Chapter 10 The Gift, Transformed
THE GIFT, TRANSFORMED
WHERE THE MAGIC FINALLY MAKES SENSE. AND SO DO I.
Sunday brunch at Cassie’s had become a thing.
Not an official thing—we hadn’t named it or put it on a calendar. It just happened. Every Sunday morning, I showed up with pastries from the bakery downtown, Cassie made coffee that was slightly too strong, and we sat at her kitchen table while Luna judged us from her perch on the refrigerator.
Liam usually pretended he had somewhere else to be, but he didn’t. He just felt awkward intruding on what he called “the sacred feminine brunch ritual,” which was adorable and also ridiculous because mostly we just complained about our weeks and ate croissants.
But this Sunday felt different.
I felt different.
“You’re glowing,” Cassie said, squinting at me over her coffee cup. “Not literally—let me check.” She tilted her head, did that thing she did now where she looked slightly past you. “No, not literally. But something’s changed.”
“I had a good week.”
“With Marcus?”
“At Marcus’s apartment. Multiple times now.” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “We’re… figuring things out.”
“Figuring things out,” she repeated, grinning. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m happy for you. Genuinely.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You deserve this.”
Liam wandered in from the living room, saw me, and immediately tried to wander back out.
“Liam.” Cassie’s voice had that tone—the one that meant escape was not an option. “Come say hi to Diane. Get some coffee.”
“I did say hi. Earlier. From a distance.” But he came anyway, settling into the chair beside Cassie with the resigned air of a man who had learned that resistance was futile. “Morning, Diane.”
“Morning, Liam.”
He reached for a croissant, and that’s when it happened.
I felt something. Not saw—felt. Like a lens clicking into focus, like a radio finding the right frequency.
There was a thread between them—not visible exactly, more like the afterimage of something bright.
Golden. Warm. A connection that ran deeper than the binding that had originally tied him to this house, deeper than magic.
Something real. Something permanent.
And underneath it, wrapped around it like ribbon around a gift: certainty. His certainty. That she was it. That he’d waited his whole life without knowing he was waiting, and now the waiting was over.
“He’s going to propose,” I said.
The words came out before I could stop them. Liam choked on his croissant. Cassie’s coffee cup froze halfway to her mouth. Luna’s tail twitched from her perch on the refrigerator in what might have been amusement.
“I—that’s—how did you—” Liam sputtered, going red. “I haven’t even bought the ring yet!”
“But you’re going to.” I stared at him, at the golden thread I could somehow see-but-not-see. “Soon. You’ve already decided. You’re just figuring out the logistics.”
“Diane.” Cassie set down her cup very carefully. “What did you just do?”
“I don’t know.” But that wasn’t quite true. I did know—I just didn’t understand it yet. “I felt something. Between you two. Like a thread? A connection? And I could feel what he was feeling. The certainty.”
Luna dropped from the refrigerator to the counter to the floor in three precise movements, then hopped onto the table. “The gift is settling.”
“The gift is doing WHAT?”
“You made a choice. Committed to it. Really committed—not just said the words, but lived them. And now the magic isn’t wasting energy generating chaos anymore.” She blinked at me with those golden eyes. “It can do what it was always supposed to do.”
“Which is?”
“See. Rosalinda didn’t generate options. She saw connections. Real ones. Permanent ones. She could look at two people and know whether they belonged together.”
“And now I can…?”
“Now you’re starting to.”
I looked at Cassie and Liam again. The thread was still there—fainter now, like it was fading back into whatever invisible spectrum it lived in, but definitely there. Real. True.
“You two are solid,” I said slowly, testing the words against what I felt. “Like, really solid. Whatever happens, however hard it gets—you’re going to make it.”
Cassie’s eyes went bright. Liam reached over and took her hand, and the thread pulsed with warmth.
“That’s…” Cassie blinked rapidly. “That’s really good to know.”
“And Liam? When you do propose? Make it good. She deserves good.”
“I know.” His voice was rough. “I know she does.”
I found Margaret in her garden that afternoon, doing something mysterious with herbs and copper wire.
“I can see things now,” I said without preamble. “Connections. Between people. Is that supposed to happen?”
She didn’t look up from her work. “You chose. The magic settled. Yes, it’s supposed to happen.”
“Liam’s going to propose to Cassie.”
“I know.”
“You KNOW? How do you know? Can you see it too?”
“I can see that he’s been looking at rings online for three weeks and accidentally left the browser history open on Cassie’s laptop.” She finally looked up, mouth twitching. “Not everything requires magic, dear.”
I laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of me. “Fair enough.”
“But yes.” She set down her copper wire and gave me her full attention.
“Your great-aunt’s gift was clarity. She could look at two people and see whether they were meant for each other.
Not just attracted—meant. The deep compatibility that makes marriages last decades instead of fizzling out after the infatuation fades. ”
“And I have that now?”
“You’re learning it. The chaos was the magic responding to your indecision—generating every possibility because you wouldn’t narrow them down. Now that you’ve chosen, it can focus. Direct itself toward what it’s actually designed to do.”
“Help people find love.”
“Help you see love. Clearly. Without the noise.” She picked up her wire again. “It’s not a parlor trick, Diane. It’s not fortune-telling or matchmaking for entertainment. It’s a gift—and like all gifts, it comes with responsibility.”
“What kind of responsibility?”
“To be honest. To be careful. To remember that what you see is potential, not guarantee. Even the strongest connections can be broken by poor choices.” She twisted the wire into a shape I didn’t recognize.
“Your great-aunt helped hundreds of couples find each other. But she also told some people the truth they didn’t want to hear—that the person they’d chosen wasn’t right.
That they were settling. That they needed to let go. ”
I thought about that. About what it would mean to look at someone and know their relationship was doomed. To see the cracks they were papering over.
“That sounds terrible.”
“It can be. It can also be a kindness.” She met my eyes. “But we’ll work on that later. For now—go see your man. You’ve earned some happiness.”
Marcus opened the door like he’d been waiting.
“You’re early,” he said, but he was smiling—that transformative smile I was starting to think of as mine.
“I can come back later.”
“Don’t you dare.” He stepped aside, and I walked into the warmth of his apartment, into the space that had stopped feeling like a museum and started feeling like possibility.
He’d cooked. Actually cooked—not just reheated something or assembled a cheese plate, but made dinner. The apartment smelled like garlic and herbs and something that might have been wine reduced into a sauce.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.” He handed me a glass of wine, and our fingers brushed. “I’ve been thinking about the last few weeks. About how different everything feels.”
“Good different?”
“Terrifying different.” He clinked his glass against mine. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize you’ve made a mistake.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know. That’s the terrifying part.” He set down his wine glass. Stepped closer. “I’ve gotten used to being alone. I know how to do alone. This—” he gestured between us, “—I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
“Neither do I.” I set down my glass too. “But I’d rather figure it out with you than be good at being alone.”
Something shifted in his expression. The careful guard he still sometimes wore—the one that protected the grief underneath—cracked. Just a little.
“I have something for you,” he said.
“You made dinner. That’s enough.”
“It’s not—it’s not a gift exactly.” He crossed to the bookshelf, pulled something from behind a stack of books. “I found it last week. In Sarah’s things. I think she would have wanted you to have it.”
It was a small box. Velvet, old, the kind that held jewelry. My heart stuttered.
“Marcus—”
“It’s not a ring,” he said quickly. “I’m not—we’re not—I mean, someday, maybe, but—” He took a breath. “Just open it.”
I opened it.
Inside was a brooch. Small, delicate, shaped like a key. The metal was tarnished with age, but there was something about it—a warmth, a hum I could almost feel.
“Sarah collected things that resonated,” Marcus said quietly. “Objects that felt different. She never knew why, but she was drawn to them.” He touched the edge of the box. “I think this one was waiting for you.”
I lifted the brooch out carefully. The moment my fingers touched it, I felt it—a pulse of something, like recognition. Like the object knew me.
“It’s magical,” I breathed.
“I thought it might be.” He watched me turn it over in my hands. “It seemed right. A key. For someone who finally stopped keeping all the doors open.”
My eyes stung. “Marcus.”
“You don’t have to wear it. I just thought—”
I kissed him. Cut off whatever he was going to say with my mouth on his, pouring everything I couldn’t find words for into the contact.
When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
“Thank you,” I said. “For the brooch. For dinner. For all of it.”
“Thank you for staying.”
“I keep telling you—”
“I know. But I keep needing to hear it.” He pulled me closer. “I’m working on that.”