Chapter 11 The New Normal #2
I could see the threads between them now, if I focused.
Golden lines of connection, some bright and strong, others newer and still forming.
Cassie and Liam’s thread was a rope—thick and unbreakable, woven from a year of chaos and love and choosing each other over and over again.
Margaret’s connections were different—thinner, more numerous, spreading out to people and places I couldn’t see.
And Marcus and me—our thread was still new. Still growing. But solid. Real. Getting stronger every day.
“You’re doing the thing,” Cassie said, catching my eye. “The seeing thing.”
“Sorry. It’s still hard to turn off.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s interesting.” She tilted her head. “What do you see?”
“That we’re all stuck with each other.” I grinned. “Cosmically speaking.”
“I can think of worse fates,” Liam said. “Though I’d prefer if the cosmic stuckness came with fewer raccoon cults.”
“Book club,” Luna corrected. “They’re very civilized. They have a rating system.”
“Of course they do.”
The evening wound on the way it always did—dishes cleared, wine refilled, conversations overlapping and weaving together.
Margaret told stories about Rosalinda that made me wish I’d known my great-aunt.
Liam attempted to explain Scottish football to Marcus, who pretended to understand.
Cassie and I retreated to the kitchen to “help with dessert,” which really meant gossip while eating ice cream directly from the container.
“So,” she said, handing me a spoon. “How’s domestic bliss?”
“Weird. Good weird.” I dug into the chocolate chip. “We had the L-word conversation this morning.”
“The L-word—” Her eyes went wide. “You said it? Out loud? With your mouth?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Diane. You’ve been avoiding that word like it was a tax audit. This is huge.”
“It just… slipped out. We were arguing about towels and suddenly I was telling him I loved him.”
“The most romantic setting.”
“Shut up.” But I was smiling. “He said it back. And it didn’t feel scary. It just felt… true.”
Cassie set down her spoon and hugged me. A real hug, the kind that meant something.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said into my hair. “You know that, right? A year ago, you would have run screaming from anything that felt this real.”
“A year ago, I didn’t have a possessed phone forcing me to confront my commitment issues.”
“Silver linings.” She pulled back, grinning. “The magic knew what it was doing.”
“The magic was chaotic and overwhelming and nearly drove me insane.”
“And yet.” She gestured vaguely at everything—the house, the people, the life I’d somehow built. “Here you are.”
Here I was. In a kitchen that wasn’t mine, eating ice cream with my best friend, while the man I loved argued about sports in the next room. Living a life I never thought I’d have because I’d been too scared to reach for it.
“Here I am,” I agreed. “Finally.”
Later, after the dishes were done and the goodbyes were said and we'd made it back to the apartment above the antique shop, Marcus and I collapsed on the couch.
The apartment was quiet. Warm. The kind of quiet that didn't feel empty anymore—that felt full, somehow. Full of his books and my shampoo bottles and the cat currently claiming the entire armchair like he owned it.
"Thank you," I said.
Marcus looked over, eyebrows raised. "For what?"
"For calling me out. Back when this started." I shifted to face him, tucking my legs underneath me. "For not letting me treat you like a backup plan. For demanding I actually figure out what I wanted instead of just... hovering forever."
"You deserved someone who'd fight for you." His voice was quiet. "Even if I had to make you fight first."
"That's either romantic or manipulative."
"Little of both." His mouth twitched. "I'm Scottish-adjacent by virtue of spending too much time with Liam."
I laughed, surprised by the warmth that bloomed in my chest. "Scottish-adjacent. Is that a thing?"
"It is now. I've adopted the grumpiness and the tendency to solve problems with tea. Next I'll develop opinions about whisky."
"Please don't. One whisky snob in the friend group is enough."
He pulled me closer, and I went willingly, settling into his side like I'd been doing it for years instead of weeks. His arm around my shoulders. My head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear.
This was what I'd been so afraid of. This quiet, ordinary intimacy. The vulnerability of letting someone see you rumpled and real, day after day, without the escape hatch of knowing you could leave.
But I didn't want to leave. That was the miracle of it. For the first time in my life, I wanted to stay.
"I love you," I said.
The words came out easy. Natural. Like I'd been saying them forever instead of for just a few hours.
Marcus pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love you too. Even though you have seven shampoos."
"Eight, actually. I forgot about the one in my gym bag."
"You don't go to the gym."
"I might start."
"You won't."
"I won't. But the shampoo is there if I do."
He laughed—a real laugh, the kind that shook his chest and made me smile just from hearing it. "You're ridiculous."
"You keep saying that."
"It keeps being true."
My phone buzzed.
I considered ignoring it. Considered letting the outside world wait, just this once, so I could hold onto this moment a little longer.
But it buzzed again. And again. The pattern I recognized as Cassie's particular brand of text-urgency.
"Uh oh," I muttered, fishing the phone from between the couch cushions.
Cassie: DIANE
Cassie: Something weird is happening at the winery
Cassie: Apparently the vines have been MOVING
Cassie: Like MOVING moving
Cassie: Luna says something's waking up over there
Cassie: I think we have another one
I stared at the screen. Read the messages again. Let out a long, slow breath.
"Oh no."
"What?" Marcus leaned over to look. Read. Closed his eyes with the resigned expression of a man who'd learned that magical chaos was simply part of his life now. "Another one?"
"Looks like."
"Another magical romantic catastrophe?"
"Probably. The vines moved, Marcus. That's not normal vine behavior."
"No," he agreed. "That's not normal vine behavior."
I should have felt tired. Overwhelmed. Ready to hide under the covers and pretend the magical world didn't exist.
Instead, I felt something like excitement. Like anticipation. Like the beginning of a story I couldn't wait to hear.
"I should probably call her," I said.
"Probably."
"Make sure she's okay. Offer support. Bring wine, eventually."
"That does seem to be your specialty."
I started to get up, but Marcus caught my hand. Pulled me back down.
"In a minute," he said. "She can wait five minutes."
"The vines are moving."
"The vines will still be moving in five minutes." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gentleness of it made my heart clench. "Stay. Just for a moment."
So I stayed. Let myself sink back into his warmth, into the quiet of our apartment, into the life we were building together one towel argument at a time.
The magical crisis would wait. They always did.
And when it was time to show up—with wine and commentary and whatever wisdom I'd accumulated from my own disaster—I'd be there. Not as the supporting character. Not as the comic relief in someone else's story.
As me. Diane Martinez. Main character. Love witch. Woman who'd finally learned that staying was braver than running.
It had only taken forty-seven years and one possessed phone to figure it out.
But hey—better late than never.