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“Miss Patricia gave it to me from her cellars. Told us to have a good time.”

“Tell her I said thank you,” Evelyn said, moving to the kitchen.

With her magic, his presence, the closed door, and the crackling fire, the apartment became hot and full of static. She fought the urge to tell him now, to unleash her secrets, to say it already. She needed to wait for the right moment.

I believe you’re my fated.

“Are you hungry?” she said, conversation an attempt to distract herself.

She turned to Cyrus, who was looking even more rigid than before.

“I’m sorry?” He laughed and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I think . . . I think I’m a little nervous.”

Goddess, him, too. For what?

Evelyn would tell him she was nervous as well if it wasn’t so obvious already. Yet, to him, tonight should just be dinner, right? Had someone told him? Maybe hinted at it? Had Aster given him a heads up? No, her friend wouldn’t do that. Maybe someone else in the town had, or maybe he’d figured it out himself, and he was here to end it. Perhaps he’d finally figured out who she really was and had come to confront her about it.

Evelyn’s heart dropped, her doubts surfacing. She called forth her magic, using it to ease her nerves. It gave her comfort, dancing at Cyrus’s proximity, reassuring her this was real.

“Here.” Evelyn rummaged in one of her cabinets, finding an empty milk jug. “You can use it for the flowers.” She stood on her tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “And thank you.”

Cyrus’s entire being softened, lightened, at her kiss, tension in his big, broad, muscular body seeming to ease.

The fire’s flame dwindled, indicating the spell Evelyn had cast for a timer had finished. Diner was ready.

“I made shepherd’s pie tonight,” Evelyn said as Cyrus put the flowers in water. She worked on opening the wine.

“Sounds delicious.”

The flowers appeared beside Evelyn. Cyrus lined his chest against her back, running his hands down her arms. Even through her thick, wool sweater, her skin burned from his touch. He leaned down, running his nose up the side of her neck, brushing a tease of a kiss halfway up, scorching her skin with his lips. He inhaled, really inhaled, and Evelyn couldn’t help but giggle.

“Are you smelling me, Huntsman?” she asked.

Cyrus laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated through her ribcage. “And what if I was?”

Evelyn couldn’t think straight, not with him so close, leaving kisses on her neck, her core heating.

“You smell like cedar, warm and exotic,” he whispered. His voice shook. “There’s an underlying sweetness.” He wrapped his arms fully around Evelyn, planting a kiss on her temple. “Like vanilla.”

“Is that what you imagine?” Evelyn asked.

Cyrus stiffened behind her, then turned her around. A smolder shone in his eyes, like browned sugar and butter. He stared, and she stared back. Not in a standoff, but taking the other in. Tonight felt big. For both of them. Cyrus side-stepped, reading over the cookbook. He clasped her hand, soothing the back of it.

“Thank you for cooking,” he said. “And to your earlier question, I am hungry.”

“Then let’s eat,” Evelyn whispered, stepping out of Cyrus’s orbit to breathe.

He brought the wine as Evelyn summoned the skillet with her magic. It lowered to the table, set with makeshift plates, silverware, and cups, all Evelyn had in her humble apartment. The pie smelled rich and beefy, steam rising off the golden potato crust.

Evelyn spooned them each a portion, lamb, peas, onions, and carrots swimming in red wine gravy on Cyrus’s plate.

“Saige, this looks amazing,” he said.

Evelyn smiled, her heart hammering. She couldn’t muster words. Her pie tasted bland, and her nerves festered, tingling her fingers, and making her skin flush.

She had to get on with it. She had to.

“There’s something I need to tell—”