Page 12 of Wooing the Wiccan (Elf Magic #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Raeulfr

TWO WEEKS LATER

I close the browser tab in disgust. One hundred suggestions for dates, and not a single one seemed right. I suppose it’s possible that I’m being picky, but shouldn’t I be? Jared’s special. He deserves to feel like I’m putting in effort.

It’s not just me who’s being picky, either.

The life force didn’t like any of the suggestions on that site, not even the ones I thought might be okay.

Since Jared’s the first person in my life since ásta died that the life force has taken an interest in, it’s probably a good idea to let it guide me.

I just wish it would actually guide me, instead of merely disapproving of ideas.

It’s my turn to plan our date, and I have zero inspiration.

We’ve already been out for a few nice dinners, some casual and some a little more upmarket, been to the cinema to make out in the back row of a movie neither of us was interested in—that was a fun experience—and to a light show at the botanic gardens.

I wouldn’t have thought they’d hold something like that at this time of year, but Jared assures me they do it every year, taking advantage of the bare branches to create something spectacular for anyone willing to brave the cold.

We drank hot chocolate and wandered through the magical exhibits holding hands.

After that, he’s definitely winning the date-planning not -contest. Because adults don’t compete about things like this, and I’ve clearly been spending too much time with Brandt and his dragons if I’m thinking of it as a competition.

The part that annoys me the most is that I know inviting him to my home would make him so happy.

We’ve stayed in at his place several times, and last weekend, I helped him do some work in his garden ahead of his spring planting plans.

He’s never prodded about coming to my place, but there have been a few instances where it would have been natural for me to invite him, and I haven’t.

The quickly hidden disappointment is a dead giveaway.

Eoin and the team are standing firm about this, though.

They won’t agree to stay in the butler’s suite, where Jared won’t see them and ask why they’re in my home, until he knows and accepts that I’m not human.

The “easy” solution to that would be to tell him, but I’m forbidden by law.

Our relationship is still too new for me to qualify for the exemption that would allow me to tell him.

Yes, I’m the King of the Elves, but that just makes it even more necessary for me to abide by the law.

I set the example for all my people to follow—even the ones who make it difficult for me to enjoy leadership.

I offered to tell Jared I had a roommate, so that one of my guards could be in the penthouse with us.

Eoin merely raised a brow and asked if I thought telling unnecessary extra lies now was going to make it go easier when I eventually reveal the truth.

That was both a win and a loss—I didn’t get my way, but Eoin conceded that Jared would learn the truth one day.

Then I pointed out that when I stay at Jared’s, they’re farther from me than they would be in the butler’s suite, to which Eoin replied, “You have no idea how close to you we actually are.” I ended the conversation at that point.

It didn’t seem like I was going to win, and I definitely didn’t want him to tell me how close they get.

Jared would recognize it if I spelled to create a privacy shield of some kind, so it’s better for me to just stay ignorant.

Eventually, I’ll be able to invite Jared to my penthouse. We’ll sit in the garden and talk into the wee hours, then make love in my bed looking out over this glorious world that we both love. But not for our next date.

Which brings me back to my current dilemma: What are we doing on our next date?

I sigh. It’s been a long time, so I might be misremembering, but dating never used to be this hard. I think it’s time to ask for help again.

The life force whirls around me encouragingly.

I pick up the phone on my desk and dial.

“Reception, this is Dáithí.”

“Hello, Dáithí, it’s Raeulfr. Are you terribly busy at the moment?”

“Never too busy for you, sir. Especially since I need an update on that situation we discussed last month. How can I help?”

It’s no wonder he has Eoin in knots. “Actually, if there’s someone there who can cover for you, would you join me in my office? I’d prefer neither of us was overheard.”

A drawn-in little breath tells me exactly how excited he is by the prospect of fresh secrets. “Not a problem. Give me ten minutes.”

I while away the time doing actual work, and exactly ten minutes later, there’s a knock. “Enter,” I call.

Dáithí opens the door, talking over his shoulder. “…none of your business what I’m seeing His Majesty about, Eoin. Go back to your little schedule, and if either of us wants you to know what we’re discussing, we’ll tell you.”

I catch a glimpse of Eoin’s unimpressed face as he stands in the doorway to the security office across the hall, and I smile brightly at him as Dáithí closes the door.

“I apologize for using our meeting to bait him,” he says candidly as he crosses toward me, “but he had the nerve to suggest that my clothing today is inappropriate, and I needed to take him down a peg.”

Waving him toward one of the visitor chairs, I study what he’s wearing. It looks fine to me. “What was his problem with it?”

Dáithí scoffs, but there’s an undertone of smugness when he says, “I’m wearing sexy underwear, and he said he won’t be able to get any work done remembering how it looks.”

I narrow my eyes. “He needs to be brought down more than one peg for that. Make him beg.”

Our sassy receptionist grins at me. “You’ve always been one of my favorite people, sir. Don’t worry—I intend to. Now.” He leans forward, expression turning serious. “What can I do for you?”

“Let me update you.” I run through everything that’s happened since Jared’s and my second bookstore meeting, skimming over the very personal details and finishing with, “It’s my turn to plan a date, and I don’t know what it should be.

It needs to be something that shows him I want him in every part of my life. ”

Dáithí, who made appropriately happy noises in all the right places during my story, says, “Hmm, yes. You need a couple-y date.”

I frown. “What?”

He’s nodding to himself. “A date that longtime couples would go on. A concert, or a movie you actually want to see. The kind of date where you’re together, but not necessarily focused on each other.

It sends a signal that you think you’ve moved on from the getting-to-know-you stuff to the actual relationship stuff.

That you’re boyfriends.” He meets my gaze. “Is that the vibe you want to give?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

“Great. Okay, so you said you’ve been to a movie already, and it’s unlikely you’d get concert tickets for anyone good this late—is there anyone good even playing at the moment?”

“I’d need to check.” Though, I haven’t truly taken much interest in Earth music yet. A stubborn part of me is clinging to the music of my own people, and I can’t take Jared to one of their shows—not yet.

“Sports, then,” Dáithí suggests. “Something fast-paced so you don’t get bored, with snacks and entertainment when there’s no play.”

“That sounds reasonable.” And I can buy Jared a souvenir of the game—something to remember the night. “What about baseball? I like baseball.” At least, I’ve been to two games before, and they were fun.

He shakes his head. “Too early. I like baseball too—baseball pants are a gift.”

He’s not wrong.

“When’s your date?” he asks, pulling out his phone and tapping industriously at the screen.

I wince. “Tonight. The planning’s been a lot harder than I expected.”

He waves that off. “It always is. But we’re too late for football, which leaves basketball with those ugly loose shorts, or hockey.”

“Basketball shorts are ugly but you’re okay with hockey pads?” I ask in surprise, and he looks up from his phone.

“It’s all that power flying down the ice,” he says dreamily. “Trust me.” He looks back at his phone. “Plus, there isn’t a basketball game tonight, so it’s hockey or nothing.”

I shrug. “Hockey it is. That’s the one where they’re on skates, right?” His comment about ice jogged my sports memory, such as it is.

“Yes. And they play with a puck , not a ball. That’s important.”

“Puck, not ball,” I repeat. “Got it. Dáithí?”

“Hmm?” He’s still tapping at his phone.

“What’s a puck?”

“It’s a… thing. That they hit. To score. I never really paid that much attention to that part. Maybe see if there’s a hockey for beginners tutorial on YouTube.”

Turning to my computer, I wake up the screen and begin the search. I’m very familiar with YouTube—all of us who migrated are. It helped us learn so much about this planet and its customs.

“Okay, I’m getting you tickets at center ice, opposite the team benches, about seven rows back. They’re expensive, but you’ll have a great view, and you’ll get access to one of the lounges, so it’ll be easier to get drinks. How does that sound?”

Completely foreign, but I’m ready to try something new… with Jared. “Good. Wait! Should I check if he even likes hockey?”

Dáithí’s eyes widen. “Good idea. At least make sure he doesn’t hate it.”

I tap out a quick text message:

Got an opportunity to go to the hockey tonight—does that sound okay, or should we pass?

There, that’s vague enough that he won’t feel obligated to say yes—or no. It’s also the kind of message people send their long-term partners, like we’re an established couple. I like it.

I check the time. It’s recess, so he should reply soon.

“I can’t hold the tickets that long,” Dáithí warns. “We’ll still be able to get some later, but?—”

My phone chimes.

Jared:

Sounds fun! I haven’t been at all this season. Didn’t even know there was a game tonight. Let’s go.

“He likes hockey,” I tell Dáithí, sending back a quick confirmation. “I guess I’d better learn some stuff about it.”

“Sending you the tickets now,” Dáithí says, and I get a notification a second later. “Start with YouTube, and I’ll find some other resources for you as well,” he promises. “I’ll also screen your calls this afternoon so you can focus.”

“Jared’s really going to like you.” I smile. “Now, do you want my help making Eoin suffer? He’s annoying me to no end lately, so it would be a pleasure.”

Dáithí laughs. “That’s a kind offer, sir, but I’ve got it in hand. He needs to go through the stages of torture to prove his worthiness. It took him too long to realize how epic I am, and I want to know he’s invested and not just in this for a fun time.”

“It’s almost a shame you’re so good on reception,” I muse. “You’d be amazing in one of our strategic teams. If you ever want a change in career?—”

“Thanks, but no,” he replies, not for the first time. We’ve been offering him career development for decades. “The strategic teams don’t get to hear as much gossip as I do.”