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22

Mor

The problem with going on a lunch date in a small town is that everyone at the café we choose knows me.

The barista—who makes a new latte concoction for me without asking because she knows I rarely ever drink the same thing twice—flits her eyes between Jaylen and me.

A little smile playing around her lips widens when he holds out cash for my order before I can remember what pocket I stuck my credit card into.

“You two take a seat, and I’ll bring your drinks out,” the siren sings.

Okay, she doesn’t actually sing the words.

If she did, we’d both forget what came out of her mouth less than a minute later.

One of the mythic’s interesting traits.

Also why sailors used to crash their boats on rocky shores.

They wanted to get closer, hear the music again, because they couldn’t recall the exact sound of it, only that it was the loveliest tune they had ever heard.

“Thanks so much, Lily.” Jaylen reads the moniker off her name tag as he stuffs his change in the don’t tip cows, tip me jar.

Nice to waitstaff. Generous tipper.

Those are both green flags.

And still, when we settle at a two-person table by the window and exchange small talk about books we like and his work and mine, I search for a spark that’s not there.

It’s not that I’m seeking out a fated mate.

There’s no definitive lore stating that witches have or should expect a destined lover.

So, no, I’m not looking for some sign from the gods.

I’m simply hoping for a touch of attraction.

On my part.

But no.

Nothing.

I can look at Jaylen and say he’s good-looking.

That he’s successful, that he’s generous.

But there’s no part of me that can picture us in a bed together.

Not even kissing.

This is why I hate dating.

It’s not that I don’t want a partner.

It’s that I do, and no one, not ever, has felt right.

Plenty of the people I’ve gone out with should have been tempting to me.

For their mind, or looks, or personality.

I’m not a virgin, having slept with a few in the hopes that would get the spark burning.

But at the most, all I’ve ever ended up wanting was friendship.

Jaylen is the same. I could envision doing trivia nights with him.

Inviting him over for happy hour on the dock.

Maybe going to a bookstore together.

Nothing sensual though.

I’m not broken , I remind my despondent self.

Just different.

I’ll love someone someday.

I’m sure of it.

“Your library is impressive,” Jaylen says, his words catching my attention enough to fish me out of my despondency.

“When I first heard about it, I thought you’d have only a few shelves of books. But that back there was the real thing. How did you even find so many grimoires?”

When Broderick first set this up, he told me Jaylen is from a family of witches, though the guy has a low level of power and more interest in the political science he teaches at Ramla.

I agree with my brother’s assessment, noting only mild interest, flaring pink on his emotion grid.

“My sister Ame and I road-tripped around the country for a few years. We stopped at every used bookstore we could find.” I lean forward in my seat, wrapping my hands around the almond peppermint latte the barista dropped off not long ago.

“Did you know grimoires disguise themselves sometimes? A lot of the time actually.”

“What do you mean, disguise themselves?”

“If you think about it, since witch’s language is legible only to witches, to anyone else, grimoires would appear to be books of gibberish. And books of gibberish get thrown away.”

“Sure.” Jaylen sips his drink and smiles encouragingly.

“Like many magical things”—such as enchanted houses—“they can take on a touch of self-awareness. And even personalities. And a self-aware object does not want to be thrown away.” My eyes track to the window as I think back on all the books I’ve collected during my travels.

“So, what little awareness and magic they had resulted in them glamouring themselves. Just enough to appear to be a normal book, typed in a legible language.”

“Did they reveal themselves to you? Is that how you have them all?”

“No. I’m not sure the books had that much understanding of the world. But they do give off a slight magical signature if you know how to look for it. Ame and I trained ourselves to spot the disturbance in the air.”

“Fascinating.”

I certainly think so, and I’m happy another agrees.

“Do you ever worry about a bad character misusing the library?”

“You mean, like, damaging a book?”

He chuckles, though I find book damages no laughing matter.

“I meant the spells. You have a lot of powerful knowledge in one place.”

“Oh.” I pause to think about his question as our lunches get set down in front of us.

It’s not that this is the first time I’m considering it.

But I know not all share my stance.

“I tend to be of the belief that tools—for the most part—are not inherently good or bad. People misusing them decide. And we shouldn’t get rid of tools just because a bad character might get ahold of them. But also, the library has built-in wards to keep out anyone truly nasty who wants to harm people.”

Jaylen hums in agreement.

“I like the way your mind works.”

That’s a top-notch compliment.

Much better than if he’d remarked on my hair or complexion or outfit.

I’m proud of my mind.

But that doesn’t mean I want to date Jaylen.

He smiles at me over the small table, the skin around his eyes crinkling and his broad mouth stretching wide to show off a set of healthy teeth.

Why do I feel nothing in response?

Why do I always feel nothing?

Is there something wrong with me?

I see my siblings with their partners, and I know I want that kind of supportive love.

But I also long for the passion.

The need they have for their mates.

A passionate need I’ve never experienced and I’m beginning to doubt I ever will.

Hell, at this point, I would settle for the barest flicker of attraction.

Something to prove I’m not destined to die alone.

But maybe that is my destiny.

Three happy siblings and one lonely spinster who never learned how to love.