weren’t as long as they’d been only a month before. Gray stalked out of his office, past Jake’s bookshop, and into Arlo’s empty bakery. There were only a few things left on the shelf. From what Gray heard, Arlo regularly sold out by the end of the day. On top of the counter was a plate with a lopsided little pile of pastries, round and flaky, bursting with fragrant cream.

  “Gray, I was wondering when you’d stop by,” Arlo said. “It’s nice to see you in here.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Gray told him without preamble.

  Arlo gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

  “With your…” Gray made a sweeping gesture at the near empty display cases. “You’re drugging them.”

  Arlo barked out a loud, surprised laugh. “You think I’m drugging your friends and family. With cupcakes?” It was right then that Gray noticed Arlo had the biggest eyes he’d ever seen — wide and pretty cognac gold, framed by a brush of curly black lashes. He looked so innocent. But whatever he was doing was anything but.

  “Yes. You’re luring them in somehow, I know that much.”

  Arlo chuckled. “I hate to break it to you, Gray, but the only drug I sell in here is sugar — and lots of it.” He reached for the plate of pastries. “Here, try for yourself. I saved a few of these today. Now I know why. They’re profiteroles with a black tea vanilla cream filling. I think you’ll like them.” Arlo winked

  “What?” Gray couldn’t believe Arlo was offering him tainted sweets, like some treacherous woodland fairy luring him to his untimely death.

  “I’m good at guessing what people will like – it’s a trick I learned from my cousin, Frankie. He owns a restaurant in San Francisco. C’mon, try the profiterole. They’re delicious,” Arlo said. He held out the plate to Gray.

  The smell hit him right then, intense and beautiful, a mix of exactly what he loved. And somehow Arlo had guessed it, just like he’d guessed Leo’s peppermint brownie and Sawyer’s pineapple cream cakes. But it was more than that – it had to be or else that scent wouldn’t haunt every one of Gray’s waking moments.

  He didn’t want to think about it.

  What Gray wanted to do was dive into the plate of squishy treats and eat them all, spread the cream on Arlo’s pale belly and lick it off, drop by drop. He shuddered. Gray was more convinced than ever that there was something wrong with Arlo and by extension him whenever Arlo was around.

  Gray scowled. “I’ve seen this movie. I already know how it works. You’ll come in here all quirky and unique and wave your magic umbrella then whip out some special party brownies and the next thing you know the whole town will be tripping out on your shroom-cakes and dancing under the light of a crescent moon. Well, newsflash Arlo Vallerand. This isn’t a movie and Baxter Hollow…we were just fine without you,” Gray snapped. He felt drops of sweat rolling down his back even in the cool of the afternoon, and his face was angry-hot. He also felt an acute stab of hurt that he couldn’t quite get rid of. He realized it wasn’t coming from him.

  What the hell?

  Arlo looked at him softly, like he was sad for Gray somehow. “Are you okay, Gray? Really?” he asked.

  Gray backed away. “I don’t want your… whatever that is,” he snapped and turned to the front door of Arlo’s cafe. “I don’t want your anything.”

  He had to force himself away from that enticing, amazing smell and Arlo’s disappointed little face, and into the fresh chilly night air. Even slamming the door behind him didn’t quite get rid of the bakery’s scent or its effects on him. He only hoped that his house was far enough away from the cafe for him to escape from it.

  Gray somehow doubted it was.

  Arlo always got thrown off by an encounter with Gray. Every damn time he was close enough to reach out and touch, it did something to shake his equilibrium. He knew Gray was his… person somehow. He was the reason Arlo was there and the reason he had no intention of leaving. Arlo still heard his laughing voice from the dream, full of love and light. Baby are you done in there? It was such a contrast to the prickles and the cold. Arlo had to find a way to get through to him.

  He gripped the counter where his outdated register sat and breathed in and out slowly until a little bell told him the door had opened.

  “I’m closed — oh. Hey, Sawyer.” Arlo pulled out a smile. He really liked Sawyer. Hell, he really liked Jake and Leo too and Gray’s bubbly sisters and the rest of the townspeople who’d somehow surrounded him like a warm hug. Even without Gray, it was getting harder and harder for him to imagine his life outside of Baxter Hollow, which scared him little. Even if he knew in his deepest gut that he belonged there, it still took everything he’d ever believed about himself, turned it upside down, and dumped it all over the floor.

  “Hey, man. You have any leftovers?” Sawyer looked so hopeful. He dragged a hand through his black hair and peered onto the nearly empty shelves.

  “Um, a few blackberry petit fours,” infused with just a touch of enthusiasm and energy just like Frankie taught me, “One caramel pretzel bar, and a plate of vanilla and black tea custard profiteroles.” He almost didn’t dare give those to Sawyer. They’d explode in his mouth with the barely contained desire Arlo couldn’t manage to get rid of and a hastily added dollop of contentment and relaxation that hopefully masked some of the naked lust. It would be a hell of a combination. Probably knock Sawyer on his ass for a few minutes at least.

  “Man, I’ll take all of it unless you had your eye on anything. I’ve been craving something all day, and I’m sure my parents would like some of this too.” Sawyer went to get his wallet out, and Arlo waved him off.

  “Let me box it up for you.”

  Sawyer rambled on for a few minutes about the pineapple cake Arlo served the other day and how he’d practically dreamed about it the other night. Arlo remembered that cake, the one he’d charmed with the feeling of summer sun and warm late nights just to enhance the tropical flavor. He wondered what would happen if Sawyer knew that’s why the cake made him so happy –if the tricks Arlo had learned from his cousin would freak Sawyer out. If he’d even care. The effects were far less strong than a decent joint or a night of mixed drinks, and often times way more pleasant.

  He decided he could probably tell Sawyer what he did. What everyone in his family did. Eventually.

  Sawyer left the shop with a smile and the promise to save him a plate of dinner for after he’d gotten his kitchen prepped and ready for the morning. He checked his order list too. Arlo liked to buy locally as much as possible when he was baking, but he had a few things he bought from trusted sources.

  Arlo locked up and went back to his kitchen to start prepping for the next day. He turned on his music, like he always did, and propped the back door open so he didn’t get too hot in the still-warm early autumn air, then he got to prepping. He did what he always did when he was lost in his own baking world — thought.

  He thought about how he was starting to fit into Baxter Hollow, how he felt closer to Sawyer than he’d ever felt to any friend he’d made in any of his stops along the way. He thought about his cousin Frankie in San Francisco and how happy he was with his partner Addison — who’d only had a minor meltdown when Frankie had told him what the Vallerands were — and he thought about Gray. Gray walking briskly through the square on the way to work, Gray in the farmer’s market, perched on a stool at the Tilted Shamrock, Gray, Gray… and that’s when he felt it.

  Arlo had been whisking a caramel sauce together, light and quick, when his fingers started to tingle. The feeling went up his arm and warmed in his chest. He felt like
his hand fused to his favorite whisk for just a moment and then let go. Everything felt shimmery. More colorful. Then Arlo squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. For the most part, it was all back to normal, but his whisk. He suddenly felt possessive of it. Protective.

  Oh, shit.

  Turned out dark hair, cooking, and black sheep status weren’t the only things that he and Frankie had in common.

  I’ve just bonded with a goddamn whisk.

  Sofia would never let him live it down.

  Arlo dropped his whisk...er wand — Jesus — into the batter he’d been working on and shuffled up against the wall.

  It was supposed to be important, the bonding, the moment when a witch came into his or her own and claimed their magic object. It was usually an heirloom of some sort, a necklace, a talisman, a wand if they wanted to be a huge cliché, something important chosen lovingly by doting parents but a whisk?

  He guessed in a way it fit since he’d been charming food with his emotions before he even knew he could do it on purpose. It was still a little embarrassing.

  Arlo reached out and touched the handle of his whisk. He felt a tingle in his finger, just like before, and breathed deep. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a familiar contact.

  “Arlo, baby?” said a startled voice on the other end. “It’s been days. Are you okay?”

  Already, the knot in his chest loosened. “Hi, Mama.”

  He stuttered out the story about how he’d been cooking and thinking of his friends in Baxter Hollow – he judiciously left out Gray – when he’d felt a tingle and the pulling sensation that they’d been taught about when they were children, and then he’d realized it happened.

  “You bonded?” She sounded so thrilled for him. It really was a big deal in a witch’s life.

  “I did.”

  Emmaline Vallerand chuckled. “Please don’t tell me it was a wooden spoon like your cousin.”

  “Worse.” Arlo winced. “Grandma’s whisk.”

  He was greeted by silence for a few long seconds before his mom let out a wondering sigh. “You’ve found home, darling.”

  “What?” Definitely not the reaction he’d been expecting.

  “That whisk has been in the family a long, long time. Sounds silly, I know. It’s just a whisk. But it has. I… always worried you’d never settle. Never stop long enough to mature, but you’ve chosen family. And that place made you do it.”

  “Mom, I don’t think it really means all that. I’ve just gotten to the right age, and I’m familiar with the whisk and a total failure at being an actual witch no matter what Frankie tried to teach me and —”

  “Are you happy there, sweetheart?” she asked.

  Arlo didn’t know why the conversation had turned so serious all of a sudden. He paused and thought for a second, but the answer was obvious. “You know, I really am.”

  “I thought maybe you’d have stayed in California with your cousin. But this place… I think it’s right for you. Finally.”

  He’d never told his mom about the dream that had brought him to Baxter Hollow, but he thought she might be right. He felt a pit in his stomach, the pit melted slowly and turned into butterflies. “I don’t know, Ma. I’ve never stayed anywhere. Not even home.”

  He knew she was smiling. “I’ll let you get back to baking, love. Be careful with that whisk. It’s been… important to other people before. It’s more powerful than it looks.”

  Arlo would’ve thought he’d heard it all, but a powerful whisk was new to him.

  He felt like his legs were filled with cement by the time he walked all the way back to the pub and plopped himself on a stool. The place was nearly closed, he’d had a long night of experimenting, but Sawyer had left him a plate of dinner. He waved Arlo off when he tried to pay.

  “Ma says if you send over a slice of cake for her every day like you’ve been doing, dinner is on us. Fair trade.” Sawyer blushed. “But I’m supposed to pay for everything else you give me,” he said.

  Arlo grinned. He’d still slip Sawyer some freebies. “Are you sure about the free dinners?”

  “Of course.” Sawyer waved him off.

  Despite Gray’s chilly reception, Arlo had never felt so welcomed in a town. His months in San Francisco with Frankie and Addison had felt like coming home in a way — he could be himself around them in a way he couldn’t openly be anywhere but with people like him. Still, being around Sawyer was a different kind of home, and Leo and Jake as well even if they were just in the background. And Gray. Always Gray.

  “How are you getting along over there at the cafe?” Sawyer asked. Not that he hadn’t come to visit pretty much every day because he had, but he always asked anyway.

  “I’ve been busy. Thanks for sending everyone in to say hi.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “That’s all you, and you know it. I think you pump the smells out onto the street.”

  Arlo felt a momentary pit in his belly. He always did before he remembered that his food made people happy. Sure they kept coming back for that feeling, the excitement, the contentment, whatever he’d infused his various pastries with, but at the end of the day, they were happy. And that made him happy.

  “I don’t do that. This isn’t Disneyland.”

  “Sometimes you do remind me of a cartoon character,” Sawyer said. “I’m surprised you don’t have little birds doing your hair in the morning.”

  “Who says I don’t?” Arlo winked. “Clementine would like that anyway. Give her something to chase.”

  “Where is the princess?”

  “Upstairs. She spent the day in the cafe with the customers, but I think that wore her out a little bit. She’s finally starting to grow.”

  And so are you. You’re growing roots.

  “You’ll have to bring her down for a treat on your day off,” Sawyer said.

  “I definitely will.”

  Sunday dinner. Roast with all the trimmings, babbling sisters, distant mother, awkwardly polite new stepfather. Gray was super excited to be on his way home. Super. Gray tried to avoid family time. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them. He did. But the whole new family with no room for the grown son scenario wasn’t appealing. Plus, he really didn’t like to get his car out unless it wasn’t raining.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t raining that Sunday. When his mother had called with her usual invitation, he didn’t have much of an excuse to turn her down. So he hadn’t. She was better lately. At least she seemed to be trying. Jason had grounded her a little, somehow, and even if she was never going to be the warm mother figure type, at least she was around more for the girls. It made Gray feel a little better about leaving them to move into town.

  “That’s wonderful, darling,” she’d said when he’d accepted the invitation. “I’m sure the girls will love to see you.”

  Gray wondered if his mother knew how often the girls had seen him in the past few weeks. How much time they spent wandering around Baxter Hollow after their lessons were over in the afternoon, knocking on his office door, browsing at the bookshop and giggling over Jake and his huge sad poet’s eyes, visiting with the infuriatingly beautiful new baker who’d happened to steal Gray’s sisters’ hearts right out from under his nose.

  Gray figured he should do something about that. Of course, if he happened to bring his sisters’ unholy obsession with one Arlo the baker up to his mother, McKenna would most likely castrate him with her teeth. Then again, maybe the girls were old enough to watch out for themselves. With his guidance.

  Gray walked through his garden to the tiny ex-carriage house that he’d converted to hold his prized possession — his vintage mint condition Aston Martin.

  The car was a thing of beauty, all silver blue, white leather, and James Bond charm. Gray sometimes wondered if he loved it more than his house, or the family’s estate… or the family. Joking on that last part. He did treat the car like an only child, though. He pulled the cover off of his baby and pushed the double doors into the all
eyway open. They creaked with what Gray hoped was not impending moisture, then swung the rest of the way. Gray got in, started his car and pulled gingerly out into the alley. He kept a sharp eye out while he closed and locked the doors to his garage. Then he was off.

  It wasn’t a very far drive to Baxter House, country headquarters for the Baxter family. He supposed they’d owned property in New York at some point, perhaps a townhouse on Beacon Hill, or a beach palace in Newport. If so, it was long gone. Baxter House and the properties nearby were all that was left of the Baxters’ holdings. Gray hoped to do something about that eventually.

  The weather was unusually pleasant that day, still warm enough to have his convertible top down since he was wearing a sweater. Gray let himself relax for a moment, enjoy the unseasonable warm breeze as he drove through town to the far north end.

  Of course, he had to pass the bakery. It was inevitable. Arlo was closed on Sundays, though. Gray was quite sure of that. He’d seen Arlo in Sawyer’s pub, sharing a beer and a laugh with his friend too many times to be confused about that fact. As if he were psychic, Gray’s phone rang. He tapped it to answer and put it on speaker.

  “Where are you, man? Inside a hurricane?”

  “I’m in my car. On the way to the big house,” Gray said. “Tell Leo I probably won’t make it for dinner. I’ll try to drop by later.”

  “I will. Bring me some of Delilah’s potatoes, yeah?”

  Of course, that’s what Sawyer wanted. “Sure. Your mom’s not going to be too happy that you favor our cook’s potatoes over hers.”

  “Mom will want the leftovers,” Sawyer said. He chuckled into the phone.

  So Gray would be at the pub later. With Arlo. And my friends he reminded himself. Somehow that wasn’t the fact that stuck in his head. “I can’t hear you very well, Sawyer. Let me give you a call when I get home. I’ll come over to the pub if you’re still there.”

  “Potatoes!” Sawyer called, and Gray hung up chuckling.