Page 47 of Hexed & Hazy

She lifts an eyebrow, looking amused. “Are you saying I look tired?”

“A little.”

“No woman wants to hear that, Seth Bautista.” She lets out a soft huff. “I still need to bandage your hands.”

“Don’t. Don’t worry about that.”

For a second, it feels like the hex is gone. It’s been feeling like that more and more when I’m with Rowan. Easier to smile. A little lighter. I’m holding her hand, and she’s looking down at me with a gaze that sets me on fire again—and the fear, the worry about hurting her, it disappears into a sealed envelope in the back of my mind. It’s just us.

She’s not pulling away. No one is interrupting us.

Every time we have a moment like this, there’s a weight off my shoulders—even now. Was I hexed, or was I looking in the wrong places… for the wrong people?

“Maybe the spell worked.” I peer at her earnestly. “I don’t feel hexed right now.”

Her face crumples. “It didn’t. It backfired. I can’t do anything right.”

“Stop.” I stand up, ducking my head so I can keep staring at her, keep forcing her to hold my gaze.

She’s close enough that our chests touch. This is usually where we would jump away, where I would make a joke and move on to something lighter.

It never comes.

She lets go of one hand only to pull out the bandages and wrap my wounds. Every movement feels like an act of affection, like something deeper, another thing I’ve filed away in my mind to ignore for… well, for as long as I can.

Because Rowan is here. She’s here when it’s hard. She’s using her magic until it exhausts her, and she’s trying. I can’t say that for most people. I have a lot of friends around Starbrook, that’s true, but most of our friendships have been drifting since my mom got sick. When I stopped showing up to basketball practice and dropped the team. When I started working out at home more than at the gym. When they stopped texting, and I kept forgetting to hit them up.

That never happened with Rowan—or the rest of the Hawthornes, but it feels especially true for her. Here. Now.

Even when it backfires, I trust her magic.

I trust her.

“The other night,” I start. “I’ve been meaning to say⁠—”

Her phone rings, and she pulls away, glancing at the screen.

David.

No picture, just his name, and it’s like I’m plunging into an ice bath.

Rowan ignores the call, but her cheeks are the same cherry red I’ve always admired.

Why does my stomach ache? It’s like the wound moved, the same burning feelings stinging my belly instead of my hands.

“Sorry.” She slips her phone into the pocket of her skirt. “What were you saying? About the other night?”

There’s a hope in her eyes, but it makes no sense. Dave wanted to ask her out, and he doesn’t play games, so I’d bet he did. She probably said yes. I don’t have the courage to look for a confirmation, and I know Rowan won’t tell me—as far as I know, she’s never dated before, but it’s just that she’s never told anyone.

She’s private, classy, and better than me by miles. No one she’s been with would ever hex her. For all I know, I’m the reason it backfired. My hex could have ruined her magic.

I smile tightly. “Nothing. Just that I had fun.”

Her eyes narrow. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Well, I gotta—I mean, it’s my mom⁠—”

“You have to leave.” She nods and looks away. “Of course.”