They say love conquers all, but while that might have proven true for curses, love alone could never win the first place in the Harvest Feast contest.

Ambrose was too calm about the impending deadline hanging above them like the headman’s axe, and that made Laura all the more anxious. There was barely more than a day left for her to figure out her recipe, and as much as she wanted to enjoy her time with her best rival, she still had to beat him to the prize.

It was hard to nurture the competitive spirit with the man himself puttering around her workshop. He was only supposed to come over for the cup of tea she had promised, then get back to his own business. And they did have the tea, with some buttered toast and wildflower jelly on the side, for old times’ sake. It was all going as planned until their innocent chat veered into contest territory, and from there on, Laura couldn’t get rid of him anymore.

“I almost wish I’d let you stay cursed a little longer,” she mumbled under her breath, watching as he rummaged through her ingredient drawers.

He picked out a jar old enough that the ink on the label had faded to nothing, and opened it, sniffing its contents. For someone who had barely escaped the claws of a spell, he ought to have been more cautious around her kitchen.

“Why don’t you stick with your initial plan, without the magic?” he asked, too absorbed in his search to register the mounting hostility in her stance.

She scoffed. “Chocolate liqueurs are nothing new, and without the effect of a love potion—the use of which has been outlawed before we were born, I must add—mine are hardly better than average.”

“Now, now,” he said, turning on her with his arms crossed. “I can’t let you talk that way about my favorite confectioner’s work. The chocolate shells were perfect, from the size and shape to the way they melted in your mouth in mere moments. As for the filling, while I’ve never been a great fan of alcohol, and I’ve since learned to hate potions as well, the taste was quite pleasant. There was an undertone of herbs and a warm feeling, like the last dregs of summer crammed into one bite. That is nowhere near average.”

Laura blinked at him, speechless. She tried to remember whether he had been that cheesy before, or if it was a new development after the kisses they had shared earlier that day. He had definitely paid her compliments in the past, but they were vague memories, overshadowed by her competitiveness at the time. In any case, she found she liked this side of him, and if he was a little too sweet in his effusions, it was something she could get used to. And something he had said stuck with her.

“The last dregs of summer crammed into one bite,” she repeated, her mind already coming up with ideas on which ingredients could fit that description. “I like the sound of that, and I think I know just how to tweak the filling to let that feeling shine through.”

He smiled, a satisfied twinkle lighting up his eyes. “So what do we do?”

“We are going to say our goodbyes for today and work on our contest entries separately. Why are you even trying to help me, anyway? We’re competitors right now, and if I’m going to get the golden medal, I want it to be by my own efforts. I can’t have you helping me, or, worse yet, throwing the fight. This hasn’t changed just because our relationship is… different now.”

They hadn’t talked about the kiss and what it had meant for them, and she wasn’t about to delve deeper into that just then. Fortunately, Ambrose brushed over it, too.

“Don’t worry about that. Your work is stellar, and you deserve that golden medal more than anyone else in the competition, but I’m excellent at my own craft, too. My entry for this year is my best one yet, and I’m sure even you will love it. I was never going to just let you take that first spot. You’ll have to fight for it.”

He beamed with confidence, and Laura, rather than being annoyed with this display, felt strangely elated. She lived for a good competition, and he was giving her just that.

“Better yet,” Ambrose went on, “let’s make a bet. If I win, you have to dance with me on Feast night.”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll grant you a wish. Anything within my power.”

“Deal.” She had already settled on what she would ask for when she won. And she knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that she was going to win.

It took several attempts to send Ambrose on his way, their farewells dragging on with little jokes and longing looks, mostly on his part. But when she finally had the workshop to herself, Laura concentrated all of her will on her contest entry.

Drawing inspiration from the love potion that had started it all, she separated the herbs in the original recipe, mixing them with spices and fruits that would best complement their flavor.

By the time midnight had come and gone, most of her available pots and bowls were strewn around the workshop, both on the table and on the floor, with different mixes steeping in mild liquors or fruit juices. All she could do after that was begin to work on the chocolate and hope with all her might that at least one of her experiments would turn into an appropriate filling by morning.

The sun rose without her realizing it, so absorbed was she in her work, and only the cheerful chime of the shop bell was able to draw her out of her workshop. There was only one person she expected to visit her before opening hours, but to her surprise, the tall man waiting by the entrance was not Ambrose.

“Good morning to you,” her uncle said in his placid voice.

“Morning.” She wasn’t used to seeing him without his cozy robe and the ever-present book in his hand, so it took her a moment to gather her wits. “What brings you here so early?”

“My niece didn’t come home last night. I know I don’t usually make a fuss of it when this happens, but I figured you’d spent all night preparing for the festival again. And by the looks of you,” he said, sharp eyes studying her from head to foot, “you probably did. Or were you worrying over the Waycaster boy again?”

“Ambrose is no longer cursed, so there’s no need to worry about him,” she said as fast as she could, blood already rushing to her cheeks at the thought of how that had come to be. “I’ve been working. In fact, I’m nearly done.”

“You broke the curse?” His eyebrows quirked, and that calculating look settled over his face. He must have come to his own conclusion, because he didn’t ask for further details. “You’ve been hard at work, I see. And you’re eager to get back to it, aren’t you? Go on.” He waved her toward the workshop and strode purposefully to the counter, crossing behind it and pulling out Laura’s shop apron.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to look after the shop today, so you can continue your work instead,” he said, tying the apron on. “Don’t give me that look, dear. Your mother made me help all the time back in the day, so I know my way around this place. Go finish your project so we can both rest easy tonight.”

The bell rang again as Laura was trying to find the right words to thank him.

Eleanor stepped in and froze, her eyes on the tall man wearing a too-short frilly apron. “Hello,” she said shyly. “I came thinking I could help out with the shop, but I see Mage Quillspell got here first.”

“Great minds think alike,” the old man said, smiling at her. “I’m quite attached to this position, I’m afraid, but I’m sure there are plenty of other tasks you could help with.”

They both turned to look at Laura, and between the fatigue of so many sleepless nights and the ever-shortening time, she found herself unable to refuse.

Things went unexpectedly well after that. Her uncle was quick with his hands, expertly packaging orders and counting coins, and he was well-liked by young children and old ladies alike. Eleanor was a great help in the workshop, dealing with the small chores, from measuring out ingredients to cleaning up the inevitable spills. The Quillspell Confectionery worked like a well-oiled machine.

By lunchtime, the girls had already strained and tried all of the many infused liquors, and Laura had found not one, but three that worked perfectly for her needs. All the tasting had also gotten her a little tipsy, so between the joy and the alcohol, she could hardly control herself when Ambrose finally came to visit and her uncle waved him through into the workshop.

She leaped to hug him, her arms wrapping behind his neck, and he took it in stride, embracing her back and lifting her off the floor in the process.

Eleanor stared at them in slack-jawed disbelief. “What about the curse? And the rivalry?”

“I broke the curse,” Laura said, her voice muffled by Ambrose’s shirt, “and I’m going to break his winning streak, too.”

He laughed. “With such confidence, you must have worked out one tremendous recipe.”

“Better than that! I have three different ones and they’re all perfect.” She let go of him and pushed away, swaying slightly on her feet. “You’ll hem and haw and claim they’re all a spell too sweet, but you will love each of them.”

She had, more or less intentionally, picked all his favorite flavors.

“Come, taste your defeat.”