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Mack wasn’t sentimental. Heartfelt conversations made him look as though he’d rather chew through his own arm. But his voice carried an acknowledgment of what we had survived and how far we had come.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

He gave one sharp nod, and we returned to work.

Mack waited until the carburetor was back together before admitting he had been delaying me on purpose.

“Your witch threatened my paint job.” He tossed me the keys to one of Kingston Security’s SUVs. “Apparently, punctuality is romantic.”

“Where am I going?”

“If I tell you, Audrey says I’ll ruin the surprise.”

“You usually ruin surprises for free.”

“I’m growing.”

He gave me directions to the abandoned drive-in at the edge of town. It was the same place Carolina and I had shared our first real date, when a broken projector, a terrible vampire movie, and the fear of her mother had qualified as romance.

The rusted gate stood open when I arrived.

Gold witch-light traced the gravel lane. Each tiny flame floated at knee height and brightened as the SUV passed. Beyond them, the old movie screen glowed beneath a sky bruised purple by the setting sun.

I parked beside the old station wagon where Carolina waited.

A thick blanket lay on the gravel beside two folding chairs in front of the hood. Champagne chilled in a silver bucket, and the projector behind her hummed with enough fresh magic to make the weeds lean toward it.

“All this for six months?” I asked as I approached her.

“It’s a half-anniversary.”

“You know that is not a thing.”

“Witches respect fractions when romance is involved.”

She wore jeans, boots, and the smile that had destroyed every sensible plan I had ever made.

I crossed the gravel and pulled her into my arms.

“You rebuilt the projector.”

“I threatened it with obsolescence.”

“And Mack?”

“I threatened the Mustang.”

“Effective leadership.”

We settled into the folding chairs. The movie started when the last edge of sunlight disappeared. It was the same ridiculous vampire film we had watched on our first date, complete with a tragic cape, questionable accent, and death by sunlight achieved through what still looked like weaponized tinsel.

“That had better not be foreshadowing,” I said.

“Relax. If my mother ever sets you on fire, we established that it will look much more expensive.”

Carolina handed me a bowl of popcorn.

The bottom promptly gave out.