The Ex Hex (Ex Hex #1)(31)

“Be careful.”

“With . . . five steps?”

She scowled, one hand on her hip. “Do I need to remind you of what’s going on?”

“You don’t,” he assured her, “but you heard what Elaine said. The curse is almost certainly doing its thing on the town now, not me, and besides, do you really think these steps are going to take me out? Do you want to hold my hand as I walk down them?”

Vivienne muttered something under her breath, then turned and walked down the steps, leaving Rhys to follow.

Carefully.

Rhys didn’t know what he’d expected Vivienne’s office to look like, but as he followed her down the hall of the bright and airy building that housed the history department, it occurred to him that he hadn’t exactly given a huge amount of thought to anything when it came to Adult Vivienne.

It was almost like she was frozen in his memory at nineteen, but now here she was, a grown woman with an office and a career, and he suddenly, desperately, wanted to know everything about her.

“Why history?” he asked as they stopped in front of a white door with a frosted window, V. Jones stenciled in neat black letters on the glass. “And why regular history, at that?”

She gave him a look as she unlocked the office door. “Why not witchy history, you mean?”

Shrugging, Rhys leaned against the wall. “It seems like a fair question.”

Vivienne paused, her key still in the lock, and for a moment, Rhys thought she might not answer him at all.

And then she finally sighed and said, “Believe it or not, I actually like ‘regular’ history, and also . . . I don’t know. I guess it’s just that I spent most of my life being more or less a regular person, so that’s where I’m more comfortable.”

With that, she pushed open the door and after a beat, Rhys followed her inside.

The office was tiny, barely enough room for a desk, two chairs and a slightly crooked bookshelf, but it was homey and cozy, reminding him a little of the space at the back of Something Wicked. There were plants, and colorful posters of medieval tapestries, an electric kettle with big flowers painted on it, and on her desk, he spotted pictures of her with Gwyn and Elaine, plus a couple of shots with people he didn’t recognize.

He would’ve liked to have said he didn’t check for any guys, but that would have been the most blatant of lies. He was absolutely checking to see if there was some picture of Vivi in her polka dots, some absolute bastard’s arm around her waist.

But no, nothing like that.

“So what sort of history do you teach?” he asked, turning his attention to the bookshelf. Christ, it even smelled like her in here, that warm, soft scent that either he hadn’t remembered or was new. Another part of this new Vivienne he wanted to learn about.

“The basics,” she replied, distracted as she dug through her desk for something. “Intro to Western Civilization.”

“Ah, so you’re stuck with the first-years.”

“We say ‘freshmen’ here, and yes, although I actually like teaching them.”

She looked up, smiling a little. “It’s nice, getting to introduce kids to something you really love.”

He could see it then, what she must be like when she taught. The way her cheeks would flush when she got on a topic she was passionate about, the light in her eyes. Her kids must love her.

“I get that,” he said, nodding. “It’s like when I arrange a trip for people to a place they’ve never been before. I love seeing their faces when they get back, love looking at the five million pictures they took on their phones. Okay, well, I don’t actually love that, but it’s still kind of fun.”

Her smile widened a little. “I bet.”

For just a moment, they could’ve been two strangers, Rhys thought. Just two people chatting about their jobs, maybe lightly sussing each other out.

And then, once again, he had the unsettling feeling that that’s what they were in a way.

Except that she could never be a stranger, never just be some woman he fancied, and he needed to stop being distracted by her pretty eyes and lovely hair, and remember that he was cursed now.

Clearing his throat, he turned back to the shelves. Right. Curse. Problem to be solved. Focus on that.

“You have a lot of books about Wales over here.”

Bloody hell, mate.

When he glanced back over at her, he saw that Vivienne was no longer looking at him, had become very interested in something on her desk. “Yes, well. That, um. That was my focus. In grad school. Llewellyn the Great, Edward I, all of that.”

She met his eyes. “Because of the town history.”

“Obviously.”

“Nothing to do with you.”

“Wouldn’t dare to think it.”

He turned back to the shelves, thumbing through a book on the castles of the Marches when Vivienne suddenly asked, “Do you not like it there?”

Rhys put the book back, turning around. “Where, in Wales?”

She nodded, and he sighed, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back against her bookshelf. St. Bugi’s balls, how could he explain to Vivienne the way he felt about his home?

“I love it,” he said at last. “The most beautiful place in the world, truly. Mountains, the sea, poetry, rugby. The national animal is a dragon, for fuck’s sake. What’s not to love?”