And stopped.
And stared.
"What thefuck."
Her garden had exploded.
Not figuratively. Not in a "oh, things are growing nicely" way. Her garden haddetonatedinto a botanical fever dream that would make the Chelsea Flower Show weep with inadequacy.
The rosebushes—previously half-dead sticks she'd been meaning to either revive or remove for two years—were now eight feet tall and covered in blooms. Not just red roses. Red and pink and yellow and a purple that definitely didn't exist in nature, all growing from the same bush like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be when it grew up.
The lawn had become a meadow. Actual wildflowers had erupted through the grass—daisies and poppies and things with blue petals she couldn't name—creating a carpet of color that looked like someone had spilled a paint factory.
The tree in the corner, which had been a sad little maple struggling through life, was now a towering oak draped in flowering vines. Butterflies circled it in lazy spirals.
Andthe gnomes.
Oh, God. The gnomes.
They were still lined up along the walkway. Still in their little soldier formation. Still watching.
But now they were three feet tall.
The one with the fishing pole—previously a cheerful ten inches of ceramic whimsy—now came up to her waist. His painted smile, scaled up, looked significantly more menacing. His fishing line dangled at chest height.
"This is fine," Cassie whispered to herself. "This is totally fine. This is just... aggressive gardening."
She got out of the car slowly, keeping her eyes on the gnomes. They didn't move. But she could have sworn the one with the wheelbarrow tilted its head slightly as she passed.
The front door burst open.
Liam stood in the doorway wearing what appeared to be Derek's old "Kiss the Cook" apron over another too-small shirt, holding a wooden spoon like a weapon, and looking at her like she'd personally set fire to everything he loved.
"What," he said, in a voice that suggested he was choosing his words very carefully to avoid committing a crime, "did you do?"
"I went to work?"
"Before that."
"Had breakfast?"
"Cassie."
"Fine! I cast the glamour! But it was a tiny spell!A little glow-up! It wasn't supposed to—" She gestured at the horticultural apocalypse surrounding them. "—dothis!"
"A tiny spell." He descended the porch steps, wooden spoon still raised. "Atinyspell. Do you see your garden right now? Do you see the gnomes? They're waist-height, Cassie. I had to negotiate with them this morning."
"You negotiated with the gnomes?"
"They wanted to be six feet tall. I convinced them to settle for three. It tookforty minutesand I had to promise them the good plant food." He stopped in front of her, and his expression shifted from furious to something more complicated. "And you. You're still glowing."
"I am?"
"Faintly. Like you've swallowed starlight and it's trying to escape." His voice had dropped. Rougher. "It's... distracting."
Cassie became suddenly aware of how close he was. Close enough to see the silver threads in his dark hair. Close enough to smell sawdust and tea and something warm underneath.
Close enough to feel the binding humming between them, stronger than usual, like it was responding to her magic.
