I clench my fists, pulse thudding hard.
“Come on, Honey,” I mutter under my breath. “Pick up the damn phone.”
Because Bobby might be my brother, but Marigold?
She’s my mate. My present. My future.
And I might have just fucked it all up.
Chapter 16
Marigold
The afternoon flew by in a flurry of flour, frosting, and gingerbread limbs, but somehow—with Emery’s help and a whole lot of caffeine—we managed to finish boxing Uncle Uzzi’s tremendous holiday order.
Right on cue, Richard showed up in a sleek black delivery van that looked like it belonged to a luxury catering service, not a cookie run.
The man himself—silver-haired, pressed slacks, and an air of long-suffering but deeply loyal competence—greeted us with a curt nod, loaded everything into the van with military precision, and vanished like some kind of magical butler ninja.
Now it’s just me and Emery, sitting in the back of the stretch limousine Uncle Uzzi sent to take us to the gala.
Yes. A limousine.
The windows are tinted, the seats are buttery-soft white leather, and there’s an actual champagne bucket chilling in the console between us like we’re in a Hallmark movie directed by Sofia Coppola.
Emery’s practically vibrating in her seat.
“I still can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me!” she says for the fiftieth time, narrowing her eyes and poking me in the side.
In her defense, it was a lot to drop on her at once.
That magic exists.
That I have visions of the future.
That Uncle Uzzi is a real, certified Witch. And oh yeah—his wildly successful dating app, Date to Mate, is actually enchanted to pair up shifters, witches, and normals—humans—with their fated soulmates.
“I needed time,” I say, shrugging. “Plus, it’s not like you ever would’ve believed me until you saw it with your own eyes.”
“Girl, the moment my phone lit up with that glowing heart emoji and that cauldron-boil sound, I knew.”
I laugh despite myself.
“I still can’t believe you downloaded it.”
“I’m already talking to a guy named Cormac,” she says proudly. “He’s a Wolf Shifter and a firefighter who bakes bread in his spare time and raises money for orphaned familiars.”
“Emery.”
She grins. “Okay, I made up the last part. But he is a firefighter. I think.”
I roll my eyes and glance out the window.
My stomach’s been twisted in knots all day, but it’s getting worse now, like the limo’s motion is stirring up every single anxious thought I’ve tried to bury under gingerbread and denial.
“What’s up, boss lady?” Emery asks, leaning forward to fix her cherry red lipstick in her compact mirror.
She’s all dolled up tonight in a glittery emerald green cocktail dress with a vintage faux fur stole that makes her look like a 1950s holiday pin-up.
