CHAPTER SIX
Skye
Early—always way too early—a familiar kneading sensation pulls me awake the next morning.
I crack open one eye, trying to hold still, so she’ll think I’m asleep.
But my cat’s too smart for that. A hopeful little meep sounds as two amber eyes peek over the edge of my comforter.
As soon as Princess Buttercup confirms I’m awake, the calico starts purring even louder, the sound echoing off the walls like someone trapped an engine in the room.
Her little paws knead my tummy in a faster rhythm.
“You want breakfast, huh?” I dig my hand into the long, soft fur of her ruff, scratching under her chin. She’s a lovely mix of black, white, and orange made even more beautiful by being a longhair, and she knows it, ruling the house with a queenly air. “As you wish.”
It’s an ongoing joke that goes with her name. She might not understand the words from my favorite book and movie, The Princess Bride, but my cat knows I’ll always do as she wants.
She purrs harder and pushes her head into my hand. It ought to defy the laws of physics for a nine-pound cat to be able to purr so loudly, but I’ve always said cats are magical, even before magic returned to the world.
Light filters through the gauzy white curtains covering the window, blushing the walls of my bedroom a pale pink.
A yawn cracks my jaw as I check the clock.
Six am My usual waking time, though who even knows if I have a reason to get up this early today?
Things are still up in the air with whether Luke will hire me to catalog his library.
Princess Buttercup crawls up my torso to give my chin a lick so light her raspy tongue feels soft, her amber eyes gazing up at me in adoration.
“Thank you, sweetie.” I cuddle her to me, her ratcheting purr louder this close to my ear and one of the best sounds in the world.
Cradling her with one arm, I push down the pink quilted comforter and climb out of bed.
My toes dig into the fluffy pink rug, and the cool air of my bedroom makes goosebumps break out across my skin.
I slide on my feathered pink slippers before I brave the cottage’s hardwood floors.
I love sleeping with the heat low and piling on the blankets to create a yummy cocoon, but it does make winter mornings nippy.
The fact that I sleep in nothing more than a gauzy babydoll slip and panties set might have something to do with that, too.
It makes me feel pretty in case I meet the guy of my dreams in my dreams.
I click down the hallway, pausing only to turn up the thermostat, then enter the kitchen.
This cottage was my grandmother’s retirement home, and it’s small and cozy and utterly perfect for me.
The sunny yellow kitchen remains my favorite room, containing so many happy memories full of love and creation and joy.
She was the town baker when I was little, and I spent so many amazing evenings and weekends here with her. Food is definitely my love language.
Princess Buttercup wiggles and lets out an excited mrrr as I pull a can of her favorite chicken wet food from the cupboard.
I press a kiss to her soft forehead and set her down.
The entire time it takes me to open the can and portion her meal into a little bowl, she circles my calves, purring and pressing against me in a constant reminder that she’s there.
At her rather insistent headbutt, I giggle. “I’m getting it. Just a minute.”
When I set the dish on the floor, she pounces on it, continuing to purr as she eats. I stroke her back, her long fur silky soft, her coat made up of a beautiful patchwork of orange, white, and black. Her bushy tail rises happily into the air as I give her one last pat.
I bypass my coffee maker—my tummy’s too anxious this morning for that much caffeine—and fill my kettle and set it on the stove.
Pulling out one of Devina’s yummy homemade chai blends, I pop a tea bag into a mug and get ready to doctor it with milk and sugar.
In no time at all, I hold a little cup of heaven, sweet and warm and flavored with the perfect blend of cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger.
Princess Buttercup trots over to where a square of morning sunlight warms the wooden floor and starts her after-breakfast bath, while I sip my tea.
The last snow of winter sparkles over the wooded landscape outside, dusting the pine trees like decoration.
A pair of cardinals hops into view, the crimson male catching my eye first, exactly as nature intends.
His mate follows, her tawny brown color pretty in a softer, more subtle way.
A smile tugs at my lips. They could be me and Luke, the gorgeous weredragon with his scarlet wings and tail commanding everyone’s attention.
Then I snort and murmur, “Don’t be silly, Skye. We’ll never be a couple.” At this point, I don’t even know if I have a job with him, let alone any kind of romantic interest.
Princess Buttercup makes an inquisitive noise.
“It’s nothing, sweetie. Just Mommy daydreaming.” Yep, that’s me, the single woman living alone who talks to her cat as if she can understand me. I take another sip of tea, the milky cinnamon sweetness rolling across my tongue.
She winds around my calves again, as if knowing I need comfort.
Magic shoots through me in a sizzle of electricity. Golden sparkles fill the air, flashing and growing until they blot out everything. I hear one last confused meow from my cat before being whirled away…
I land on the grassy lawn of my cute little backyard in springtime. White flowers cover my apple tree, and a gentle breeze carries their sweet scent. Then, over the chirping of happy birds, I hear my cat meow again, long and low and upset.
“Princess Buttercup!” I dart forward, my feather-covered slippers more pretty than practical, the soles a little slick on the grass. I half step, half fall the final foot to the tree, catching myself on the trunk.
My cat stares down at me from the highest branch and yowls for attention. I could swear it sounds exactly like a drawn-out cry of “Mommm!”
“How did you get up there?” Or maybe the real question should be: how did she get in here, because I must be back inside the book.
I glance at the house behind me to confirm that this is indeed my backyard.
Yep, that’s my little pink cottage, all right.
All of this is really odd. Sure, the heroine in the book has a cat.
Sure, she lives in a little house. But why am I seeing my cat and my house?
Is the spell using things from my mind to create the book’s settings?
More importantly, is this the real Princess Buttercup or just a facsimile? She was touching me when the spell sucked me into the book, so I better assume she’s real to be on the safe side.
“Skye! What’s wrong?”
I turn to find Luke hopping the low wooden fence that separates my yard from next door. Looking human again, he wears fireman pants held up by suspenders and nothing else.
My mouth falls open. Fudge me, his chest… his abs…
His everything.
I swallow. Luke looks like a master sculptor carved his body, all wide shoulders and firm pecs and a six-pack so defined my fingers tingle to trace their lines. He’s got those indentations on his hips, the ones only really fit guys get, the ones I want to lick.
He’s staring at me with a similar intensity, his golden eyes blazing with heat, making me glance down and realize I’m wearing the same lingerie I have on in the real world.
My cheeks flare with mortification. Oh, no, no, no.
Can another book open up and swallow me whole?
I’d even be willing to visit a non-fiction book, if it would get me away from here.
I might adore reading about whoops-we’re-almost-naked encounters in romance books, but that doesn’t mean I want to live one!
“Wow, Skye. You look amazing.”
I giggle, but it’s not me doing it—something has control of my body. My eyelashes flutter a mile a minute in a way I’ve never been able to perfect in real life. Then my mouth says, “I was so worried about Princess Buttercup I forgot I’m in my pajamas.”
“I never knew pajamas looked like that.” Luke’s tone is playful, and he hits me with a megawatt smile I’ve never seen on him before. It makes him devastatingly handsome, and my heart flips and flutters as a million fireworks go off inside my chest.
“Yeah, well, I never knew this was the new firefighter uniform.” I flick a finger toward his shirtless torso. “Gotta say I approve.”
My stomach twists. Am I flirting? I don’t flirt! And with Luke? Snickerdoodle! Even if I did decide to flirt, someone I like is the absolute last guy I’d be able to flirt with.
The feeling of being puppeted fades for a moment, and I gasp, “This isn’t me acting like this, I promise!”
Luke’s somewhat vapid smile quickly melts into his familiar scowl. “Your book is making us do these things.” His emphasis on the word “your” leaves no doubt as to what he thinks of my reading material.
“Mommm.” Princess Buttercup lets out a plaintive meow. “Me!”
The spell grips me again, and I find myself wrapping both hands around one of Luke’s rock-hard biceps to pull him closer to the tree. “You have to help her!”
“Of course.” He gives my hand a little pat and leaps, catching a branch and pulling himself up.
Without wings in the way, I have a clear view of his back, the muscles bunching and rippling as he climbs, his big body moving easily.
In no time at all, he reaches Princess Buttercup.
Cradling her to his chest with one arm, he climbs back down effortlessly in a display of strength that leaves me a little breathless.
“Here you go.” He turns to hand over my cat, our fingers tangling together with a sizzle of awareness.
“How can I ever thank you?” I simper and bat my eyelashes, all while moaning with mortification inside. Flutter. Blink. Flutter.
“I can think of a few ways.” Luke leans forward, his eyes latched onto my lips.