Page 27 of Summertime Hexy
“Right. Matriarchy. Big fan. Go bees.”
I smile. He smiles. It’s polite. Pleasant. Like two mannequins on a date.
He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t make me want to rip his shirt off with magic or punch him in the shoulder because he’s being infuriating and perfect in the exact wrong way.
He just… talks.
“I’m working on a tincture for grounding spells,” he says. “Would you like to try it sometime?”
“Sure,” I say, even though ‘grounding’ makes me want to scream and also I hate the taste of licorice root and serenity.
My eyes drift. Reflexively.
Across the courtyard. Toward the training field.
Where Derek is standing in his usual looming fashion, arms crossed, watching a pair of older campers practice barrier magic. His coat flaps slightly in the breeze. He doesn’t move.
Until he sees me.
Seesus.
His eyes flick to mine.
Then to Rowan.
Then he turns and walks away.
And it’s like something yanks out of my chest with the grace of a badly timed teleportation spell.
“Hazel?” Rowan says.
I blink.
“Huh?”
“You looked like you were somewhere else,” he says kindly.
Oh, honey. If only you knew.
“Nope,” I say brightly. “Fully here. Bee feminism and grounding herbs and all.”
But even as I say it, the truth slams into me like a thunderclap.
I don’twantsafety.
I don’t want calm.
I wanthim.
Grumpy, scowling, overprotective, emotionally bottled-uphim.
The one who held me when I shattered.
The one who watched me without asking questions.
The one who walked away just now with that same silent weight that says he cares too much and thinks it’s better if he doesn’t.
“Actually,” I say, standing up way too fast. “I just remembered—I have to go. A unicorn situation. Very urgent.”
