Page 94 of Hexed & Hazy

“But I love him.” I can barely connect the dots on everything that’s happening.

Seth is still hexed. Juniper is worried that he might accidentally poison me. And he didn’t say he loves me back, but I don’t care. I love him. That’s enough.

Juniper’s expression softens. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way around this.”

My nap would probably be restless if not for the allergy medication. I don’t realize I’ve knocked out until someone touches my shoulder, rousing me back to the land of the living. I open an eye, and there’s Seth, holding a bowl of sinigang. Of course, he’s wearing his perfect, angelic smile. This is the one face I don’t mind waking up to.

He brings me so much life; I don’t even need my usual cups—yes, plural—of coffee.

“Sit up for me?”

I do as he says, propping myself up on the pillows. I’m already feeling better, though I’m not sure how much time has passed. My body is heavy, fatigue threatens to take me, but I can breathe easily. My eyes no longer itch. And my neck, the rash… that feels better, too.

Juniper must have used our rash elixir while I was sleeping. When I touch the side of my neck, the hives are gone.

I hold the bowl of soup on my lap and take a tender bite. The savory and sour mingle together, melting in my mouth along with the tender meat. A soft moan passes through my lips. “I can’t believe how well you can cook. I’ve never dated a man who can cook before.”

Some of the non-men I’ve dated cooked for me, yes, but not men. Even the most intellectual, mature men seem to be useless when it comes to common sense and staying alive. Cooking goes squarely within that list.

Seth says, “My mom wouldn’t let me get away without learning, and this is my favorite soup when I’m feeling sick. I hope it can help you, too.”

And it does. As I slurp it all down, it helps soothe the heaviness in my bones. He picks up the elixir from my bedside and silently smooths it on my neck and the back of my hands. “I can’t stay all night, but I’m a call away. Just next door. You know that.”

Why can’t he? I have to stop myself from asking. Seth has other responsibilities, and though there’s a somber look in his eye, I won’t let myself worry that he’s pulling away. That’s not what this is.

“I know,” I whisper.

“And I left the soup here. Eat more.”

“If my sisters don’t eat it all.”

“Yeah. If.”

He chuckles and picks up a brush from my nightstand, running it through my hair while I sit upright, eating. He splits my hair in two and braids the strands with unsurprising skill—he used to help with his sister’s hair. I already know that.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Anything for you.”

There’s something broken in his smile. He knows what I know—what Juniper already said. He’s still hexed, and I don’t want to put it into words. But I should.

I slump back into bed, watching him quietly.

“We still have to break the hex, don’t we?” I ask, though I’m dreading the answer.

He shakes his head. “You said that was on me. I should have done more—should have taken care of it before⁠—”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. All of this is my fault.” His jaw tightens. “Juniper told me how bad it was. That you couldn’t breathe.”

“I was fine as soon as they used the Epi-Pen.”

“Still. Not good.”

He’s blaming himself, and the fault lies with the person who hexed him, but I’m too exhausted to argue. Exhausted, happy, and frustrated—how can I feel so many things at once? Feelings are usually easy for me. I organize. I compartmentalize. But I can’t do those things anymore.

“It seems like… sex is fine, but whenever you do something traditionally romantic, that’s when things go wrong.” I clear my scratchy throat. “What if you don’t do those things anymore? No dates. No flowers.”