And somewhere in the cosmic distance, Cassie could swear she heard the universe laughing.
2
MEET GRUMP. CUE CHAOS
Marjorie left seventeen minutes later, but it felt like three years.
She'd stayed just long enough to weaponize every piece of gossip she'd collected—asking Liam where he was from (Scotland, obviously), how long he'd be staying (unclear, trapped by magic), and whether he'd met Cassie through "one of those apps" (no, through involuntary supernatural kidnapping).
The second the door clicked shut behind her, Cassie turned to Liam with what she hoped was an authoritative expression and not the face of a woman whose life was actively imploding.
Cassie took a breath. Then another. Her heart was still racing from the Marjorie encounter, but the initial panic from the summoning had faded. Shefelt… not calm, exactly, but less like the world was ending.
The wrench in Liam’s hand pulsed once, then dimmed slightly. Not gone—still glowing faintly—but less aggressive than before.
He noticed. “That’s new.”
“What is?”
“This.” He held up his hand. “It’s been blazing like a bloody torch since I got here. Now it’s…”
“Quieter?”
“Aye.”
"You need to try leaving again."
"I already told you?—"
"Try. Again."
He gave her a look that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment, then turned and walked toward the door.
He made it to the front door. Opened it. Stepped onto the porch.
Three steps down the walkway, he froze mid-stride like he'd hit an invisible wall. His jaw tightened. He backed up, tried again at a different angle. Same result.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then he turned and walked back through the house toward the kitchen door that led to the driveway.
Cassie followed, because apparently this was her life now—trailing after a magically bound Scottishhandyman like some kind of supernatural parole officer.
He made it to the end of the driveway. Actually stepped onto the sidewalk.
Hope flickered in Cassie's chest. Maybe the binding only worked for a little while. Maybe he could just walk away and she could pretend this entire morning had been a wine-induced hallucination. Sure, there'd be a shirtless Scottish man wandering her neighborhood in wet jeans, but that was a problem for the HOA, not her.
He took three steps toward the street.
Then, like something out of a cursed carnival ride, his body pivoted left instead of continuing straight and he marched right back up the driveway. Same path. Same trajectory. Like the universe was playing a cruel game of magical Pac-Man.
Liam stopped. Stared at his feet like they'd betrayed him. Turned around and tried again.
Same result. His legs just… redirected. Like the sidewalk had become a treadmill that only went one direction—back to Cassie.
"Oh, you have got to bekiddingme."
He tried a third time, this time at a full sprint. Made it two steps past the property line before his whole body swung around like a compass needle finding north.
North, apparently, was Cassie's front porch.
