Chapter 3

Studmuffin adopted me about five months ago when he appeared inside Sunray's, strode through the shop like he owned the place, and then immediately started baking for my customers. As cats sometimes do.

Like I did with all animals, I'd melted into a puddle, completely smitten. He had stunning yellow-green eyes, a white chest and white murder mittens, and sleek black and white fur. Total studmuffin. He had resting you-obviously-didn't-study face, which was why I called him Professor. The Studmuffin part was obvious, and I'd always liked the name Salvitore. He looked so regal and serious that I added the III at the end. His name fit him to a T.

He specialized in zero-calorie cakes that didn't pack on the pounds but tasted like they should. He also brewed the perfect cup of coffee or tea. His other skills included finding the most uncomfortable places to nap and purring as loud as the cars I worked on. He had more magic in one little murder mitten than I ever would, but I loved him fiercely. Even failed witches needed familiars, I supposed, and he was all mine.

"Oh, you're coming with me?" I scrunched my nose up at him as he trotted past toward my car.

It was after hours at Sunray's. Boxy had already gone home to his secret ninja fortress I'd been to exactly zero times. Begrudgingly, I was headed to Speedy Zone with Travis's contract so I could throw it in his face.

Studmuffin pawed at my car door and blinked expectantly at me over his shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes," I muttered.

It made me nervous to drive with him since he insisted on sitting in my lap, paws at ten and two on the steering wheel. I'd once tried to wrestle him into a cat carrier for safety's sake before hitting the road, but it hadn't gone well. We'd stayed home instead, me nursing my wounds and Studmuffin nursing his pride. That was obviously the last time that would ever happen.

I opened the door of my muscle car for him, a purple Pontiac Firebird I named Bernadette. The feminine version of a Studmuffin. It ran like a dream because of course it did. My familiar hopped in, and soon we were cruising through the quaint, bustling streets of downtown Belle's Cove.

It was an early Friday evening in June, too hot to crack the windows and let the Georgia peach-scented air breeze through our hair. I did anyway though. People strolled down the sidewalks in front of cozy shop windows, smiling, laughing, and sometimes stopping to peer inside the shops. Others sat on benches beneath the twinkling lights stringing from one tree to the next. Belle's Cove had a magical feel about it, a unique energy unlike any place I had ever visited. I couldn't imagine living anyplace else.

Speedy Zone was still open when we arrived, its neon lights blazing and cars parked haphazardly in the large parking lot.

"No falling asleep on his boot this time, all right?" I said into the top of Studmuffin's furry head.

He pressed back into my kiss like he always did.

"Okay, but that wasn't an agreement that you won't fall asleep on his boot."

He yawned and waited for me to open the door for him. Witch, servant. Was there really a difference to him?

"Welcome, welcome!" a cheery voice said as soon as we walked in the front door.

It didn't come from the woman sitting behind the counter. She looked half crazed as if she'd heard the automatic door greeting one too many times. She looked in her early twenties, and her expertly winged eyeliner made her resemble a cat. Just...how? How do women do that so well with their makeup? Whenever I tried, I looked like a panda bear.

"We close in thirty minutes," she barked.

Ah, good old Southern hospitality. Like the woman's tone, Speedy Zone was the opposite of warm and inviting. The lights were too bright, the tile floors too polished, and there was a distinct lack of cake, coffee, and tea scents. The place stank of oil and exhaust. Not good at all.

"I'll be out in one," I told the woman. "Is Travis Black here?"

She jerked her head toward a side hallway and then peered over the counter at Studmuffin. "I don't think you can have cats in here."

"Oh, he's not a cat. He's a familiar studmuffin."

Frowning, she tilted her head. "A what?"

My familiar and I grinned, and we sauntered down the hallway past a bathroom toward a small office. Precarious stacks of file folders and loose papers were piled everywhere, on the desk, on the floor, leaving hardly any room for Travis, let alone the two of us. Without knocking, we wedged ourselves in anyway.

"Hey," I said, my voice crisp.

Behind us from the bathroom, running water and humming sounded.

"Hey. I thought I heard your spice coming." Travis stood and weaved toward us. He looked bored and tired and not at all surprised to see me, which angered me even more.

"You heard...right." Oh no. There went Studmuffin, straight to Travis's left cowboy boot again, but a different pair from last night. These were a reddish color, the toes worn and faded.

Travis smiled. "I think your cat likes me."

"He's like this with everyone." Except he wasn't at all. He tolerated most people, but there was something about Travis's boots that made him sleepy. Sleepier.

Studmuffin tapped the boot as if to test its softness and then rubbed his cheek all over it. Such a fluffer-stinker.

"Did you roll yourself in catnip or something?" I asked Travis.

"Well, obviously." The green in his hazel eyes sparked with humor. "Is this visit work-related or did you just miss me?"

"Miss you?" I took a deep, steadying breath. This man was really something special if he actually thought I'd missed him. "Look, I hunted you down to let you know I'm not interested in buying Speedy Zone. Find another buyer. Or grow a pair of cement boots to sink you back to the pit you oozed from."

He lifted his eyebrows and nodded, as if agreeing with me that that might be the best choice. "How does one grow cement boots? Are there special seeds for that or...?"

I shoved the folded-up contract at his chest, my fingertips meeting hard steel underneath his black T-shirt. "You're going to drive me insane, aren't you? Did you hear a word I said? I'm not interested."

"Wait." He wrapped his hand around my wrist as I started to leave, his index finger empty of his glowing blue ring. "What are you doing tomorrow at eight o'clock?"

The question pulled me up short. What did that have to do with not buying Speedy Zone? "Why?"

"Just...hear me out." Something shifted behind his tired, shadowed eyes, as if he'd been struck by something he'd just read on my face.

"I don't owe you anything."

"No. You don't. But I have a..." He chuckled. "Proposal."

"Does it involve you disappearing from my life?"

He shrugged, his rough fingers still attached to my wrist. "It...could. Eventually. And I'll even promise to figure out the whole cement shoes thing and keep you posted."

I sank my eyes closed and sighed. "I'm listening."

"Come to our farm at eight o'clock for cobbler with my grandmother and me." He paused a beat, as if to gauge my reaction. "As my fiancée."

I blinked hard at him until I feared I might pull an eye muscle. Had he really just asked me that? The nerve!