“I changed my mind,” Gwyn said, scrambling to give Purrcival more treats. “Talking cats are bad. I see that now.”
Then she looked up at Vivi, who was getting out of bed. “This is because of what Rhys did to the ley lines, isn’t it? Like the skulls last night.”
“It’s because of what I did to Rhys,” Vivi corrected on a sigh, her eyes falling on the duffel bag she’d hastily packed at her place last night. She couldn’t quite say why she’d decided to spend the night at Elaine’s, just that the idea of going to sleep in her apartment above the store had definitely not appealed. Now, as Gwyn muttered to Purrcival, Vivi took out the skirt and blouse she’d delicately folded into her bag last night.
“Which means that we were right—there’s a lot more bad shit to come.”
Gwyn shot her a look as she tucked Purrcival underneath her chin. “This is not bad shit,” she argued, then, when Purrcival continued to ask for treats, shrugged. “Okay, it’s not the best shit, but I still don’t think it’s evidence of a horrible curse.”
She gave Vivi another smile before carrying Purrcival to the door. “I told you, Vivi. We’re gonna fix this.”
Vivi wished she felt that confident.
She also wished she didn’t feel so damn . . . embarrassed about the whole thing. Because that’s what had kept her awake last night, staring at the ceiling until well past two in the morning. There was guilt and fear and worry, of course, all that was mixed up in there, but overriding all of it was, Rhys knows he broke my heart.
Not only that, Rhys knew he’d broken it so badly that she’d done magic over it.
And clearly he hadn’t felt the same way back then since it had never even occurred to him that she’d actually been that sad over it.
Which proved, as she’d always suspected, their fling had meant a lot more to her than it had to him. He’d probably barely thought of her over the past nine years, had certainly never googled her while kind of wine-drunk, and while there was no doubt they were still attracted to each other, Vivi was older now.
Wiser.
And the last thing she was going to do was fall for Rhys Penhallow all over again.
Fifteen minutes later, she was heading downstairs, her still-damp hair twisted up in a bun, her jacket hanging off her shoulders, and she was so focused on getting out the door that it took her a second to realize she heard voices in the kitchen.
And not just any voices.
Turning the corner, she looked at her aunt’s cozy kitchen table, the table around which she’d made candles and plucked flower petals for bath salts and never, ever eaten breakfast, and there was Rhys, coffee mug at his elbow, sticky bun in hand, smiling at her aunt.
Who was smiling back almost . . . affectionately. Indulgently.
And then Vivi realized the kitchen didn’t smell like its usual mix of herbs and smoke, but of sugar and cinnamon.
“Aunt Elaine,” she asked, firmly ignoring Rhys, “did you . . . bake?”
Her aunt’s cheeks actually turned a little pink. “You don’t have to sound so scandalized, Vivi,” she said, waving one hand as she got up from the table and crossed the kitchen to the coffeepot. “I can cook, you know. I’ve just usually chosen not to.”
“Which is a crime and a sin,” Rhys said, licking a stray bit of icing off his thumb, a gesture that made Vivi’s own face suddenly feel a little pink. How did he look so good after the night they’d all had? Vivi felt like the circles under her eyes deserved their own zip code, and when she glanced down, she noticed that her blouse was misbuttoned. And there he sat, wearing dark jeans and a charcoal sweater, his hair still very much doing The Thing despite the curse that was evidently real, and for just a second, Vivi gave some serious thought to cursing him again.