December 15, Sunday

WINTER SUNLIGHT filtered through the curtains, painting stripes across tangled sheets. I watched Sawyer move around my bedroom with lazy contentment, admiring the play of muscles across his back as he pulled on his jeans.

He paused at my vanity, picking up a delicate silver bracelet. "This is pretty."

"Thanks." I frowned, the warm glow of the morning suddenly dimming. "Curtis gave it to me."

"Ah." He set it down carefully. "How's that situation going?"

I sat up, pulling the quilt around me. "Worse. He's demanding half a million dollars to retract his claims about writing my books." I sighed. "And I had to completely rewrite the ending of my new manuscript because he posted spoilers online."

"Can't you prove you wrote them?"

"The files were on my old laptop that died. And Curtis is... persuasive. He has a huge social media following now, and people believe what he says." I pushed my hair back in frustration. "My publisher is getting nervous."

Sawyer sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding mine. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

I laughed. "I wish. But no… I'll figure out something." I leaned over and pulled back the curtain, pointing up at the pale disk visible in the bright morning sky. "Look – full moon's already up."

"So early?"

"Mm-hmm. Which means I need to prepare for another power outage." I smiled wryly. "Tilda says that's when the energy around the graveyard is strongest. When spells are most powerful."

Sawyer laughed, pulling me into his arms. "Or maybe it's just solar flares affecting the transformer. How about I make you pancakes instead of worrying about magic?"

I melted into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent. "Pancakes sound perfect."

He kissed me softly, then stood. "I'll get started while you shower."

After he left, I stared at the bracelet on my vanity. Such a pretty thing, given with such ugly intentions. Curtis had known exactly what he was doing – buying beautiful gifts with my own money, all while planning to destroy everything I'd built.

The moon hung in the bright morning sky like an omen. Or maybe a promise.

I thought of Tilda's words about the universe having its own way of dealing with people like Curtis. Of Muriel's wisdom about bitter things becoming sweet with the right preparation.

From downstairs came the homey sounds of Sawyer moving around my kitchen, the clatter of pans and the whisper of cupboards opening and closing. The simple magic of ordinary moments.

Maybe that was the real answer – not curses or crystals or half-million-dollar payoffs, but simply living well. Writing my stories. Loving fully. Letting the universe balance its own scales.

I smiled, remembering Sawyer's practical explanation for the power outages. Solar flares indeed.

Standing, I stretched and headed for the shower. Through the window, I could see the graveyard peaceful in the winter morning, headstones casting long shadows across frosted grass.

The moon would rise properly tonight, full and bright over Irving. The power would probably go out, as it always did during the full moon.

But somehow, that didn't seem to matter as much anymore. Not with the promise of pancakes and lazy Sunday kisses. Not with Sawyer's solid presence anchoring me to this moment, this place, this unexpected life I'd found.

And would have to leave very soon.