Meet Cute Magic (Heartwood Hollow #1)

Chapter 1 Rosie

Rosie

It’s almost poetic the way a cookie flies and knocks my most definitely ex-boyfriend right in the center of his forehead.

His hand comes up, touching the spot it hit, leaving a smear of chocolate in its wake, but I’m turning and heading out, leaving Michael and the woman I just walked in on him screwing in my wake.

This is what I get for being spontaneous, I suppose.

I had just finished up my inventory at the bookstore I own and decided a nice walk in the crisp air was exactly what I needed. Michael had told me he planned to have a low-key night in by himself, so I thought I’d surprise him with a bag of treats from my sister Violet’s bakery.

Except when I walked in, it became clear that Michael’s idea of a low-key night in was very, very different than mine. Whereas mine included movies and treats and cuddling, his included bending a blonde over the back of his couch and fucking her.

Don’t blow up his house, I tell myself. Do not blow up his house.

Not even if he’s the absolute scum of the earth and definitely deserves it.

It’s what I repeat to myself as his voice trails after me as I go.

I haven’t lost my hold on my magic since I was little, but the mix of frustrated emotions bubbling in my veins is a little too reminiscent of the time I blew up a batch of cupcakes after Vi kept teasing me about it.

“Rosie, sweetheart, let me explain—” Michael calls from behind me, and when I look over my shoulder at him, he’s in his foyer, buttoning up his shirt and sliding on a shoe as he tries to come after me.

Let me explain, except the woman he was just screwing is still inside his home.

I shake my head as I take in his face, a smear of chocolate still on his forehead. How did I ever think he was the one for me?

Desperation, an annoying voice whispers.

I shake my head, not wanting to focus on that right now.

The incessant tingle of my fingers reminds me I don’t actually have to see his face anymore.

I fling my hand out, my middle finger raised at him in a silent last word as a strong breeze comes, pink glitter-flecked magic only I can see dancing along it, slamming the door shut right in front of him.

I hope it hit him in the face.

“What the fuck?” his voice calls through the door. The doorknob jiggles, but my magic holds it closed for a bit, and a small, unexpected smile tips at my lips. My chest feels a bit easier, a small payback of sorts, and when I notice no one else is around, I focus on a pumpkin.

“Michael couldn’t give me pleasure, one more payback for good measure,” I say, then watch as my magic explodes the pumpkin and forces the seeds to sink deep into his prized garden bed. Come spring and for some time after, he’ll be pulling out a hundred starter pumpkin plants.

It’s not perfect, and it’s definitely not all he deserves, but I start my trek back home instead of enacting further revenge.

At least I won’t have to see his stupid face ever again; although Michael lives in Carter Hills, which is right next to Heartwood Hollow, he was never a fan of my cozy small town.

I suppose that should have been my first red flag: anyone who doesn’t like my beloved hometown would never be my true love.

Sidewalk turns into slate, and asphalt roads turn into narrow cobblestone streets as I enter the town limits of Heartwood Hollow, and I smile at the brown, orange, and red leaves that line the edges of the walkway, symbolizing my favorite time of year.

Slowly, my heart rate starts to calm, the fury melting into a familiar melancholy at yet another failed relationship.

I should be used to it by now, but somehow, I’m not.

Even though I’ve felt the effects of the curse more times than I can count, it doesn’t get easier to accept my fate.

To accept that my family is cursed. The curse that was set upon my grandmother makes it so that when a Mayfield witch tells a man she loves him, things go to shit soon after, and her heart gets broken.

And really, it’s my own fault: I should have seen this coming.

I told Michael I loved him last week. Even if I said it more as a test of his affections, I should have known that the curse would kick in.

I didn’t think Michael was my one true soulmate, to be honest. But I did think he was good enough, and maybe that would be the loophole to this family curse.

Lukewarm feelings, instead of soul-consuming love.

Not the best way to spend forever, but better than dying alone.

Obviously, I was wrong.

Maybe I should give up. I could become a cat lady who just stays home every night and reads books. I already have Percy, and even though I don’t think he’d appreciate another cat, I’m sure he would get over it. Eventually.

Why try to outsmart the curse that’s haunted my family for generations?

When I was sixteen and had my first serious boyfriend, my mom sat me down to break the bad news: the Mayfield witches are cursed to have their hearts broken repeatedly after they confess their love to someone. Because I was sixteen and knew she didn’t like my boyfriend, I brushed her off.

Except, one week after I told my then-boyfriend I loved him, my heart was shattered after I found out he was also dating the cheerleading captain.

Apparently, he didn’t realize it was that serious between us while I was naming our kids in the margins of my science notebook.

Although my mother’s recent revelation had been fresh in my mind, my optimism led me to believe it was simply a fluke, bound to happen because I was young.

I dated through high school and had my fair share of boy troubles, but I always chalked it up to just that: my fair share.

When I was nineteen, my mom passed away unexpectedly, leaving me to take care of Violet, who was eighteen, and my youngest sister, Poppy, who was sixteen, so I had no time to worry about true love.

Instead, I focused on getting my sisters through school without any major issues, and once Poppy was out of school and it felt like I could breathe again, I used my share of the life insurance and trust fund Mom had left us to open my bookstore in Heartwood Hollow.

But then it happened again when I told Matt Hanson I loved him, and two days later, he broke up with me over text message.

Six months after that, it happened with Jason Biel.

Then, almost a year later, my seven-month relationship ended when Kevin Klein took a job in London and decided to start his life there on a fresh page.

That was when I started to realize that every time, within two or three weeks, sometimes a month, after the “I love you”s are exchanged, my relationships fall apart and I’m left with a broken heart.

Just like my mother warned me.

I’ve had my heart broken a dozen times, and it’s always sucked, but something about this one hits harder, sinks deeper.

Maybe it’s because I was face-to-face with Michael’s deceit, or maybe it’s the slightly concerning way I’m becoming numb to the pain of the heartbreaks, but either way, my mind has begun reeling with options as I make my way home.

I’ve tried outsmarting the curse in the past, but maybe I have to take things into my own hands once and for all.

If only I could talk to the one who placed the curse on my family, I could explain how cruel it is to curse an entire family line just because he had a hurt ego. I could sweet-talk him into lifting the curse. But that would require summoning a ghost, which my mother always advised us against.

But really, what’s the point of having magic if you can’t use it to fix all of your problems?

“Hey, Rosie!” Sandy Richards waves as I turn left onto Macintosh Lane. I’m not far from home, which means I’m entering the center of town now.

Heartwood Hollow is the coziest small town you’ve ever seen, the kind where everyone knows each other, where small talk isn’t just encouraged, it’s basically a requirement for living here.

I was born and raised in this town, so I know its ways—in fact, I normally love it, as a chatty person myself—but right now, I wish I lived in a busy city where no one would stop me if I looked like a woman on a mission.

Despite the plan slowly forming in my mind, I force a friendly smile to spread on my lips and give her a small wave.

I slow my steps, but I refuse to stop and chat now that an idea has sparked.

It’s brilliant, really. Foolproof. The perfect solution.

“Hey, Sandy, how’s it going?”

“Good, good, just getting some of the final details together for the fall festival. Do you know if your sister is going to have those apple cider donuts this year?” I give her a knowing glance. “If she doesn’t, she knows she’ll have a riot on her hands,” she continues, and lets out a small laugh.

“Good point.” I nod, then turn a bit so as not to be rude as I pass her. “I’m late for something, but come to the shop tomorrow, I’ve got that mystery romance you were asking about today.”

“Oh, yay! Thanks, Rosie, you’re the best. See you tomorrow!

” I wave and keep moving, my mind hopping right back to weighing my options.

My sisters and I were always told not to speak with the dead since ghosts are tricky and can’t be trusted in the least. That’s how most hauntings happen after all, and if you end up releasing a spirit with ill intentions, it’s an absolute headache to get them to go back to where they came from.

Poppy and Violet always play by the rules, so I can’t ask them for backup.

It would cause too many questions, and I don’t need them trying to talk me out of it.

A couple passes by me, smiling and holding hands, and that all too familiar pang hits my chest. She says something, and he leans in a bit to hear her better before pressing a soft kiss to her head, and it’s so natural, so sweet, that it makes my chest ache.

I want that.

I deserve that.