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Mr. Whiskers didn’t disappear last night and get replaced by this ridiculous, gorgeous warlock. He is this ridiculous, gorgeous warlock. For weeks, he was there with me as I worked on my recipes and complained about some of my customers. He was there to listen when I freaked out about the Bake-Off.

It was Vincent who watched movies on the couch with me, then slept beside me. Vincent who followed me around The Pie Chart and chewed my recipe book when I wasn’t looking.

He was my cat.

He is my cat.

And, welp, I already loved my cat.

“Oh,” I whisper.

“Oh?”

“I love Mr. Whiskers.”

Vincent stares over at me.

A laugh bubbles out of me as realization hits. “I do. I love him.”

“Kate? Are you alright?”

Reaching up, I cup his face. “I am. Because… listen. If you’re him,” I whisper, “and he’s you… maybe I’m not as far away from loving Vincent as I thought. Maybe it isn’t as impossible as I thought. Maybe… maybe I don’t have to be a witch who believes that Fate can lead me to my one true love to know that you… you might just be it.”

His eyes flash green. “Kate…”

Somewhere behind me, the kitchen clock ticks away. The numbers on the cable box switch over. I don’t pay attention to it.

For the first time all night, I don’t care what time it is. It’s almost as though it stands still as I yank Vincent’s head to me so that I can kiss him.

It doesn’t matter what Fate says, or how a witch cursed him long ago, or that it’s almost midnight… I kiss him because I want to, and if I have to wait until next Halloween to show him how much he’s gotten under my skin—both as a cat and a man—then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

His arms close around me, pulling me against him as he kisses me back. Both of us know that this is the last few moments we’ll share together before the curse takes hold of him again, and it’s only when I hear the chimes coming from the kitchen wall clock announcing the time that I pull back from him, resting my forehead against his chest.

Vincent goes still. So do I. I hold onto him, whispering an apology that I was too late, that I only just realized that I’d rather wake up to his smirk and his shaggy blond hair and those deep brown eyes tomorrow morning, and the one after without having to wait the year between. All he does is hold me close, telling me he loves, that he’ll wait, that he’ll behave⁠—

“Bullshit,” I whisper. “Cats don’t know how to behave.”

“People say they don’t know how to love, either,” he murmurs back. “That’s bullshit, too.”

He’s not wrong.

I believed that Mr. Whiskers loved me when I was his person. Now I know that Vincent loved me because I was his mate. And I⁠—

The clock chimes again. Was that six? Or seven?

Another chime. Let’s call it eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven…

I close my eyes and bury my face against him as I wait for the man in my arms to become the cat I’ve loved all along just as the final chime of midnight sings out throughout my apartment, telling us both that Halloween—and our magic day together—is over.

Twelve.

ELEVEN