Page 7

Willoughby looks even more incensed.

"You clearly did." He drops the trowel in his hand into the wheelbarrow. "You know what? I don't think I need help cleaning today. Would you mind just going?"

My lungs feel too tight.

I head toward the front yard, intending to skirt around the low stone wall separating Willoughby's pumpkin cottage from mine. I stare at my brown loafers, my head weighed down by the crown of my failures.

"What in the fuck?"

My head lurches up. Willoughby stands at the end of the stone wall ahead of me, absolute befuddlement on his face. Hope flares at the thought that he's come to give me one more chance.

But a new question follows on the heels of my hope.

"How did you get in front of me? Weren't you back there?" I ask, pointing toward the shed.

"I was, but then suddenly I was here."

The optimism bursts. He hasn't, in fact, come after me. But then what happened?

He stares around. "Wait... stay right here, please," he says, holding up a hand.

He walks toward his yellow front door, but right before he reaches the step, the world seems to blink. I'm not standing beside the stone wall anymore. I'm on Willoughby's step, almost nose to nose with him.

"What the hell just—"

"I don't know how—"

His eyes are very brown and very deep. I could fall right into them. For a moment, we simply stare at each other. Willoughby coughs and takes a small step back.

The sinking feeling returns as I slowly arrive at the logical conclusion. I don't want to say it out loud. I've already screwed up an astonishing amount with my mate, and it's been less than four hours.

But Willoughby is smart, which both irked and attracted me before the bond.

"The spell," he gasps, eyes widening. His finger shoots out accusingly in my direction.

"Now hang on. The spell was for the pumpkin. There's no reason—and you interrupted me, so really…"

"If you dare suggest this is somehow my fault, I will throw that pumpkin at your head, Randy!"

Anger floods Willoughby's face, eyes appearing positively feral, and I’m the one backing up.

"All right, well, no need to panic. I was supposed to look directly at the pumpkin when I said the word, and instead I was looking at you. So clearly, I somehow cast the spell on us instead. All we need to do is go to Laz's tower—"

"You got this from Laz? You thought it was a good idea to get a random spell from a wizard who lost his memory decades ago and has been winging it ever since?"

My face warms until I'm certain it's nearly as red as my hair.

"Well, when you put it that way—"

Willoughby bares his teeth and growls, actually growls. The sound jolts straight to my cock, and I'm profoundly grateful when Willoughby turns away and stomps across the rubble toward the overgrown forest path, giving me a chance to discreetly adjust myself.

"Where are you going?" I ask, hurrying after him.

"To Laz's, of course. He has to fix this!"

Willoughby

The walk through the woods to Laz's tower is tense, to say the least. Every once in a while, Randy appears to be working up the courage to speak. I cut him a glare, and he reconsiders.