Hexed & Hazy (Witches of Starbrook #5)

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.”

Farrah beams and bends down, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “You’re the best!”

I turn back to my date and smile sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Business never stops, you know?”

And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like what I do. The tips are good, the people are great, and I make enough to take care of my mom. What more could I want?

Probably for my date to stop looking at me like I have five heads—her eyes are wide, and I think her nostrils flare just the slightest bit. It’s hard to say if she’s mad about the coffee spill or that work is getting in the way of pleasure. Hey, I’m not happy about it either.

I’m usually a lucky guy, I think. I’ve been on a lot of great dates, met a lot of cool people, and I have the best friends. Sure, my family life has never been easy, but everything else? A walk in the park.

Until recently.

“You work here?” Her brow draws down.

“Uh…” I run a hand through my hair. “Well, yeah.”

She would probably know that if she asked me a single question about myself.

Working here is what makes it my favorite date spot.

I know the menu well enough to impress anyone with my secret drinks, and it’s a quick walk from my home.

Most people around Starbrook know I work here.

They know who I am: my family, my life, and every medal I won in high school. But not everyone is from Starbrook.

This woman, a regular human like me, definitely isn’t.

She shakes her head and stands. “I’m leaving.”

Well, that was fast. Obviously, it’s time for the date to end, but I’m expecting her to let me down easy. The way she moves and speaks is so abrupt that it sets my heart on edge.

“Wait.” I hop up. “Things are slow right now. We can still hang out.”

She tilts her head to the side, fixing me with a look of complete, utter disbelief. “Do you really think I want to hang out with you? After you brought me on a first date to your job and spilled your drink all over me? And you weren’t even listening to anything I said.”

“I was.” I shift on my feet, avoiding her gaze and muttering, “It would have been easier to talk if we weren’t talking about your ex on our first date. Kind of a faux pas, but I’ll let it slide—”

She lets out a loud, outraged laugh. “Goodbye, Seth.”

“Uh… yeah, okay.”

What else is there to say?

It’s too late. She’s gone. It would be a lie to say I don’t know where I went wrong. Maybe I should have brought her somewhere else, and I shouldn’t have accepted Farrah’s shift, and…

I don’t know. I’m completely off my game lately, aren’t I?

Donnie, the newest owner of the flower shop side of things, is closing up by the time I’m done working.

Watching him tend to the plants is like witnessing an artist at work. The way he snips, even with his long claws out on display, is ballet. His vibrant purple skin makes him look like he fits in among the flowers, as do his fashionable—always purple—outfits. His impressive horns curl upward.

“Tell me you have some good news,” I say, leaning onto the counter.

“About the calathea?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t consider it bad news.”

Laurel suggested I pick up a new hobby, but I don’t think either of us foresaw me enjoying it as much as I have.

Gardening. My mom was always good at it, and I liked helping when I was young, back when she had the energy to spend all her time in our backyard. So, I bought a few plants of my own. And then, it felt natural to up the ante, getting a plant that’s notoriously hard to take care of.

The calathea. They thrive in bright sunlight and high humidity, which is hard to find in the winter in Maine. What was I thinking?

“Give it to me straight.” I sigh and close my eyes, preparing for the worst.

“Well… I relocated it to the greenhouse for the time being, and it seems to be doing better. It’s probably for the best that it stays there for now. You may need to get a grow light.”

I wince. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“They’re not terribly expensive, and some look quite fashionable these days.”

“I know, I know.”

But even the not-expensive things feel expensive when I’m paying my mom’s mortgage, helping out my little sisters, and taking care of everything else. All on my barista salary. Thank God for my promotion.

There are days when I wish I had more time for this, wish I could run off to the greenhouse with Donnie and learn more about what he does—unrealistic dreams. I barely have time to date.

Donnie sets down his snips and approaches me, inspecting me with his violet eyes. “You seem to be in an uncharacteristically bad mood. What ails you?”

“It’s nothing.” I steel my jaw and look away. “Just… busy with work. Bad luck in love, but I should probably just focus on work and forget it.”

He chuckles. “I had a feeling it was about love.”

I wince at the word. Love. None of this is really about love, but Donnie has been happily married for years, so I don’t think he’ll understand that’s not what I’m searching for.

Casual has always been easy. Fun.

But I don’t really know what my intentions are anymore. Saying I’m looking for a good time doesn’t really work when all of my dates are going up in flames.

“What happened?” He slumps into a yellow armchair off in the corner of the room.

I occupy the green chair opposite him. “I spilled coffee on my date… and then she realized our date was at my place of work. Wasn’t a fan of that.”

He sucks his teeth. “Unfortunate, but at least one of those things is within your control.”

“But what’s the problem with taking them here? I love this place.”

“Seth.” His expression flattens. “Please. Don’t make me answer that question.”

I lift my hands. “Fine, fine.”

I get it. Dates should be special, and taking them to my work probably doesn’t feel that way, but it is to me. Making time for anyone outside of my work and my family is. They would understand that about me if they gave me a chance.

“Surely, you can recover from a bit of spilled coffee. When have you let an awkward meeting stop you?”

“I… don’t know. I’m off my game.” It feels odd to admit. This part of my life was always easy—with one notable exception. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at a vase full of vibrant, charmed roses. “But this is the third spill this month. Kind of weird, right?”

“To say the least.” He grins, flashing perfect, white, slightly sharp teeth. “I’d say you may need to work on your motor skills, or else… perhaps you’re cursed?”

The final word catches in my brain, bouncing around. “Cursed? You really think so?”

“No, Seth. I don’t think so.” His eyes widen, and he leans in, shaking his head. “I was joking.”

“Right. Yeah. Totally.”

Because what are the chances that someone would curse me? I don’t think I’ve done anything worthy of that. I laugh it off with Donnie, and we go back to talking about plants…

But the moment I step out of the shop, I have a text to send.

There’s one person who I know will have the answers.