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He pulls away first, smiling. "The pumpkin, Will."

"Oh, right. The pumpkin."

I lean over the top, examine the stem and choose the best angle.

And snip.

A purple zip races from head to toe through both of us before disappearing.

Nothing else feels different.

Randy and I look at each other, and without a word, we begin walking. Him to his door and me to mine. Nola is in town right now. Instead of leaving the day after she’d arrived, like we’d expected, she’d taken a waitressing job at the Cozy Charm Café. We didn’t know why she didn’t want to leave but Randy had told her to take her time finding a new place.

Once we reach the steps, I’m fairly certain we aren’t going to be yanked together, but I still open the door and step inside to verify. I hear Randy's door open and close as he does the same.

Nothing.

I don’t magically pop into Randy's house. He doesn't appear in mine.

Autonomy is good. My independence is restored, and so is Randy's. But immediately, I feel a hollow space, a small ache in my chest at the lack of compulsion.

My house, with its copper pots, hanging herbs, overstuffed couch, and no cat, is quiet.

I sigh.

And then I jump about a foot in the air when the front door bursts open behind me and Randy blows through with a gust of autumn wind, huffing and puffing as though he's run the entire distance from his cottage to mine.

His arms span the frame so that his body blocks out the garden and the pumpkin beyond.

"Randy, what—"

I'm cut off when he closes the distance between us and sweeps me into a deep, heart-soaring, toe-curling kiss. His hands wrap around my waist and pull me to him. Not a stitch of space is left between us.

When we pull apart, his forehead rests against mine.

"That was the worst," he groans.

I can't help the chuckle that vibrates through both of us. "That was less than a minute, Randy. In our own homes."

He nods. "Yes, it was."

My throat tightens, emotion swelling so thick it's painful. Hot tears spill over my cheeks.

"It was horrible, wasn't it?"

He answers by kissing away the tears as they fall.

"I love you," he promises. "Also, I think I hate my house now."

My laugh is wet.

"It's so cold and lifeless. The only colors are browns and grays. Why did I do that? Nola can have it."

More laughter follows as we move farther into the house, ready for our first day together without magic.

Randy

Getting the pumpkin to the festival before it begins is a Herculean effort, which ultimately involves Laz crafting another spell. He makes the gourd as light as a balloon. Then we tie a string to the stem and walk it along the main road.