Page 12 of Hexed & Hazy

It’s a welcome we usually take advantage of. Good food, and an easy way to get my mom out of the house. Tonight, I needed to get out even more than her. I needed the distraction, but as I drag my feet to the front door, the weight presses onto me again.

It’s not about the hex. It’s about what I did to deserve it. Who did I hurt this badly? Most witches I know don’t mess around with things like hexes and curses—not unless they’re deserved.

So, what did I do?

It would be a lie to say I don’t have a few ideas.

Rowan’s soft voice stops me before I go outside. “Wait.”

I turn around, my fingers brushing against the cool metal doorknob.

Her hands are clasped together. Everything about her is familiar: the way her spindly, piano-player fingers weave together. Her skirt swishes around her thick thighs, and she peers up at me from beneath dark eyelashes.

“What’s up?” I ask, the corner of my lip tugging up.

She inhales deeply, her expression unwavering as her chest puffs up. “We’re going to fix this.”

“We?” I tilt my head.

She nods firmly. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll have me.”

I don’t know much about magic, even after being friends with Laurel and getting wrapped up in all of her magical things. I know Rowan is powerful, more than she would admit. She studies a rare type of star magic. If she’s going to help me… maybe I can figure this out.

My smile lifts. “Really?”

“Mhm.” She steps closer and brushes off my shoulder, not quite meeting my eye. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Finally, her gaze lifts to meet mine, and something is lodged in my throat. She’s willing to help. Even Laurel, my best friend, didn’t offer any assistance—mostly because her seer magic isn’t useful in this case—but of course, Rowan is. She’s just that kind of person.

If Rowan thinks I’m worth helping, maybe I am… but it’s hard to believe. I’m the reason for the hex. Maybe if I’d been better, more communicative…

Things could be different.

I nod. “Tomorrow.”

The next morning, I open the café at 5:00 a.m. On the dot. Never too late, never too early.

Time doesn’t stop just because I’m hexed, but some things stand still. Like my dating apps, which I promptly delete from my phone. The last bad date ended in a coffee spill and me being a little bit of an idiot, but who knows what could happen next time?

I’ve heard stories of hexes that end up with people in the hospital, divorced, or bankrupt. Maybe they’re all lies or exaggerations, but I’d rather keep everyone safe. Just in case.

Rowan is the first customer to walk in. It’s still dark out, but she looks as alert as ever. A wing of liner pokes out from her eye, and her cheeks are flushed—from makeup or the cold, it’s hard to say. Her perfectly straight hair swoops at the ends and is covered by a black beret that matches her skirt.

She fiddles with the purse strapped over her shoulder and looks around. “I can’t believe I’m helping you with this.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “Why not?”

She smiles wryly. “Because if a man tells me his love life is hexed, it’s usually for a reason.” She approaches the counter, tapping her nails against the wood. “Can you think of a reason?”

Yes. But I don’t want to talk about Scarlet, especially not to Rowan.

“No.” I groan and turn away, already working on Rowan’s drink of choice: hot Americano with a splash of oat milk. Other people put too much milk, but I know exactly how she likes it.

“Think harder.”

I pour ground espresso in and bang it against the counter before tamping it. “I always let people know what I’m looking for when we go out.”

“Which is?”