Page 5 of Wooing the Wiccan (Elf Magic #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

Jared

I hover in the hallway, wondering what’s come over me.

I’ve never asked Pete or any of the others who’ve filled in for him to have a drink with me, and it can be argued that they all helped me more than Raeulfr—though his tip tonight about starting with something that already exists is a good one.

I can already think of other things it will make so much easier.

But that’s not the only reason I suggested this outing.

It’s not even the main one. I can’t actually call this a date, because I’ve told Raeulfr it’s just a thank-you drink, but I’m kind of maybe hoping that it will lead to one.

Which is nerve-racking. It’s been a good long while since I dated anyone, and longer still since it was someone I just met randomly.

Usually I end up dating friends of friends or people I meet at teacher conferences or witchy events.

I guess a class on using magic counts as a witchy event.

And it’s a definite bonus that Raeulfr already knows I’m a witch and isn’t bothered by it.

A lot of people back off fast when they find out I’m Wiccan.

Of course, the downside is that he doesn’t know I’m interested in him that way.

Maybe he usually has a cup of tea at this time and figures I might as well pay for it.

Maybe he’s not interested in men. Maybe he’s married or in a serious relationship.

Maybe he felt bad saying no when I asked.

Maybe I need to stop overthinking this. It’s a casual drink in a public place with an interesting man.

That’s all. Then I’ll go home, get some sleep, and wake up to another day of teaching five-year-olds that “fingerpainting” doesn’t mean “put paint on your mouth and nose and press your face to the paper.” My life might not be thrilling, but it’s mine and I like?—

I frown. Is Raeulfr talking to himself? I’d swear I hear voices from inside the meeting room. Should I check on him?

I’m still trying to decide—and really, does it matter if he talks to himself?

I talk to my cat—when the door opens and he comes out.

As soon as he sees me, his face lights with a smile, and I let go of the foolish worries.

It doesn’t seem likely that he only agreed to come because he felt sorry for me, not if he’s smiling like that.

“Ready?” he asks, and I nod.

“Is there anything you need to do here before we go? Check in with someone or…?” I have no idea how hiring a room in a community center works.

“No, it’s all sorted. I just need to make sure this is closed.” He pulls the door shut, then dusts off his hands. “Shall we?”

The night outside is crisp and cold, though warmer than it was just a few weeks ago. It’s not quite spring, but on a night like tonight, I can begin to hope winter will soon be behind us. Not that I dislike winter—it has its good points—but I’m looking forward to getting out in my garden again.

“You’re deep in thought,” Raeulfr ventures as we stroll along the sidewalk. “Thinking about that spell?”

I mentally kick myself for wasting this opportunity. He’s hardly going to want to get to know me better if I’m a silent lump. “No, actually. I was thinking of all the things I’d like to do in my garden come spring.”

“You like to garden?” His delight warms me from top to toe. “So do I. Not that I get much chance these days, but I do have a small patch to potter in.”

“Same,” I confess. “Mostly I grow herbs and other bits and pieces I can use in practice, but I do like to add the occasional frivolous flower or tree.” I snort. “A few years back, I bought a dwarf kumquat tree.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head in curiosity. “I’m not familiar with… what did you call it? Komquill?”

“Kumquat,” I repeat, grinning. “It’s a fruit tree that’s native to China. I bought it on a whim because it’s pretty, but I wasn’t prepared for the fruit.”

“You can’t finish the story like that,” he protests. “Is the fruit bad?”

I shake my head. “No, but it didn’t taste like I thought it would. When you first bite in, it’s sweet, but the sour takes over very quickly. I like it for preserves and in cooking, but not so much for eating.”

He chuckles. “Good thing you only got a dwarf tree then. Imagine if you had a full-size one full of fruit.”

“There aren’t enough jam jars in the world,” I agree, slowing as we reach the bookstore. “Here we are.” The plate-glass window glows with warm light from within, and I take a moment to glance at the current display. There’s something so wonderful and welcoming about a bookstore.

Inside, Raeulfr glances around and then inhales deeply. “Ah. Books.”

A young couple passing us on their way out snicker, and his cheeks tinge pink. It’s adorable.

“It’s a comforting smell, isn’t it?” I ask. “It’s silly in this age of technology, but I still find it so awe-inspiring that this room currently contains so much . Information and stories and ideas and…” I trail off, feeling a little embarrassed myself now. I got carried away.

But he looks at me with warm understanding in his gaze.

“Yes. And the possibilities—don’t forget those.

There’s already so much here, but it’s also going to inspire more.

” He nods toward the children’s section.

“That’s why it’s so important we teach the young how to read and process what they’re learning. ”

God and goddess, it would be so easy to fall in love with this man. I clear my throat to keep myself from asking him to marry me. “I agree,” I say instead. “The café is toward the back.”

Once we’ve found a table—it’s usually busy here in the evenings, because college kids come to study while drinking their dozenth espresso drink of the day, plus the store hosts a few different book clubs—I ask him what he’d like to drink and then go to order.

When I get back with an order number and the barista’s assurance that she’ll bring our drinks right over, Raeulfr is reading the flyer that lists all the store’s upcoming events.

“This is wonderful,” he says without looking up.

“There’s something for everyone. What a great way to build a community. ”

“Isn’t it? I don’t come to a regular book club here, but I enjoy some of their special events.” I tap the line announcing a book signing with one of my favorite fiction authors. “Like this.”

Before I can lift my hand away, he captures it in his and raises it so he can examine my fingers—my paint-stained fingers. I try not to squirm.

“It is paint,” he exclaims. “I wondered. Are you an artist?”

Oh boy. If that’s what he’s expecting, this is probably going to be a letdown for him.

“No, I teach kindergarten. We had an incident today, where somehow one of my students got into the paint I used on the backdrop for our holiday concert. It’s a little less washable than what they use for their art, so while I was cleaning up, it ended up staining me.

” I grimace. It’s going to be a while until I can get the last of it off the table and chair Kole was using too.

“Kindergarten?” Raeulfr repeats. “That must be so rewarding—paint mishaps aside. All those curious little minds so excited about every new thing they learn.”

“It is rewarding, though sometimes it’s like herding cats who’ve been playing in a catnip patch.

” I’m glad he’s not one of those people who thinks I play with the kids all day and they practically look after themselves.

“I especially love this time of year, when they’ve mostly mastered their letters and are beginning to read bits and pieces.

It’s like watching them unlock a door to a new world, you know? ”

He smiles at me. “Yes, I know.”

Our gazes lock, and for a long second, I can’t catch my breath.

“Lemongrass tea?”

Blinking, I glance up at the barista holding two mugs with teabag strings dangling over the sides.

“Oh, uh…” Shit, Raeulfr is still holding my hand. Is he holding it, or did he just forget he had it?

Before I can decide whether or not it would be awkward for me to pull away, he lets go. I try not to be disappointed, but I don’t know what to do with my hand right now. I fiddle awkwardly with the chain that holds my amethyst pendant.

“That’s mine, thank you,” he says, sitting back so she can set the mug down.

“And Earl Grey for you,” she announces, putting it in front of me. “Anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you. This is perfect,” I tell her, and then wait for her to leave before saying to Raeulfr, “So, uh… what is it you do? When you’re not helping others learn magic, I mean.”

He casts a quick glance at the tables around us, surprising me.

Does it bother him that someone might have heard me say that and know he’s…

Well, I don’t know for certain that he’s Wiccan, but I’d say he’s some form of pagan, given the attitudes most modern religions have toward magic use.

Is he unable to practice openly? Maybe because of his job or family?

“I work in government,” he says, partially answering my unasked questions.

Government departments can’t legally discriminate based on religious affiliation or practices, but depending on the government, they can sure as hell make things difficult.

“Management. It’s one of those jobs where either things are happening all at once, or nothing’s happening at all. ”

“Not like teaching kindergarten, then,” I say wryly.

“Little kids can turn the most mundane thing into a parade-worthy event.” My tone is light, but somehow, the easiness we had before is gone.

I feel super awkward, a reaction to the combination of the hand-holding incident and him not seeming comfortable discussing magic in public.

I fiddle with my pendant chain again, glancing away.

“What is that?” he asks, and I look back to see him reaching toward me.

“Uh…”

His hand stops a few inches from my collarbone. “Is it a necklace? I’m sorry—I’m being nosy.”

I relax. “Nosy is my default setting, so don’t worry about that. Yes, it’s a necklace.” I fish inside my sweater and draw out the chain and pendant for him to see. “Amethyst, for calm and peace.”

He leans in to look closely. “That’s stunning workmanship. Did you make it yourself?”

I laugh, because the setting around the crystal is intricate silversmithing, and the extent of my jewelry-making abilities is what the kids and I do in class.

“No, I commissioned it from a silversmith—a fellow witch.” I use the word deliberately, watching for his reaction, but there isn’t one.

Whatever caused him to worry about “magic,” it doesn’t apply to “witch.” “They do the most stunning work.”

“They do indeed,” he murmurs, examining it as well as he can with it still around my neck. “I don’t suppose you’d share their contact information?” He finally sits back and lifts his gaze to meet mine again.

“Of course.” I slip the pendant back inside my sweater and grab my phone, feeling suddenly confident. “Here, put your number in, and I’ll text you their details.” I hold out my phone and add, “I promise not to misuse your number.”

He takes the handset and looks me straight in the eyes as he replies, “You can use my number whenever you like.”