“Uncle Uzzi,” I say, squinting suspiciously.
He twinkles.
That’s the only word for it.
He twinkles at me, eyes glinting like he knows all my secrets—and probably does.
He crosses the shop floor like a man who owns the place.
Which, considering the app and the whole magical matchmaking web he’s spun across the whole dang world, he sort of does.
Ugh. The audacity isn’t even off-base.
“I came for an update,” he says cheerfully, arms spread wide like he’s about to hug the entire bakery. “And maybe a cinnamon twist?”
“We’re out of twists,” Emery snaps from behind me, no-nonsense in her apron and still recovering from her morning dramatics.
“Em!” I hiss, elbowing her gently before smoothing out my expression and channeling my most professional bakery owner vibes.
“Of course, Uncle Uzzi. Welcome. Always a pleasure.”
He hums, eyes darting between us with the kind of mischief usually reserved for fairytale tricksters.
“Oh dear,” he says softly. “Something is wrong. I can sense it. Don’t ask how,” he adds with a wink at Emery.
She narrows her eyes at him like she definitely wants to ask how and maybe slap him with a handful of flour while she’s at it.
“Em, would you please go manage the storefront?” I ask just as the bell chimes again. “I’ve got this.”
With a huff and one last glare at Uzzi, she disappears through the swinging door.
He waits a beat. Then, he leans in, lowering his voice.
“What happened with Ebenezer?” he asks. “One moment you’re heating up the Match Magic charts and the next—radio silence. You dropped off every magically tracked true mate progress board. My magic is simply buzzing.”
I blink.
“We’re being tracked?”
He waves a dismissive hand.
“Strictly for statistical purposes. And only the promising pairs.”
My arms cross instinctively.
“Well, I don’t know what kind of Match Magic progress board you’re talking about, but if there’s a glitch in the system, maybe you should be the one telling me what happened. You’re the Witch behind the app.”
He gives me a mock-wounded look, one hand to his heart like I’ve deeply offended him.
“Liebling, it’s a matchmaking tool, not a crystal ball.”
“Uh huh. That sounds like evasion.”
“It means,” he says gently, “free will still applies. I can suggest, hint, nudge the Fates in a favorable direction—but I can’t force love. If he left without a word, then something happened. That’s simply not like him.”
“How would you know what he’s like?” I ask, even though deep down, I already suspect Uncle Uzzi knows everyone.
“Because I saw the sparks between you two,” he says matter-of-factly. “Literal ones. Your aura flared gold. That’s rare. That’s destiny.”
