Page 47 of If The Shoe Fits

The tension in the room is almost suffocating.

“When Cyndi and I came here at the end of last year,” Wulfy continues, his voice steady but low enough that only those nearest can hear, “I knew the second I saw you that you were my fated mate. Of course, I explained my intent to tell you to Cyndi.”

The world seems to tilt under my feet as his words sink in. My heart pounds like a drum, and I can barely catch my breath.

“Y-you knew?” I stammer, disbelief lacing my voice. “You knewlast year?”

“Yes,” he admits, his golden eyes meeting mine with unwavering sincerity.

“I knew immediately. But I misjudged how my daughter might take the news.”

His gaze flicks to Cyndi, and his tone hardens slightly. “As it turns out, she’s been using her magicon me. And likely on others here. Baking spells into treats, brewing casts into her tea,” he growls, and the entire room seems to quake.

His words trail off as he gives his daughter a small, gentle shake, and wipes his hand over his face.

“I-I just didn’t want things to change,” Cyndi sniffles, straightening her posture even as tears streak her cheeks.

There’s a flicker of something in her expression—shame, regret, maybe even bravery—and for the first time tonight, I feel a flicker of pride for the girl.

“Change can be scary,” I murmur, stepping closer. “I understand that.”

Cyndi glances at me, her lips trembling as if she wants to argue, but something in my tone must resonate with her because she nods.

“That it can,” Wulfy agrees, his voice softening. “But we deal with change ourselves, not with magic. Changeishappening, Cyndi. And if Madora agrees, there will be some big changes in our household. But not just there.”

Cyndi blinks, her tear-streaked face tilting up toward him. “What do you mean?”

“If she will have me, I am planning to ask Madora to be my mate, andmy wife, understand? Also, your schedule is going to change, daughter,” Wulfy says firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“My schedule?” Cyndi echoes, her voice rising in alarm.

“Oh, yes,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way only a parent can manage. “No more cheering or any extracurriculars until you finish—and pass—Madora’s class.”

“B-but—” Cyndi stammers, her lower lip wobbling.

“Don’t worry, Cyndi,” a voice calls out from the crowd, and we all turn to see Bethany stepping forward, her dress of autumn colors flowing softly around her. “I can help you.”

Cyndi blinks in surprise as Bethany moves closer, her expression full of quiet determination.

“I can help, too,” says Daniel, Bethany’s brother, stepping up beside her.

“And me,” adds Matthew Jones, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a surprising confidence.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I watch the group come together.

The tension in the room eases as the four teenagers exchange awkward smiles and nods. There’s something unexpectedly heartwarming about the sight, and I find myself wondering what kind of teenage romantic drama might emerge from this little group.

Cyndi’s lips tremble, but this time it’s not from anger or tears.

She takes a shaky breath, nodding as a small, tentative smile breaks through her haughty façade.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

The four of them turn and walk off together, the beginnings of what I hope will be a solid friendship forming in their wake.

Sans magical tea and cupcakes, of course.

“Hopefully, that’s exactly what they all need,” I whisper, watching them disappear into the crowd.

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