Chapter 2
Rob
The words come out flat.
Dead.
Like I already know I’m not going to like whatever comes next.
“Wait!” Uncle Uzzi beams like he just invented sunshine. “I really am a magical matchmaking Witch! A descendant of Aphrodite. Finder of fated mates and fixer of lonely hearts! And proud owner and creator of the Date to Mate magical matchmaking app!”
My eye twitches again.
Because, of course, that’s a thing.
I drag a hand down my face, already feeling a headache forming.
“It’s still no.”
Uncle Uzzi blinks at me.
“No. Nope,” I repeat, pushing back from the table and standing. “Absolutely not. I don’t do swipe right to fuck apps.”
Because that’s what this is.
Doesn’t matter how he dresses it up.
It’s an app.
With magic.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Uncle Uzzi leans back in his chair, completely unfazed.
“You say that like love is a bad thing, Robert.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Not bad,” I say. “Just not for me.”
And that?
That’s the truth.
I’m not built for it.
Never have been.
I’m a soldier.
A fighter.
A man who’s spent more nights in sand and blood than in a bed.
I’ve done things.
Seen things.
Things that don’t wash off, no matter how many times you try.
You don’t come back from that and suddenly decide to play house.
To settle down.
To give someone forever.
Fuck no.
I don’t do forever.
I do missions.
I do objectives.
I do get in, get out, survive.
Relationships?
They’re temporary.
Physical.
Clean.
No strings.
No expectations.
Wham, bam—thank you, ma’am.
Everyone walks away intact.
That’s the deal.
That’s the only deal I make.
“Ah,” Uncle Uzzi hums, steepling his fingers like he’s already figured me out. “So you’re afraid.”
I stop mid-step.
Turn slowly.
“Careful, old man.”
He grins.
Unbothered.
“Oh, I’m always careful,” he says. “But I’m also right.”
I stare at him.
Because I don’t like that tone.
Don’t like the way he’s looking at me like I’m something to be solved.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” I tell him.
“Except wanting something you can’t control,” he counters immediately.
That—
That hits closer than I want it to.
So I scoff.
“Not interested,” I say, crossing my arms. “I don’t need a mate. I don’t need some magical app telling me who I’m supposed to end up with.”
“Fated mates,” he corrects, wagging a finger. “Very important distinction.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Still a no.”
Because the idea alone?
It itches.
Like a trap.
Like something that takes choice out of the equation and replaces it with destiny.
And I don’t trust destiny.
I trust myself.
And myself says?
Don’t get attached.
Don’t get comfortable.
Don’t give anyone the chance to become something you can’t walk away from.
“You think you’re unworthy,” Uncle Uzzi says suddenly.
My gaze snaps back to him.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
“Watch it.”
But he doesn’t back down.
Of course he doesn’t.
“You think what you’ve done disqualifies you,” he continues, quieter now, but no less certain. “That you’re not fit for a mate. Not fit for a happy ending.”
My jaw tightens.
Because he’s not entirely wrong.
But I’ll be damned if I let him say it like that.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I growl.
He shrugs.
“I know enough.”
Silence stretches between us.
Heavy.
Then—he slides his phone across the table.
The screen lights up.
Bright.
Annoyingly cheerful.
“Just download it,” he says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I stare at it.
At the stupid, glowing icon.
At the idea of letting something—someone—decide who I’m meant to be with.
My Tiger stirs.
Not interested.
Not invested.
Just aware.
Behind me, someone snorts.
It’s Reg.
The jerkwad.
My annoyingly happy brother strolls over, his mate tucked under his arm like she belongs there.
“Hi, Uncle Uzzi. Welcome! So, what’s going on here?”
“Hello, Reg, Gretchen,” the old man says and smiles. “Just telling Rob here about Date to Mate, but he’s declining my services.”
“What? Come on, Rob,” Reg says. “You should hear him out.”
“Yeah, Uncle Uzzi is amazing,” Gretchen adds.
Nothing against my brother’s mate, but I beg to differ. See, in my experience Witches aren’t to be trusted.
And this one?
He looks iffy to me.
“Sorry, but uh, I don’t need love.”
My Tiger huffs.
Liar.
Everyone just stares.
So, I repeat myself.
“I’m not looking for a mate.”
“But what if I already found her?’ the old man asks.
“No thanks. I just don’t believe in fate.”
Hunter folds his arms, clearly enjoying this.
Uzzi tilts his head like he’s examining a particularly stubborn puzzle.
“Ah,” he murmurs. “Yes. Classic resistance. Very common with Tigers.”
“I’m not resistant,” I say. “I’m realistic.”
“Of course you are, Liebling.”
Then he pulls out his phone.
Which immediately worries me.
“Allow me to show you my latest update.”
The screen lights up with a sleek pink-and-blue interface.
DATE TO MATE.
I stare at it like it might explode.
“It’s a magical matchmaking app,” Uzzi says proudly. “Completely upgraded this season.”
“I’m not signing up.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
That makes me pause.
“What?”
Uzzi smiles like a man who already knows the punchline.
“You’re what we call a legacy client.”
“Meaning?”
“Your brother is a former client. So, his information is already incorporated in my files.”
Reg grins.
I frown.
“So what?”
“So, when a client is matched,” Uzzi continues, “their immediate family becomes eligible for predictive pairing.”
My stomach sinks.
Uzzi taps the screen.
His phone buzzes.
Then, my phone buzzes.
I look down.
Hunter chuckles.
Reg claps me on the back.
“Looks like the app has already found your match,” Uncle Uzzi announces with a wicked grin—and are those blue sparkles swirling around his hands?
“No,” I say.
My Tiger goes very still.
I pull out my phone.
The screen glows.
DATE TO MATE
MATCH FOUND
Below that is the female’s information.
Name: Hadley Smith
Occupation: Ice Cream Shop Owner
Residing in: Maverick Point
Next, her photo pops up.
And fuck, she’s pretty.
Really pretty.
Curly chestnut colored hair.
Velvety brown eyes.
A pouty lower lip.
And she’s—she’s soft.
Rounded. Curvy.
Exactly the kind of woman I’m attracted to.
My Tiger immediately wakes up.
Mine.
I scowl at the phone.
“Nope.”
Mine.
“Shut up.”
“Are you talking to yourself, bro? Reg is practically vibrating with excitement.
“Fuck you, Reg,” I snarl.
“Come on, Rob. Just click on the damn thing and download the app,” Reg says.
“No, I’m not doing magical dating.”
“It’s not dating,” Reg says smugly. “It’s fate.”
I scoff.
“There’s no harm in meeting the lady, is there?” Uncle Uzzi asks.
“Unless, of course, my big bro is chicken,” Reg taunts.
And that’s it.
I download the damn thing just to shut him up.
The moment the app installs—my phone buzzes again.
Location detected.
Mate nearby.
My Tiger stands up inside my chest like a king reclaiming his throne.
Mine.
I stare at the screen.
Then, toward the row of shops lining the square.
One storefront catches my eye.
AGATHA’S ICE CREAM
Lights glowing.
Door open.
And standing behind the counter—is the prettiest, curviest woman I have ever seen in my life.
My Tiger chuffs.
MINE.
I swallow.
“Oh, hell.”
Because apparently fate just served me my mate with a side of waffle cones.
And my Tiger?
My Tiger is already walking toward her.