Page 1 of Hexed & Hazy

Chapter 1

Seth

It happens in slow motion.

When I reach across the table to touch her hand—a classic move—I knock right into her drink. Nothing I can do to stop it.

And there it goes, iced coffee splattering over her white dress. An enormous brown spot that, from experience, I know will stain. Badly.

She lets out a high-pitched gasp.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt, scrambling away to grab napkins. Lots and lots of napkins.

“It’s—it’s fine.”

Everyone says a café is the best spot in Starbrook for a date, and usually, I’d say they’re right. The Botanical Brew, half café and half flower shop, is definitely top-tier, with the aroma of coffee beans and sweet petals mingling. Cozy brown furniture, soft lighting, and jazz playing—there’s no better ambiance in the whole town.

I usually love being here, whether for work or pleasure.

Now? Now that this is my third time this month doing exactly this? I’m not so sure. It feels like I’m stuck in a loop, and maybe it’s my fault for choosing the same location for everyone I go out with, but it’s convenient.

And who doesn’t like flowers and coffee?

That’s not my only problem. I’ve been in a rut. Body heavy, sleeping the day away, blowing off basketball with the guys. That kind of rut. What the hell is wrong with me?

I drop the napkins unceremoniously onto the table and sit back in my seat, all gangly limbs and wiry clumsiness. You’d think, being an athlete, that I would be graceful. That’s not the case. My best friend, Laurel, always jokes that my limbs grew too fast and that I never got used to them.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I can blame that for ruining this poor woman’s dress. Probably not—I’m too old for it to be endearing that I’m this clumsy.

My date is still smiling, but there’s tension deep in her eyes, and I don’t know how to recover.

The first time I fumbled a date? Sure. The second? Yeah, that happens. But three times? How many times can I make the same mistake?

More importantly, should I offer to pay for her dry cleaning bill?

I clear my throat. “What were we saying?”

Hurt flashes across her features. “My ex.”

All right, maybe this date was going downhill before my little spill. She’s been talking about her ex for half an hour. Am I really the asshole here? Who takes someone on a date just to talk about their ex? Comforting her feels like the right move, but it’s clear she isn’t ready to put herself out there, and it’s just my luck that I’m attracting someone totally unavailable.

Some would call it poetic justice, considering my history.

“Sorry. I got a little distracted by the”—I plaster on a smile, gesturing to my empty cup—“well, you know. You can keep telling me about him.”

It’s already obvious that our date isn’t going anywhere.

“Seth?” Farrah, my co-worker, approaches with measured steps. She gives me a playfully stern look, her hands on her hips. “Why are you here on your day off?”

I glance at my date and back to Farrah. “Uh… just hanging out.”

“Oh.” Farrah frowns. “I mean, maybe this is a good thing. I was actually going to text you. Aspen is having a problem at the shop—she needs me—would you mind taking my shift?”

I inhale through closed teeth. If I take this shift, it means I’ll be closing tonight and opening tomorrow morning, which is never fun… but I could use the money. Now that I’m managing the café, I make more than before, and I probably shouldn’t be covering shifts and letting people run off in the middle of the day. Not very managerial of me, is it?

And then there’s my date. It’s already going badly, and I doubt it’ll be easy to recover.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say. “Don’t worry about it. I can find someone else as a worst-case scenario.”