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We entered a circular room where glass cases housed objects that hummed with magical energy. A silver pocket watch suspended in midair caught my attention—its hands spinning backward.

"Time-turner?" I asked.

Grandpops raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Indeed. Temperamental little thing, though. Once sent my great-aunt to the Renaissance for a fortnight."

He guided me to a display containing a delicate crystal vase filled with ever-blooming roses. "Lincoln's mother enchanted these. They've bloomed continuously for thirty years."

"She's a witch?"

"Powerful one. Has a particular talent for preservation spells." His voice softened. "She built our library's rare book collection—insisted magic and literature were natural companions."

I thought of Lincoln's publishing house, suddenly understanding his love of literature.

Auggy paused before a pedestal where an ancient leather-bound book floated beneath a dome of shimmering light. "The Sands family grimoire. Nine centuries of magical knowledge."

The book radiated power that made my skin tingle. "It's beautiful."

"Lincoln is the first in generations to blend our magical heritage with the mortal business world so successfully." Augustus studied me. "He's never brought anyone here before. Not once."

I swallowed hard. "Never?"

"My grandson guards his worlds carefully—keeps them separate." Augustus touched the protective dome, making it ripple. "He needs someone who understands both sides of him."

My heart quickened as Grandpop's meaning became clear.

"The publishing mogul and the warlock," I murmured.

"Precisely." Augustus smiled warmly. "You know, watching him tonight—the way he looks at you—reminds me of how I looked at my Eleanora."

I stood frozen, Grandpop's words echoing in my mind. The comparison to his beloved wife felt monumental, especially coming from someone who clearly cherished family above all else.

"He talks about you constantly," Augustus continued, his eyes twinkling. "In our weekly calls, it's 'Chloe this' and 'Chloe that' until I threatened to hex his phone if he didn't bring you to meet me."

My cheeks burned. "I'm not... I don't know if I'm?—"

"There you two are." Lincoln appeared in the doorway, his expression brightening when he saw me. "Grandfather, are you showing off the family secrets already?"

"Merely the PG-rated ones," Augustus winked at me. "I'll save the truly scandalous tales for breakfast."

Lincoln approached, placing his hand gently on my lower back. "I hope he hasn't been boring you with ancient history."

"On the contrary," I said, leaning slightly into his touch. "I've been taking notes for future blackmail purposes."

"Wonderful," Lincoln groaned. "Speaking of embarrassing history, would you like to see where teenage Lincoln spent his angsty years?"

Augustus chuckled. "I'll leave you two. The grimoire and I need our beauty sleep." He squeezed my hand before departing. "Welcome to the family, Chloe."

Lincoln led me up a winding staircase to the third floor. "My grandfather has never taken to anyone so quickly."

"The feeling's mutual," I admitted. "He's nothing like what I expected."

Lincoln stopped before a door with faded stickers warning: "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK - MAGICAL EXPERIMENTS IN PROGRESS."

"I was a dramatic teenager," he explained, pushing open the door. "Mother refused to let anyone update it after I left for college. Said it was important to remember where we came from."

The room that greeted me was a perfect time capsule. Posters of bands I'd never heard of covered one wall, while another displayed framed certificates from young publishers' competitions. Bookshelves overflowed with an eclectic mix of magical texts and dog-eared paperbacks.

"You were a neat freak even then," I observed, noting the meticulously organized desk.

Lincoln shrugged. "Chaos in my mind, order in my space."

I wandered to his desk, where leather-bound journals sat in a perfect row. "May I?"

"Be my guest. Just don't laugh too hard."

I opened one to find detailed notes on a spell labeled "Automatic Page Turner v.3.7" with a list of failed attempts. Beside it was a sketch of a book with tiny wings.

"I was determined to create magical reading aids," Lincoln explained, coming to stand beside me. "That particular experiment set my eyebrows on fire."

I flipped through more pages of Lincoln's teenage journal, trying not to giggle at his meticulous documentation of "Enchanted Bookmark Prototype #12: now stays in place but occasionally eats page corners."

"You were such a nerd," I said, tracing my finger over his neat handwriting.

"Were?" Lincoln raised an eyebrow, standing close enough that I could feel his warmth.

I spotted a photo tucked into the journal—teenage Lincoln with Augustus at what looked like a publishing conference. Lincoln's face beamed with pride as he held some kind of award, his grandfather's hand on his shoulder.

"You two have always been close," I observed.

Lincoln nodded. "After my grandma died and my parents moved abroad to run the international leg of our publishing house, he became everything to me—father, mentor, friend.

" He took the photo, smiling at the memory.

"This was my first Junior Publisher's Innovation Award.

I created a spell that would help editors track changes in manuscripts magically. "

"And now you run your own publishing house." I studied the earnest face of young Lincoln. "You actually made your childhood dream happen."

He replaced the photo carefully. "I had good guidance." His eyes met mine, suddenly serious. "You know, you're the first person I've ever brought here."

"Really?" My heart skipped.

"Really." He took my hands in his. "Chloe, I'm falling in love with you. I think I have been since that first day I saw you at the Carpe Diem Bed and Breakfast."

The words hung between us, honest and terrifying and wonderful. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Lincoln brushed his thumb across my knuckles. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

I stared at our joined hands, my mind racing. The magnitude of what he was offering—not just his heart, but a place in his complicated life with its publishing empires and family legacies—overwhelmed me.

"I'm scared," I whispered finally.

"Of what?"

"Of how much I want this to work." I met his gaze. "Of how much I'm falling for you too."

His smile could have lit the entire mansion.

Lincoln stepped closer, his golden-brown eyes searching mine. His hand brushed my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

"May I?" he whispered.

I nodded, unable to form words.

His lips met mine with gentle pressure that quickly deepened into something more urgent.

My hands found their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my fingertips.

The kiss tasted of the dessert wine we'd shared earlier and something uniquely Lincoln—a hint of cinnamon and old books.

When we finally broke apart, I felt dizzy, my lips tingling with the remnants of our shared magic.

"Goodnight, Chloe Woolsworth," he murmured against my ear.

"Goodnight," I managed, retreating to my guest room with wobbly knees and a head full of stars.

Sunlight streamed across the terrace the next morning, casting long shadows across a breakfast spread that would make a five-star hotel weep with inadequacy. I approached cautiously, coffee already calling my name, only to find Frosty and Augustus deep in animated conversation.

"The problem with Hemingway," Frosty declared, adjusting his tiny reading glasses with one wing, "is that everyone thinks he invented minimalism when really he just couldn't be bothered with adjectives."

Augustus chuckled, buttering a scone. "Bold statement from a creature whose species communicates primarily through clucking."

"Precisely why I appreciate linguistic efficiency," Frosty countered.

I slid into a chair, pouring myself coffee from a silver pot that somehow knew exactly how much cream to add.

"Ah, Chloe!" Augustus beamed. "Sleep well?"

"Like someone hit me with a sleeping spell," I admitted, reaching for a croissant.

Lincoln appeared, freshly showered and devastating in casual clothes. He kissed my temple before taking the seat beside me, his hand finding mine under the table.

"Lincoln, the board was asking about your succession plans again," Augustus mentioned, his tone deliberately casual as he sipped his tea. "Apparently, maintaining family control while expanding further into international markets has them concerned."

Lincoln's fingers tensed against mine. "The board needs to trust my judgment. We've increased profits three quarters running."

"They're old warlocks, grandson. Old money, old ideas. They expect certain... traditions to continue."

Frosty's head swiveled between them like watching a tennis match.

"What traditions?" I asked.

Augustus smiled kindly. "Nothing to worry about today. Just the usual expectations—heirs, legacy planning, strategic marriages to strengthen publishing alliances."

My croissant suddenly tasted like cardboard.

Lincoln's jaw tightened. "Grandfather, perhaps we could discuss this another time."

The pieces clicked together in my mind—the merger offer, the long hours, the board meetings. Lincoln had been shielding me from the complicated reality of his position all along.

Augustus must have noticed my discomfort. He cleared his throat and shifted the conversation to safer territory—his collection of enchanted fountain pens that wrote in colors that changed based on the reader's mood.

After breakfast, Lincoln excused himself to take a call from his office, leaving me alone with his grandfather on the sunlit terrace.

"Walk with me," Augustus said, offering his arm with old-world charm.

We strolled through gardens where flowers turned to follow our path. The morning dew still clung to emerald leaves, sparkling like tiny diamonds.

"He's always been driven," Augustus said without preamble. "Even as a boy, Lincoln would stay up all night perfecting a spell while other children played games."

"He mentioned his parents weren't around much."

Augustus nodded, his face momentarily shadowed.

"My son and his wife built the international branch of our business.

Excellent publishers, less excellent parents.

" He patted my hand resting on his arm. "Lincoln found solace in books and business plans.

I worry sometimes that he forgot there's more to life. "

"Until recently," I ventured.

The old warlock's eyes twinkled. "Until recently." He stopped beside a fountain where water flowed upward in defiance of gravity. "Chloe, I want you to know something. Whatever nonsense you heard about board expectations and traditions—that's just old warlocks clinging to outdated ideas."

"So no strategic marriage alliances?" I raised an eyebrow.

Augustus laughed. "Good heavens, no. This isn't the eighteenth century, despite what some board members believe." His expression softened. "What matters is Lincoln's happiness. And I haven't seen him this happy in decades."

We reached a secluded garden alcove with a stone bench. Augustus turned to face me directly.

"You're welcome here anytime, Chloe Woolsworth. With or without my grandson." He squeezed my hands. "This house has been too quiet for too long."

"Thank you, Grandpops" I whispered, unexpectedly moved.

"Now, one last thing." His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Has Lincoln shown you his collection of magical rejection letters? The ones that sing increasingly sarcastic songs when opened?"

"Not yet."

"Ask him. They're hilarious—especially the one that turns the reader's hair blue for an hour."