Somewhere downstairs, Jacques began playing something triumphant. Luna yowled for breakfast. The gnomes were probably doing something unsettling in the garden.
But for now, in this moment, none of it mattered.
Cassie Morgan, forty-seven years old, divorced, chaotic,magical—was exactly where she belonged.
And for the first time in longer than she could remember, she let herself glow.
11
SPARKLY HEA
One month later
The house was chaos, but the good kind.
Cassie stood in the doorway of what had been the formal dining room—a space she’d never used for formal dining because she was forty-seven years old and had exactly zero occasions that required a formal dining room—and watched Liam pull up rotted floorboards with the kind of methodical satisfaction that probably shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.
“Found the source of the smell,” he announced, holding up something that might have been a dead mouse thirty years ago. “Looks like your aunt’s cat had a collection.”
“Elspeth had a cat?”
“Elspeth hadseveralcats, apparently. This is the third one I’ve found.” He dropped the mummified remains into a bucket with a casual ease that suggested this was not the worst thing he’d dealt with in his renovation career. “You sure you don’t want to just seal this floor back up and pretend we never looked?”
“And live with the ghost of dead mice haunting my floorboards? Pass.”
Luna wandered in from the hallway, took one look at the bucket, and made a face of profound feline disgust. “That’s disturbing even by my standards.”
“You’re a cat. You’re supposed tolikedead mice.”
“I likefreshdead mice. Those are vintage. There’s a difference.” She hopped onto the one remaining section of intact floor and began grooming herself. “Also, Margaret called. She’s bringing something called ‘ambrosia salad’ for Sunday dinner and wants to know if Liam has any dietary restrictions she should know about.”
“I told her I don’t?—”
“She doesn’t believe you. She thinks all Scottish people are secretly lactose intolerant.”
Liam sighed the sigh of a man who had learned that arguing with the women in this household—cat included—was a battle he would never win. “Tell her I’ll eat whatever she brings.”
“I’ll tell her you said that with enthusiasm and gratitude.”
“I didn’t say?—”
“Too late. Already sent.” Luna’s tail flicked smugly. “You’re welcome.”
The doorbell rang before Liam could respond, which was probably for the best.
Cassie picked her way through the construction zone—past the exposed joists and the pile of salvaged hardwood and the toolbox that had somehow become sentient enough to organize itself by size—and found Diane on the porch, holding a bottle of champagne and wearing an expression of barely contained glee.
“You’re never going to believe what happened.”
“Diane, I’ve summoned a man from Scotland, turned my ex-husband’s car pink, and made my garden gnomes grow to three feet tall in the past two months. My threshold for ‘never going to believe’ is pretty high.”
“Dana got fired.”
Cassie grabbed the champagne. “Get inside immediately.”
They endedup in the kitchen, which was the only room in the house that wasn’t currently being renovated, infused with magical residue, or occupied byconstruction equipment. Jacques the toaster had been playing soft jazz since they arrived, clearly reading the celebratory mood.
“Okay,” Cassie said, pouring champagne into mismatched mugs because the wine glasses were packed somewhere in the garage. “Tell me everything.”
