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“I know. But I was cursed by a witch. That’s different magic.” He shakes his head, still unable to believe that this is really happening. “I… I don’t get it. Susan said only my true mate’s magic could free me.”

I tap my boobs. “And I’m not magical.”

“Nope,” he agrees with one of his trademark grins. “You’re my favorite human.”

He gives his head another shake when, out of nowhere, the grin slides off of his face. He goes eerily still, ducking his head enough that some of his thick blond hair flops forward in his face.

Hang on. I’ve spent enough time with him to recognize that look by now. I saw it earlier when he was working through the problem of my missing recipe book, right before he spotted it on Cindy’s table and snatched it. His eyes narrow slightly, his attention drifting away from me while that complicated warlock brain of his starts taking something apart.

“Vincent? Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking…” His head jerks up. “The spell. No. Not the spell. Susan’s curse.” He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, I get the feeling he’s reciting something. “‘Until Fate chooses you, your touch will be claws, your every desire trapped in fur. Only your true mate’s magic will free you, Vincent Morrow.’” He surges toward me, taking my hands, squeezing them. “All along, I was wrong.”

Holy shit. Considering he has that feline certainty that he’s always right about everything, it must take a lot for him to admit he was wrong.

I can’t wait to hear this. “About what?”

“I thought when Susan said ‘magic’, she had to mean witch magic. Then, when I realized you were human...” He trails off, shaking his head again. “I decided it had to be the mate bond. That once we completed it, the curse would recognize you as my mate and it would be broken.”

“Right. We have sex and you get to be a man again.”

“Exactly.”

“But we didn’t.” His gaze meets mine again. “You didn’t mate with me. You didn’t perform any kind of spell because you’re so very adorably human, Kate. You didn’t do anything except⁠—”

“Kiss you at the stroke of midnight?”

His eyes light up. “Yes. That, and you chose me. You didn’t want our first time to be when we were racing a deadline, trying to run out the clock. That’s what you said to me. I let it go because there was no way in hell I’d ever force you to do anything you didn’t want me to do, but when you said that… you were already considering yourself my mate, weren’t you?”

“Um. Yes. I guess so.”

“No,” Vincent says, excitement creeping into his voice. “That has to be it. You knew you were mine. You admitted it to yourself… and you chose me. I spent thirty-nine years thinking I needed to find the right magic. Then I found you, and I thought I needed to convince you to give me the bond by giving me your body. But that wasn’t it.”

He releases one of my hands so that he can touch my cheek. “It was you, Kate. It was you giving me your affection. Your attention. Your time… it was you taking care of me when I was your pet, and then letting me stay right by your side because we both thought that all I had was one day. But now… I want forever. And I want it with you.”

Something deep inside of my chest squeezes.

“The way you took me home when you thought I was a stray,” he continues. “The way you fed me and talked to me and let me sleep in your bed. The way you love Halloween and ridiculous movies about witches. The way you smell like pumpkin and cinnamon and other spices because you spend all day making things that make people happy.” His thumb strokes beneath my eye all while I keep my gaze on the earnestness written all over his handsome face. “The way you were ready to keep me as your obnoxious cat for another year because you weren’t ready to choose the man yet.”

“When I brought you in… when I gave you milk… I promised I’d always take care of you.”

“And you have, pumpkin. It hasn’t been long enough at all, but you have.”

My eyes sting again. “I also told you I loved Mr. Whiskers.”

His voice matches my whisper. “You did.”

“And you’re Mr. Whiskers.”

“I was. Now I’m just Vincent.”

“No,” I say, going up on my tiptoes so that our mouths are barely a few inches apart. “You’re Vincent Morrow, warlock. And you’re Kate Bellamy’s one true mate.”

He gasps, and I take advantage of the way his lips parted to kiss him.

I don’t know a lot about magic. I really am an ordinary human woman—and one hell of a piemaker—who Fate picked out for a seventy-year-old warlock. I like to think that Vincent’s idea is right. So maybe there isn’t any hidden witch magic inside of me. But maybe Susan never meant that, at all.

Maybe the magic she referred to was simply his mate wanting Vincent to stay badly enough that it shattered the curse she placed on him so long ago…