The Macaron Witch Read online

  The Macaron Witch

  Broomstick Bakery #2

  Laura Greenwood

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Also by Laura Greenwood

  Others by Laura Greenwood

  About the Author

  Follow the Author

  © 2022 Laura Greenwood

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission of the published, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at "Attention: Permissions Coordinator," at the email address; [email protected].

  Visit Laura Greenwood's website at:

  www.authorlauragreenwood.co.uk

  Cover by Ammonia Book Covers

  The Macaron Witch is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  If you find an error, you can report it via my website. Please note that my books are written in British English: https://www.authorlauragreenwood.co.uk/p/report-error.html

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  Blurb

  When Hazel is invited to teach a cooking class on magic imbibed macarons, the last thing she expects is to meet a handsome sous chef who sweeps her off her feet.

  * * *

  Antonio has always felt like he's living in his father's shadow, but now there's a gorgeous witch who seems to see him for who he really is, and he's determined not to let her slip away.

  * * *

  They soon discover that the sparks flying between them aren't just in the kitchen...

  -

  The Macaron Witch is a paranormal romance and part of the Broomstick Bakery series. It includes witchy bakers, enchanted patisserie, and a standalone m/f romance.

  One

  Hazel

  * * *

  The building in front of me appears unchanged since my days as a cookery student here. I don't think there's a single part of it that's different. I suppose that's what happens when you attend an education facility that's mostly aimed at witches.

  And I'm here to teach a class. It's a surreal feeling and a small part of me is wondering what I was thinking when I said yes to this. I'm not a teacher, I'm just a twenty-something patissier who runs a family bakery with my three sisters.

  It doesn't seem like yesterday that I was here learning how to make the perfect frosting, or the most delicious puff pastry.

  Not that I'm the best at the last one, pastry is more Clover's forté than mine, and I often find myself reaching out to my older sister to make me some when I need it. We always work as a team to make sure the items on display in the shop are the best we can possibly manage.

  No one pays any attention to me as I make my way through the crowded corridors. I imagine I probably look just like any other student. Perhaps I shouldn't have left my hair a shocking shade of blue this morning.

  I reach up to touch it. I could go to the bathroom and change it, but I dismiss the notion. If the students I'm here to teach aren't going to take me seriously, then that's on them.

  I head straight to the front desk and put on my best smile. "Hi, I'm Hazel Parkes, I think you're expecting me."

  She nods. "Let me check."

  I shift from one foot to the other while I wait for her to pull up the right information on the screen.

  "Ah, yes. Chef DeRossi is waiting for you in demonstration room C. Do you need directions?" she asks.

  "No, thank you, I studied here."

  "Go right through, I'll let Chef know you're here." She picks up a phone, which I take as my cue to leave.

  I head down one of the corridors and come to demonstration room C. I pause for a moment, wondering whether I should knock. In the end, I push the door open and step inside.

  My heart skips a beat at the sight of the man I've looked up to for the past ten years. I can't believe I'm about to meet him. I was gutted when the news came that he'd taken over running the cookery school just two years after I left.

  I clear my throat. "Hi, I'm Hazel Parkes, I'm here for the guest demonstration," I say.

  Blood pounds in my ear as I wait for him to tell me that this has all been a huge mistake and I've not been invited to speak at all.

  But when he turns to face me, I can see a friendly smile on his face. "Ah, yes, I've been expecting you," he responds in barely accented English. "I'm Chef DeRossi."

  A small squeak threatens to break free from me, but I squash it down. Now isn't the time for me to start fangirling, but it's hard not to when he's one of the foremost pastry chefs in the world as well as my idol.

  "We're looking forward to your class today," he says. "I've heard great things about your magic-infused baking."

  "Thank you. It's a family tradition going back several generations," I say needlessly. He knows that, it's why he asked for me to come and speak about this in the first place.

  He nods and gestures for me to follow him. "Everything you requested for your demonstration is waiting for you. I trust you know how to use all of the equipment?"

  "I do. I was a student here just before you took over."

  "Aha, so that is why your pastries are so delicious."

  "You've had one of them?" Is this really happening? I wish Clover was here to pinch me, because I'm not sure this isn't a dream.

  "Of course. I wouldn't invite anyone whose food I have not tasted to speak here."

  It's a fair rule, and one I'd probably employ if I ran a cookery school.

  A dark-haired man steps into the room wearing classic chef whites. He seems around my age, though that could mean anything from early-twenties to mid-forties, and has a similar complexion to Chef DeRossi. Perhaps he's also Italian.

  "This is my sous-chef, Antonio," Chef DeRossi says as he gestures towards the man.

  Antonio smiles at me and holds out his hand. I take it and shake firmly, trying to focus on something other than how well my hand fits in his.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," I say.

  "Likewise."

  "I'm Hazel."

  "Antonio," he says needlessly, only then dropping my hand. But it doesn't feel like it's been some kind of power-play, more like he forgot he was holding you.

  "Antonio will be assisting you with your class," Chef DeRossi says. "He'll be ensuring everything runs smoothly."

  "Oh, I didn't realise I needed an assistant." If I had, I'd have asked one of my sisters to come, and if they'd been busy, I'm sure my brother would have skipped a day of academy to come down and help me out.

  Not that I'm allowed to ask him to do that according to Mum and Dad.

  "I'll leave the two of you to it," DeRossi says with a dip of his head, already heading towards the door.

  "Great, thank you," I murmur.

  I glance around the room, taking it all in and trying to reconcile what I'm seeing with the idea of a dozen students coming into the room in about an hour.

  "I guess we'd better get started," I say.

  Antonio flashes me a reassuring smile. "Just tell me what you want me to do, I'm all yours for the afternoon."

  His accent gives the words I'm all yours a delightful flirtiness to them that I'm not sure he meant to be there. I'm going to have to be on my guard with him.

  "Do you mind if I start making the batch of macarons I need?" I ask.

  "Be my guest." He gestures to the demonstration bench at the front. "It will be useful for me to see how you work and how I can assist you best. It'll also let me set up the cameras better."

  "Cameras?" I squeak slightly as I ask.

  He nods. "So the students can see what you're doing more closely."

  "Oh, right. Of course." I smile, trying to hide my apprehension about the entire setup. I've attended plenty of demonstrations like this over the years, I know what they're like and how important it is to make sure everyone has a good view.

  Neither of us says anything as I start making my macarons and he sets up the equipment, but it isn't an uncomfortable silence, even when I catch him looking at what I'm doing with interest.

  "Have you worked with Chef DeRossi for long?" I ask as I pipe out my batch of macarons to rest.

  "Ever since I left college," he admits. "He's a great chef."

  "He is. I learned a lot from the online masterclass he did a couple of years back."

  "You attended that?"

  "You seem surprised?"

  "It's just that I read up on you when I learned you were coming here to teach a class, and you sound like you're very successful."

  I laugh uneasily. "I wouldn't call myself very successful. I'm lucky enough to
have inherited a bakery from my grandmother." Along with my three older sisters.

  "And you turned it from a local bread shop into a shop that's known for miles around."

  I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear before realising I shouldn't be touching it and going to wash my hands.

  "I suppose that's true. We've made a name for ourselves. But I'm not sure why it surprises you that I took DeRossi's masterclass."

  He shrugs. "I wouldn't have thought you needed it."

  "How can I be the best if I don't learn from the best?" I ask. "I have to keep up to date on the techniques the leaders in the field of patisserie are using, that way I can adapt my recipes and make sure they're truly the best things I can create."

  "I hadn't looked at it that way," he admits.

  "But you probably go to a restaurant and look at the menu and the plates and consider how they've put everything together and if there's something you can learn from them, right?"

  "Well, yes."

  I cock my head to the side and study him intently. "How is that any different?"

  A contemplative expression crosses his face, as if he's never stopped to wonder about it. "You have a point."

  "I know." I grin widely. "Do you mind if I use my wand to set a timer?" I'm not sure why he would, but it's polite to ask.

  "Be my guest."

  I pull it from my pocket and wave it towards the air so a timer pops up. After a moment's consideration, I pull up another one so I know how long I have until my class begins. The last thing I want is to be caught off guard and not be ready when they come in.

  Nerves start to build, but I focus on the task at hand. Making macarons always soothes me, and today is no different than any other in that regard. I just have to make sure everything is perfect.

  Two

  Hazel

  * * *

  Nerves fill me as I face a room full of people who are eager to learn what I have to teach. Why did I think this was a good idea? I've never taught anyone to do anything before, and now I'm up here about to reveal family secrets to everyone watching.

  I take a deep breath. My sisters approved of this idea, and even if I teach people what to do, it doesn't mean that they'll become our competitors. The world is big enough for more than one bakery.

  I glance at Antonio, who gives me a small smile and a nod. I like him. He seems to be aware that this is difficult for me, but doesn't question my ability. I've met plenty of other chefs who would have laughed me out of the kitchen thanks to my basic training and the fact I work at a bakery and not in a restaurant.

  "Good afternoon," I say brightly, forcing a smile onto my face. "I'm Hazel Parkes, and I'm here to show you the best process for imbibing magic into your patisserie. We're going to start with macarons." I debated choosing something easier when I came up with my lesson plan, but these really show off the best way that I can do it.

  I check my workbench to make sure everything is in position, including my wand. When it comes to making meringues, timing is everything, and I don't want to be reaching for something only to find it's not where it should be.

  "We're going to start with a standard recipe for macarons. Don't touch your wands until I tell you it's time." I feel bossy even saying it, but I know it's the right instruction to give.

  With Antonio's help, I start the process of making the macaron shells, narrating the steps as I go, though I doubt many of the people in this class really need me to do it. The icing sugar and almonds go in first, mixed well and then sieved. I add two of the egg whites in and set them to the side while I focus on the rest.

  "I personally like to use a thermometer for my sugar syrup," I say as I drop one in with the water and sugar that's starting to simmer away. "But if you prefer to use a spell to alert you when it's at one-hundred-and-ten degrees, then that's also okay."

  Antonio clears his throat and I nod at him, realising he probably wants to say something that'll help the students. "If you do use a spell, please keep in mind that there are multiple people in the room and it shouldn't be too intrusive," he says.

  I nod and make a mental note to say something like that if I ever need to teach anyone again.

  "If you're imbibing your macarons with pixie dust, you need to add it in with the sugar now." After a lot of experimenting, that's where it does best. Something about the way pixie dust melts is akin to sugar. Not that it's ever my choice of ingredient to do that.

  None of the students add anything.

  "Once the syrup is at a hundred-and-ten, you should start whisking your eggs." I keep an eye on my thermometer, not wanting my demonstration to go badly because I'm not paying enough attention. Perhaps I should have used a spell, but I don't like the way it can interfere with the bake.

  A quick glance at the students in front of me reveals that almost all of them are doing the same thing I am, though I'm not sure if it's because they prefer it, or if they just think that following my lead is the best example.

  With the syrup almost done, I start my electric stand whisk to start beating the eggs. I don't want to confuse anyone by mentioning this part can be done with magic too, in fact, my sister Oakley would be doing it that way. But this is my class, so I'm going to make the macarons the way I like to.

  "Once your sugar reaches one-hundred-and-eighteen degrees, you need to pour it down the side of your mixing bowl, but be careful not to hit the whisk." My heart pounds as I do what I've just described. Somehow, this is more nerve-wracking than any other time I've made macarons.

  I take a steadying breath. I've done this hundreds of times, I'm not going to mess it up just because people are watching me now.

  "You should continue whisking the mixture until it's cooled down and you can see shiny peaks form. The bowl should be warm to touch, but should not be hot." I lean in to check my own bowl, relieved to find that it's exactly as I describe it to be. "This is when you should add colour into your bowl, and if you're adding a flavour to your macaron shells, this is when you should do that too." Though it's not the most advisable to.

  I pick up my wand and tap the side of the bowl once, turning the mixture into the same bright shade of blue as my hair. I've used food colouring before, but I don't think it's anywhere near as vibrant when the bake is complete.

  Some of the students do the same with their wands, while others use more traditional methods of colouring. The whirr of stand mixers fills the air as they all make sure their colours are spread through the mixture well.

  "Once you're satisfied that your colour is mixed in, you need to fold the meringue mixture into your almond one. Be sure not to go too far or your macarons won't turn out too well. The mixture should fall back into the bowl as a ribbon and disappear within thirty seconds." I hold up my spatula and let the mix fall off in order to demonstrate, dimly aware of the screen behind giving a close up of what I'm doing.

  Just another reminder that I can't get this wrong. I wish I'd taken the option to pre-record my lesson instead of giving it live.

  "Once that's done, you need to turn your oven on to one-hundred-and-seventy degrees to let it preheat. Now we're going to pipe the macarons. Your nozzle should be about a centimetre away from the baking sheet, and your macarons should be about two point five centimetres round. You can use a macaron mat if you prefer to help. They'll need to rest for about thirty minutes prior to baking, and should have a skin on them before they go into the oven."

  My hands shake as I start to pipe the confections. I shouldn't be reacting this way, but with everyone watching me, it's hard to stay calm.

  I glance at Antonio, who seems to be watching me with a rapt fascination that seems to be very little to do with making sure he removes the equipment that could otherwise get in my way.