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FOUR MONTHS LATER…

W NCR’s very first Whisker Me Away pet adoption segment commenced filming with three restless bodies center-frame.

Jayden, the gangly vet school student from the Barnacles shelter, picked at his lip. His shaggy puff of red hair made it impossible to see his eyes.

Instead of his usual place behind the camera, Albert stood across from Jayden, valiantly attempting his own personal flavor of journalistic professionalism. That flavor just so happened to entail staring into and mirroring the wild-eyed gaze of today’s featured pet.

The “cat” standing on the table between them was enormous.

Aside from his fluffy coat of orange fur, there wasn’t anything particularly cat-like about the creature.

There was a bite out of one of his ears.

His tongue permanently dangled out of his mouth, which came off somehow not as derpy, but as an aggressive insult.

But the most unsettling aspect was the way his eyes glared with I-just-ate-a-raccoon-and-you’re-next energy.

That look was even more unsettling, yet utterly hilarious, on Albert.

I watched from beside the camera man, nervous but excited to see how the new segment would play out.

At first I’d been hesitant to do Whisker Me Away.

But when I eventually gave in and met with Imogen to talk out the details, she was happy to keep all of the witches away. That’s how we ended up with Jayden.

And for some reason I still couldn’t comprehend, Albert had volunteered to take my place. Eagerly.

The introduction scrolled across the teleprompter.

Instead of reading it, Albert continued to stare into the creature’s feral eyes. His tongue darted out of the corner of his lips.

I hugged my ribs and pressed my lips together so as not to let a laugh escape.

Jayden tucked and untucked his polo shirt from his basketball shorts. Albert leaned in closer to the cat.

I waved my arms to try to catch Albert’s attention.

The camera man followed my lead, and the production assistants followed his. All of us gestured at Albert to break the spell.

Eventually Albert blinked, properly focused his attention, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Welcome to Whisker Me Away. We’ll share adoptable pets with you. You adopt them. We get to do this again.”

That wasn’t exactly what the teleprompter said, but it was close enough.

“I’m Albert. This is Jayden.” Albert pointed to each of them in turn, his tone and expression flat.

We’d need to work on making his delivery less robotic if this went well enough to warrant a second episode. Being in front of the camera was tough and made people freeze. He’d get better.

“This is Mr. Peaches.” Jayden lifted the cat from the table. “He’s an eight-year-old tabby with three legs, one fang, and no tail.”

I hadn’t even noticed that he was missing a leg with all that long, thick fur and serial killer vibe. And by “tabby,” I was pretty sure Jayden meant “fox-hellbeast hybrid.”

Jayden turned Mr. Peaches, holding him like he was a machine gun. “What he lacks in appendages, he makes up for in personality.”

As if on cue, Mr. Peaches opened his mouth wide, revealing that single fang. An ah-ah-ah-ah-ah sound came out.

My jaw dropped. I was pretty sure cats weren’t supposed to sound like that. Maybe it could pass for a choppy growl or purr… maybe.

“Mr. Peaches is great with older kids and large dogs,” Jayden said. “He responds to Mister Mister, Mrrroww, and Pretty Boy.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth. My chest heaved with a burst of unreleased laughter.

“Adopt Mr. Peaches,” Albert said. He ran through the shelter’s contact information, and the segment ended without incident.

Jayden tried to put the cat into its carrier. But every time he got him to the door, the cat caught the edge with his paws and stopped himself from going in.

“Do you need help?” Albert asked.

“I’m good,” Jayden said, though it took a solid six more attempts before he got Mr. Peaches inside. And even then, the cat rattled the cage like he’d throw himself to the ground and break the thing open given the chance.

I thanked Jayden for his time and headed down the hall with Albert.

“Congratulations,” I told him.

“I was pretty amazing, wasn’t I?”

“For sure.”

“You’re so lucky, Erika.”

I stopped walking and turned to him ready to sigh, ready to say not this again.

But then Albert stopped me mid-thought when he added, “You make it look so easy.”

“It’s practice.” I smiled at him. “I have to ask, after all these years, what made you want to step in front of the camera?”

“Cats.”

“What’s with that? You always used to tell me you hated cats.”

“I did.”

“And what changed?” The witch had made him adopt one, a horrifying hellbeast even scarier than Mr. Peaches. But she never told him he had to love cats.

“Now I don’t.” He shrugged. “People change.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

After we parted ways and I headed to my car, I thought about all the times Albert had told me I was lucky in the past, how I’d thought it was ridiculous, how I’d almost told him the same thing this time.

But I realized I was lucky. Not because I didn’t get splashed by puddles, but because of all the wonderful people in my life—Carson, Micah, Adam, Daisy, Tess, Albert.

I might even add Imogen to that list eventually. Maybe.

“You are lucky with the puddles,” Golden Erika’s voice said inside my head.

I gave a quick glance to make sure I was alone before answering out loud, “I am?”

“It’s me. I stop you from getting splattered.”

Oh. That was news to me. I tried to remember the other things Albert had said I was lucky with. “What about the vending machines?”

“Yep. No one else gets double Oreos every time.”

Huh. “Kind of unrelated, but were you the one moving the ghost chair in the office?”

“No. No supernatural forces are involved. It has a wonky wheel.”

“Good to know.” A little disappointing, really. I reached my car, climbed inside, and started driving. And I thought of something else I definitely needed to ask. “Should we be playing the lottery?”

“Only the ones with the little prizes. We don’t want the attention the big winners get, or the scrutiny of the state authorities who keep track.”

“Noted. I guess I should stop on the way home for scratch offs.”

“Yes. Do that.”

Life kept getting better and better.

A golden shimmer crossed over my skin, her way of reminding me she was always right here with me. I gave her a mental high five before stopping at a gas station on my drive home.

A few hours later, with bellies full of pizza, Micah, Adam, Carson, and I sat around at the kitchen table. This had been my grandmother’s table before it was ours, with decades of memories etched into every dent and crack.

It was the piece my cousins and I had hidden under to scarf cookies before Christmas dinner. It was the piece where Adam had gleefully smashed his first birthday cake, and where Micah had spit out his first taste of peas.

Now, the table held bowls of popcorn, M&Ms, and the board game version of the boys’ favorite video game, YeetLoot Royale.

“Don’t do it.” Micah slid down in his seat and wrinkled his nose in my direction. “Don’t roll a ten.”

I let loose the dice onto the board.

Ten.

“No.” Micah dropped his forehead onto the table.

Adam pulled the strings of his hoodie and blew out a breath.

I moved my little plastic goblin piece ten spaces to the finish line, securing the win. “Good game, everyone.”

“How come you always win the board game but you’re so bad at the video game? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Fairy luck,” Adam said. “Board games are all luck. Video games take skill.”

“I don’t always win,” I told them. “Plus, you two are part fairy, too.”

Carson beamed at me. “Is that why I never win?”

Micah gently kicked Adam’s shoe under the table. “Want to play the real YeetLoot Royale?”

“So you can win the next one?” I asked.

Micah sighed. “We play as a team in the real game. Remember? Never mind.”

“I know,” I said. “I was joking.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said in a flat tone.

Both boys rose from the table.

Micah grabbed the popcorn bowl. A mischievous glimmer twinkled in his eyes. “Next week you have to play blindfolded. And I’m going to win.”

I laughed. “Okay.”

He headed off toward the stairs.

“Good game.” Adam grabbed the M&Ms and hurried after his brother.

Their animated voices and laughter carried behind them, drowned out by the stomp of their feet on the stairs.

I turned toward Carson beside me. He caught my legs between his knees and leaned forward to capture my hands. “Good game.”

“Too bad you married a cursed fairy. I swear I’m not even trying to win.”

His legs felt firm against my thighs. His hazel eyes flared.

My breath caught.

“I won by marrying you.” He brushed his thumb over my knuckles.

Heat rushed over my skin. “You’re too sweet.”

He chuckled, dark and deep.

Only then did I remember my gas station stop from my drive. “Oh, I grabbed lottery tickets on the way home.”

He furrowed his brows slightly. “Okay.”

“Scratch them with me.” I reached into my purse, dangling from the back of my chair and pulled out four tickets. I handed Carson two of them, and a quarter to do the scratching.

The gray coating pilled and rolled off the card as we scratched.

I checked the rules and matched the little pictures to their numbers. Even though Golden Erika had told me I’d win, it was still a surprise to see it with my own eyes. I lifted the card to show Carson. “Five hundred.”

“Me, too.” He slid his own card over to me.

We scratched the other two, each a winner for five hundred dollars.

I laughed and shook my head. “Now this is why you married a cursed fairy.”

“It’s a nice bonus.” His smile said he loved me. It said there were more than two thousand reasons he’d marry me, and if given the option he’d marry me again in an instant. “Mostly it’s the undeniably overwhelming love I feel for you.”

“Overwhelming, huh?”

“Undeniably.”

An undeniable smile pulled across my face. Pure joy filled my heart. “I love you, too.”

He pressed some keys on his phone. Music began to play.

Soft jazz drifted through the kitchen, transporting me back to The Blue Whisper, to how we met, and to how we’d found each other again.

He stood slowly, with the confidence of a musician. He offered me his hand.

No words were needed. It was the quiet invitation of fingers I knew better than my own.

Obviously, I accepted and slipped my hand into his.

His grip was warm, sure, familiar. He drew me up gently and into his arms. I leaned in without thinking—without hesitation.

We began to sway, slow and easy, moving together in the space between the notes.

I rested my head against his chest, and there it was—his heartbeat. Steady. Strong. The quiet rhythm that had anchored me for years, through everything.

I could feel his breath, the rise and fall of it. The gentle shift of muscle beneath skin. The strength in his arms, relaxed but always ready to catch me.

My eyes drifted closed.

I let myself melt into him, into the music, into the softness of the moment that asked for nothing. Just this. Just us.

After everything—hedgehogs, fairies, teenagers—we were here. Still swaying. Still choosing each other.

“Want to make out in my hatchback?” I whispered.

He chuckled, and I could feel it against my cheek. “Always, Erika. Always.”