Never mix vodka and witchcraft.

Vivi knew that. Not only had her aunt Elaine said it about a thousand times, but it was also printed on dish towels and T-shirts and, ironically, shot glasses in Something Wicked, the store Aunt Elaine ran in downtown Graves Glen, Georgia.

It might’ve actually been the closest thing the Jones family had to a family motto.

But, Vivi reasoned as she sank deeper into the bathtub and took another slurp of the vodka and cranberry concoction her cousin Gwyn had made her, there had to be exceptions for broken hearts.

And hers currently felt very thoroughly broken. Shattered maybe. 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.

Sniffling, she flicked her fingers again, filling the air with the smell of Rhys’s cologne, something citrusy and spicy that she’d never managed to put her finger on, but had clearly imprinted on her brain enough that her magic could just summon it up.

Even now, slumped in Gwyn’s claw-foot tub, she could remember how that scent made her head spin when she buried her face against his chest, how warm his skin had been.