“Tell me about this,” I said. “Sarah. When she found it.”
Marcus shifted beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. “She found it at an estate sale. Some old farmhouse outside of town. She said she felt it calling to her from across the room.”
“Did she know? About magic?”
“Not that she ever said out loud. But she always said some objects had souls. That they remembered things. The people who’d owned them, the hands that had touched them.” Hetraced a pattern on my shoulder. “I thought it was romantic nonsense. Now I think she was sensing what I couldn’t see.”
“She would have been a good witch.”
“She would have been a chaotic witch. She had very strong opinions and no patience for rules.” He smiled, soft and sad. “You would have liked each other.”
“I think I would have.” I set the brooch on the nightstand, turned to face him fully. “Does it bother you? That I ask about her?”
“No. It’s…” He searched for the right word. “It’s a relief. Everyone else either avoids her completely or treats her like something fragile. You ask like she was a person.”
“She was a person. An important one. I can’t know you without knowing about her.”
He kissed me—soft, grateful. “How did I get this lucky?”
“You weren’t lucky. You were grumpy at a woman with a possessed phone, and somehow that worked out.”
“My finest moment.”
“Truly.”
We lay there in comfortable silence, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my skin. The apartment was quiet. My phone was silent. The frantic energy that had defined my life for weeks was gone, replaced by something steadier.
“I can see things now,” I said finally. “Connections. Between people.”
“Like what you did with Cassie and Liam?”
“I told you about that?”
“You mentioned it when you arrived. Between kissing me and criticizing my vegetable chopping technique.”
“Your technique needed criticism. You were mutilating those carrots.”
“The carrots were fine. But go on—connections?”
I told him about the thread I’d seen. The certainty I’d felt. Margaret’s explanation of the gift finally settling into what it was supposed to be.
“So you’re a love witch now,” he said when I finished. “Officially.”
“Apparently. I can see if people belong together.”
“Can you see us?”
The question hung in the air. I turned to look at him—really look, the way I had with Cassie and Liam.
And there it was. A thread, golden and warm, running between us. Not as old as theirs—newer, more fragile. But solid. Real. Growing stronger even as I watched.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I can see us.”
“And?”
“And we’re going to be okay.” I felt tears prick my eyes. “More than okay. We’re going to be good.”
He pulled me close, pressed his face into my hair. “Good,” he said roughly. “That’s good.”
