Page 27 of Hex and the Kitty

“I think the feeling might be your wife wants to tell you something,” Warrick said.

“It’s possible,” Bram grinned.

Warrick stared at them, momentarily speechless. He’d known the town’s witches were invested in matchmaking, but this level of orchestration was unexpected. His tiger, far from being offended, seemed smug about the attention—especially the part about baby booties.

“So what exactly are you asking me to do?” he finally managed.

“Marry her,” all four said in perfect unison.

“Or at least make some grand romantic gesture,” Reed added when Warrick’s expression darkened. “Something to satisfy the matchmakers so they’ll focus on their own husbands again.”

“I’m not rushing Molly into anything,” Warrick stated firmly, his protective instincts flaring. “She deserves better than being pushed into a relationship to satisfy town gossip.”

His tiger growled in agreement, though for different reasons. Yes, Molly deserved courtship, patience—but she was unquestionably his mate. His tiger had recognized it instantly when their hands touched over those exotic ingredients, the recognition like lightning through his blood. Three centuries of existence, and he’d never felt such immediate, absolute certainty.

“Spoken like a man already gone,” Bram observed with a knowing smile.

TWENTY-TWO

Warrick didn’t deny it, taking a long sip of his coffee instead.

“Look,” Reed said, his tone gentler. “We’re not actually suggesting you rush anything. But maybe acknowledge what everyone else already sees? You look at her like she hung the moon.”

“The way Kade looked at Celeste,” Roarke added. “The way we all look at our mates.”

The word hung in the air between them. Mate. So they had noticed.

“She’s not a shifter,” Warrick said quietly. “She doesn’t have the same instinctive recognition.”

Understanding dawned on their faces. Kade nodded slowly.

“Ah. So that’s it. You know, but she needs time.”

“Celeste isn’t a shifter but she swears she knew before I did,” Kade admitted with a sheepish grin. “Witches have their own way of recognizing these things. Their magic responds.”

Warrick thought of Molly’s floating utensils, the way candles flared higher when their fingers touched, how her entire bakery seemed to hum with energy in his presence.

“Her magic definitely... responds,” he acknowledged.

The men laughed, the tension breaking.

“Trust me,” Reed said, “she knows something special is happening, even if she doesn’t have the word ‘mate’ for it yet. Ellie says Molly can’t stop talking about you.”

A surge of pleasure rippled through Warrick at this information. “She talks about me?”

“Constantly, according to the reports I get,” Reed confirmed. “Apparently, you’re ‘fascinating’ and ‘surprisingly sweet under all that seriousness.’”

Warrick tried and failed to suppress a smile, earning a round of good-natured groans from the table.

“Gods help us, he’s smitten,” Bram declared. “Never thought I’d see the day the new and very stern fire chief would go soft over a witch.”

“I’m not soft,” Warrick growled, though without real heat.

“Your tiger’s practically purring right now,” Kade pointed out. “We can sense it, remember?”

Caught, Warrick shook his head ruefully. “Fine. I enjoy her company. She’s... special.”

“Special,” Roarke repeated with a raised eyebrow. “That’s the word you’re going with?”

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