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Little bitty pieces of heart, rattling around in her chest, all because she got sucked in by a cute accent and a pair of very blue eyes.
Maybe she and Gwyn could do face masks or something. Have another drink or five. Listen to Taylor Swift.
“Goddess, we beseech you that this man shall never again darken Vivi’s door nor her vagina.”
“Goddess,” Vivi said, taking another sip, “we beseech you that he never again use his dimples for evil against unsuspecting maidens.”
“Goddess, we beseech you to make sure his hair never does that thing again. You know the thing we mean.”
“Goddess, we beseech you to make him the sort of man who will forever think the clitoris is exactly one-third of an inc...
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Gorgeous blue skies, rolling green hills, the kind of day that made one want to take up painting or maybe develop some kind of poetry habit.
They might as well have put signs in the front yard, here there be witches, for fuck’s sake.
“You almost ran your ex-boyfriend over with a car, and then left him lying in the literal dirt on the side of the road. It is such a big deal, you absolute queen.”
“The Full Potter,” he repeated. “Not finding out you’re a witch until you’re older, not growing up with it. ‘Yer a witch, Vivi,’ that sort of thing.”
“You . . . literally said, ‘I curse you, Rhys Penhallow,’ and now you’re surprised that I, Rhys Penhallow, am cursed? Also, I’m sorry, what was that about clitorises?”
What Rhys knew was that kissing her had felt like waking up. Like he’d been drifting sleepily through everything for the past nine years until he tasted her mouth again and remembered what actually being alive felt like. Better than any magic, Vivienne’s kiss.
She’d gone into a haunted house, lit a magical candle and captured a motherfucking witch ghost.
“I am mad about you, Vivienne Jones. Again. Or maybe I should say still, because I’m gonna be real honest with you here, cariad. I don’t think it ever went away.”
Sometimes she thought what she’d really fallen in love with that summer was the version of herself she was when she was with him.
“Is this a conversation that requires wine?”
“Seriously, dude, don’t care whose dad you are or how fancy a witch you are, keep talking shit about my cat, and I will personally kick you down this mountain.”
“And yet we’re still the witches who managed to curse your son, and you had no idea it had even happened. So maybe back off a little.”
“Probably would be more metal if I weren’t wearing my pumpkin jammies, but what can you do?”
The Fool and The Star, just like Gwyn’s cards had shown. Leaping off cliffs and shining steadily, opposites who couldn’t live without each other.
