Page 70 of Enticing the Elf

Eoin grins, his arms loosely at his sides with my spray bottle dangling from one hand. I eye it and wonder what the chances are of me being able to snatch it back and hit him over the head with it.

“Use more words, Dáithí. ‘This’ is pretty broad.”

The elevator doors open again just in time for everyone inside to hear me shout, “Your asinine insistence on completing the Summit of Love!”

There’s a sudden, blanketing silence, and then someone inside the elevator says, “Hurry, hit the Door Close button.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, heat flooding my cheeks as someone else says, “No! I want to hear. Let me off!”

There’s a jumble of voices, and then I open my eyes to see a few people getting out of the elevator while behind them, a woman stabs repeatedly at the control panel—probably the Door Close button.

“Good morning,” the king says to the newcomers. “I’m sure you’re eager to get to your desks.” It’s a thinly veiled order, but from the way all three drag their feet, none of them is eager to leave. His Majesty keeps an expectant look on them all the way to the security gate, but the second he turns away, a blond elf from Accounting speaks up.

“What’s the Summit of Love? Is that a sex thing? If it’s a sex thing, I’d like to know about it.”

“It’s not a sex thing,” Brandt says, and her face falls in disappointment. “It’s a love thing.”

She opens her mouth, but the king clears his throat, and she changes her mind, following the others through the security gate instead.

I turn my glare on Eoin. “Thanks for that. Becoming a laughingstock has always been high on my to-do list.”

“Anybody who dares to laugh at you will regret it,” he informs me, then shocks me by handing the spray bottle to Brandt, who gasps and studies it like it’s both radioactive and the meaning of life. I’m still sputtering when Eoin catches me loosely in his arms, leaving just enough space between us so we can see each other’s faces.

“I love you,” he says solemnly. “What you did last night means more to me than any other gift I’ve ever been given. You love me, you trust me, and you’re committing to me, openly and publicly. I know how hard that is for you, and that just makes it mean more.”

“Then—”

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Let me finish. It’s because of how much it means and how hard it is that I want to finish the challenges. Do you remember the night I said I wanted to do this?”

I’ll never forget. “Yes.”

“Do you remember telling me I didn’t have to, and why I said I wanted to?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I want to prove beyond any shadow of doubt that you’ve made the right decision, so that one day in the future, when we have a stupid fight or I forget something that’s important to you or whatever might happen that causes doubt to rear its ugly head in your brain, you can remember the Summit of Love and shove all those fears aside.”

My breath catches. How can he know me this well? Know what I barely know about myself? “Eoin…” It’s barely a whisper, and I can’t quite manage to put my feelings into words.

He leans in and kisses me, murmuring, “I know,” against my lips.

Whoever said the perfect man didn’t exist was wrong. He does… and he’s mine.

EPILOGUE

Eoin

EARLY OCTOBER

If you’d askedme a year ago how many times I’d sit at my boss’s dining table while a bunch of coworkers and friends discussed my romantic life at my request, I’d have said zero. And yet, somehow this is the second time this year.

Hopefully it’ll be the last ever.

Still, I’m strangely glad to be here. Everyone’s still finding their seats and talking loudly, and they’re about to ask me and Dáithí a lot of personal questions, but there’s something about knowing they’re here because they want us to be happy together that makes me feel good.

Well… all of them except Steffen are here because they want us to be happy. He’s here because Brandt made him come—he told me so. It’s nice to have him here anyway.

“I wish I had my spray bottle,” Dáithí mutters from the seat beside me, but he’s smiling at the chaos, and I reach over and lace my fingers with his before resting both our hands on the tabletop. Then we wait.

And wait.

For fuck’s sake, how long does it take to sit in a chair and shut up?