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I swivel my head to make sure Will is okay at the same moment he does the same to me. Our faces are only a breath apart. My arms are still wrapped around him, and one of his hands clutches the sleeve of my jacket. His breath ghosts over my face, and all I want in this world is to lean forward and taste his mouth.

My hand flexes over his stomach muscles. His eyes flick to my lips, and heat pools low in my stomach.

But then Morty headbutts my shin and meows so loudly and angrily that the moment shatters. Will blinks and steps out of my arms. I let him go, because after everything said tonight, this isn't the moment to press.

"Sorry, he's hungry. It's past his dinner time," I explain, scooping up his fluffy body and cradling him like a baby. Morty's wide eyes stay on Will.

My mate is regarding Morty like he's a rabid beast. His brow furrows.

"Do you like cats?" I ask hesitantly.

Will's eyes bounce from Morty to me, then dart toward the path. "Um, sometimes," he hedges.

I consider Morty's innocent face and shrug. We continue up the path until we reach the stone wall between our houses. I set Morty down and he scurries up to my front door.

"Oh my," I say, dread rising to my cheeks. "I hadn't even thought about—"

I cut myself off and look at Will, who's already glowering back at me.

"I don't think the magic's going to let us go that far, but…" He takes a few steps toward his house.

I catch on and take a few steps toward mine. We do this in little increments until we're almost at our doors.

Will disappears from in front of his house and ends up directly in front of me.

"Okay," I say.

Will lets out a frustrated sound before taking a deep breath.

"Why don't you get your things and come over to my place?" he suggests.

Internally, I panic.

"Why your place?" I ask, and the words come out far harsher than I intend.

Will blinks in surprise, but panic is climbing up my throat. He’s not the problem, but the circumstances are too much, too fast. Tradition means one specific thing: predictability.

I don’t do well with unpredictability. I wake up. I eat my breakfast. I feed my cat. I work for the council. I eat dinner, read, and go to bed. Every day is the same, with very few variations.

Everything changed today. The magic protecting the island is different. The island itself has been possessed by the spirit of a dead witch. I have a mate, and I accidentally cast a spell preventing us from separating. I ate dinner at a restaurant, and I lost my argument with the council.

Now I'm supposed to sleep in a different house?

No, I can't.

"What do you mean?" Will asks.

"I mean, you're already here. Why don't you just stay? I have extra clothes and plenty to eat."

"Randy, where would I even sleep in your house? Your furniture is all a million years old and crafted from wood. On top of being completely uncushioned, it's all spindly and would never hold my weight."

True. My furniture is antique and traditional, and absolutely uncomfortable.

"You could take my bed and… I could sleep on the floor," I try.

My back twinges in predetermined protest.

Will shoots me an incredulous look. "Really? At our age, Randy?"