I Turned My Fated Mate Into A Fox

Poppy

The cinnamon rolls were singing again.

Well, not where anyone else could hear them, but me. They were humming softly on the tray in front of me as I drizzled the last of the honey glaze across the top.

Oh dear, I had done it again.

“You were supposed to be breakfast, not today’s entertainment,” I mumbled to myself.

I had thirty minutes until I opened for the day, and nothing had gone according to plan.

The cinnamon roll closest to me sang louder, clearly offended by my lack of enthusiasm.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, little cinnamon roll,” I said softly.

My entire body froze then. It was probably a terrible sign that I was already apologizing to the pastries. Then again, most days started with a little magical mishap, and everything had gone fine before.

I let out a breath as the kettle let out a whistle behind me. “Not yet. I’m not ready for you.”

Regardless, the whistle grew louder as I set down the glaze.

“I said not yet.”

The whistle abruptly cut off, then it shrieked. I grabbed a wooden spoon, whirling on my heel, and pointed it at the offending kettle.

“Listen here. I have things to do, and today is not your day, Mrs. Kettle.”

For a moment, I was sure there would be an argument, filled with whistles and shrieks, but the kettle went silent.

I narrowed my gaze for a moment, then laid the spoon down on the counter. “Thank—”

A broom began sweeping the corner of the kitchen on its own. I turned and looked, my mouth still ready to finish my sentence.

“But I didn’t ask you to do that,” I said, trying to keep my wits about me. “And I definitely don’t remember enchanting you.”

The broom swept faster.

“Oh, great.”

I turned and looked out the window. Dawn had barely begun to paint the sky pink, and already the little village outside my bakery was coming alive. Faint wisps of mist curled between the crooked cottages, their chimneys puffing little white clouds of smoke in the chilly morning air.

Today was the Harvest Festival, which meant my bakery would be packed the moment I opened my doors. It also meant I had exactly one chance to impress the judges.

I turned and looked down at the cinnamon rolls just as they stopped singing.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

One of them trembled in the corner of the pan.

“I said don’t do that.”

I reached up, rubbing my forehead. This was going to be a disaster. I could already feel it in my bones.

The bakery itself was small, though it was mine. I’d inherited the building from my grandmother, along with her recipes, her battered copper mixing bowls, and an unreasonable amount of magical kitchen utensils.

The walls were painted a warm cream, with shelves lined with jars of flour, sugar, spices, dried berries, and enchanted ingredients that glowed faintly whenever someone walked past them.

Bundles of lavender hung from the ceiling beams. A row of little glass bottles filled with fairy lights sat along the windowsills.

And in the corner, my grandmother’s old oven glowed with a steady orange warmth that lit the room.

It had been in the family for generations. It was also the only thing in the bakery that didn’t seem determined to make my life difficult.

“Now,” I said, finally looking down at the cinnamon rolls. “We’re going to add just a little glamour.”

Just a little, I thought. Only a little. It shouldn’t be dangerous or even complicated. It was a simple charm to make the glaze shimmer like the morning frost.

I raised my hand slowly. Magic stirred at my fingertips. The cinnamon rolls watched me closely, probably wondering what I was about to mess up now.

“Glint and gleam, sugar bright…” My hand sparkled. I froze because that wasn’t part of what was supposed to happen. “Oh, no.”

Magic exploded across the counter. I threw up my arms as a cloud of glittering gold dust swept through the bakery. The cinnamon rolls began singing at full volume. The kettle let out a startled scream, and the broom shot across the room.

Every jar on the shelves rattled.

“Stop!”

The bakery fell silent as I slowly lowered my arms. Gold glitter floated through the air. I stared at it, watching it grow larger and develop eyes.

“Thank you,” it said.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. My magic had always been a little…unpredictable, but my grandmother called it a gift. She was the only one, though. Everyone else called it a problem.

As for me, I preferred the term…creative.

Unfortunately, creative magic had never won anyone a prize at the Harvest Festival.

With that thought, I looked at the clock. I only had twenty minutes left to finish the pastries, clean the glitter off the ceiling that didn’t turn into something, and somehow prepare the display that would determine whether my little bakery remained the pride of the village or…became the subject of another year of gossip.

I grabbed a cloth and started wiping the glitter off the counter. But no sooner had I started, the bell over the front door jingled.

My hand froze against the counter.

Who in the realm would come into a closed bakery before it opened?

“We’re not open yet,” I called out.

I heard their footsteps and realized they weren’t going away.

“Just a moment. I’ll be right with you.”

I stepped away from the counter, dusting my hands off as I went through the doorway to the front room.

A very tall man stood on the other side. Dark hair fell across his forehead in slightly disheveled waves, as though he’d been riding through the forest rather than walking down the quiet village street.

His coat was deep green, trimmed in gold. I stared at it, admiring the detail. That kind of embroidery costs more than my entire bakery.

His eyes lifted to mine. They were ‌bright amber and impossibly beautiful.

Something inside my chest gave a hard, painful pull. I stopped, gripping the edge of the nearest counter. The stranger’s eyes widened in shock.

For one long moment, neither of us moved. I couldn’t hear anything.

There was only him and the sudden certainty that settled into my soul.

He was my fated mate.

The stranger’s lips parted as his gaze darted around the bakery. “Of all the places in a realm, I find you in a bakery covered in gold dust.”

“And just what is wrong with my bakery?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

He took a step closer, the bond between us tightening. A warm pulse traveled from my heart down to my fingertips.

I knew that feeling. “Oh, no. Not again.”

The stranger looked at my glowing hand, his brow furrowing.

“Move out of the—”

It was too late. My magic surged forward, and the room went bright blue.

I coughed as the magic settled and regained my footing. “Are you alright?”

I looked around the shop, but he wasn’t there…until I heard a small sneeze. My gaze slowly moved to the floor.

A red fox sat where the handsome Fae lord had been standing. He stared down at his paws, then slowly lifted his head. His ears flattened against the back of his head.

“Please tell me you did not just turn me into a fox.”