Rachel Hawkins posted this on her blog last month and I've only just come across it.
On her blog it does state that this is free to share, so I thought I would.
This is a scene that takes place during the first book, Hex Hall when Sophie and Archer have one of their afternoons in the cellar sorting out magical items.
"In Which Our Heroine Finds Herself In a Compromising Position in the Cellar. Again."
“Well, this is...awkward.”
I glared at Archer as I once again tried to yank my hand free from his. “ 'Hey, Mercer! Let's try on these enchanted rings! I'm sure putting pieces of magical jewelery on is nothing less than a totally stellar idea! After all,-'” I broke off to blow a hunk of hair out of my eyes, “it's never ended badly for anyone before!”
Now it was Archer's turn to scowl. “Okay, I would like the record to show that that was a truly terrible impression of me. And secondly-,'” he made an attempt at wiggling his fingers, but they stayed laced in mine- “you didn't have to put one on. There was no peer pressure happening here.”
Sighing, I braced my foot on one of the lower shelves and tried once again to untangle my fingers from Archer's. Our hands stayed fixed together, but Archer stumbled forward, practically falling on top of me. Flustered, I pushed him back with my other hand even as he grinned.
“You know, Mercer-”
“You don't know what I was going to say.”
“Something snarky that's also vaguely suggestive?”
Archer mulled that over for a bit. “Actually...yeah. Nice one.”
I rolled my eyes. “Awesome. Does your brain have other uses besides crafting the perfect comeback? Anything in there about these rings or how me might break the spell?”
Rubbing his chin with his free hand, Archer said, “Nothing in my brain, but maybe something on the papers?”
Ah, yes. The papers.
We were supposed to be doing inventory in the cellar, so both of us had clipboards listing all the magical junk down here. Mine was on the shelf nearest the cellar steps, while Archer's was wedged between two glass jars on a shelf a few feet away. I was pretty sure I'd seen something about rings on my clipboard, so I moved toward the steps.
Unfortunately, Archer chose the same moment to go for his clipboard in the totally opposite direction.
Our magically joined hands pulled us up short, and once again, we stumbled into each other.
As my cheek collided with Archer's surprisingly solid chest, I got a whiff of laundry detergent. It was the same soap I used to wash my uniforms- Mrs. Casnoff was big on us not using magic for menial stuff, so we all had to do laundry like regular people- but somehow, on him, it smelled....different. Better.
“Whoa,” Archer said, catching my shoulder to steady me. For a moment, his hand lingered there and our eyes met. Archer's were so brown they could look black, and right now, his gaze seemed especially dark.
Clearing my throat, I stepped back as far as our hands would let me and nodded toward my clipboard. “I think I saw something about rings on my list.”
He was still watching me. “Hmm?”
I knew my cheeks were red, and his hand felt very hot in mine as I lifted it, waving our clasped hands together. “Rings? The ones we need to get off right now?” I looked away, like I was studying the silver bands really intently as I added, “Not sure how your girlfriend would feel about us being joined together for all eternity.”
I felt a little jolt go through Archer's arm. “Elodie,” he said, like he'd just remembered she existed.
“That's her name,” I agreed. I held out my free hand. “About this tall? Red hair, gorgeous? Evil in human form?”
Archer shot me a wry look and batted down my hand. “Okay, okay. So we'll go for your list.”
Together, we walked over to the shelf and Archer held the clipboard while I flipped through pages, scanning the inventory. “Rings, rings, rings...Fangs, no. Necklaces, close but not quite...ooh, apparently there are some bracelets in here that will make you the owner's prisoner for life, so the next time you go on a jewelery trying-on kick, let's try to avoid those...aha! Wedding rings, Matthew and Isabella Foster, witch and warlock, early 17th century.”
I looked up at Archer. We were wearing wedding rings. The thought filled me with a weird mix of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment, for sure. Somehow, the fact that these rings were wedding bands made this whole thing more awkward. But I also felt kind of...giddy.
They are rings, you moron, I told myself. Cold little pieces of metal that belonged to other people and have absolutely nothing to do with you and Archer. Please to get a grip.
“What kind of freaks would wear wedding rings that permanently joined their hands?” I asked, trying one last time to free my left hand from his. “I mean, I get that marriage is a binding thing, but this is just stupid.”
But Archer had his eyes closed, frowning in concentration. “No, I read something about those two. They're famous for...something.”
“Maybe for being co-dependent freaks?”
Archer didn't open his eyes, but his lips quirked. “That's probably part of it, but...right!” He snapped his fingers. “They were the ones who first introduced the whole betrothal thing.”
All witches and warlocks were betrothed sometime in their teenage years. The person your family picked for you was usually based on things like complimentary powers, but you didn't necessarily have to go through with a betrothal. Or at least that's what I was hoping, seeing as how Archer was pretty sure I was betrothed to someone, and I wasn't all that sold on the idea of marrying a stranger.
“So these rings...,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Weren't their wedding rings. They were used to help the Fosters make matches.”
I glanced down at our hands, still tangled up together, fingers laced. I had no idea what to say except, “Oh.”
I thought I felt Archer's grip tighten a little. “Apparently, the rings think we would be a good match.”
The words hung there in the air, joining us as surely as the little bands of silver. Finally, Archer made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Which just goes to prove that these things have clearly broken.”
I laughed, too, both out of nervousness and relief. “Right. Apparently sitting on a shelf for three hundred years screwed up their magical matching mojo.”
Archer's fingers twitched in mine as he smiled at me. “God, can you imagine? Me and you, all...,” He waved his free hand, “coupled up?”
“Totally ridiculous,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Insane,” he added, dropping his gaze to the rings. To our hands.
“The worst idea in all of Bad Idea Town.”
Archer's shoulders lifted a little, but he didn't laugh. Neither did I.
Just when I thought the silence might actually break me, Archer kind of shook himself and said, “Anyway, now that we know what they are, they should probably be pretty easy to get off.”
He raised our hands, pulling them close to his mouth. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss my hand, and I went a little dizzy. But instead, he spoke directly to the rings, his breath warm on my knuckles. “Um...hey, little guys? While we appreciate your efforts at matchmaking, this fair lady and I have no desire to be paired up. I amgrateful you picked a girl who matches me in sarcasm,so nice job on that front. And I know she appreciates you finding her an incredibly hot stud such as my- ow!”
Rubbing the spot on his chest where I'd shoved him, Archer scowled at me and continued, “Anyway, Rings, thanks but no thanks. So if you could un-stick us now, that would be great.”
There was a barely audible hiss and the silver heated up. Archer's sucked in a breath through his teeth and I winced as the rings glowed hot. And then, just like that, our hands dropped free.
Archer shook his wrist while I cradled my hand to my chest, flexing my fingers.
“Well,” he said at last, flashing me a grin. “Yet another adventure to add to our long list of Weird Things That Have Happened To Us In The Cellar.”
There was a loud click from above us as The Vandy unlocked the door, signaling the end of Cellar Duty for tonight. I grabbed my clipboard with my left hand, hoping that might erase the feeling of Archer's palm still pressed against mine.
“That was the last one,” I told him as we headed up the stairs. “After that and the thing with the gloves, and that time you killed a pixie-,”
“It was already dead!” he insisted, but I ignored him.
“I am done having adventures in the cellar. The rest of the semester is going to be adventure-free.”
We were at the top of the stairs now, pausing in the doorway. Archer turned to me. He was still grinning, but there was something different in it now. Something that made my knees feel a little watery.
“Now that would be a disappointment,” he murmured.
And with that, he was gone.