Page 7 of Wooing the Wiccan (Elf Magic #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jared

I stroll into the store fifteen minutes early and glance around. It’s busier than it was last week, but that’s to be expected at this time of day. I don’t see Raeulfr—early—so I wander toward the gardening section to see if there’s anything new.

“Hi, Jared,” the college student behind the counter calls as I pass, and I flip her a wave.

“Hey, Beth. Great shirt.” It says, “I like my whiskey straight, but my friends can go either way.” She grins at me and turns her attention to an approaching customer.

I’m pretending to look at a book about container planting but really wondering if Raeulfr is just coming to collect the tubers or might also want to hang out with me, when the skin along my neck starts to crawl.

I glance around, but nothing seems out of place—just a bunch of people browsing, and some happy chatter coming from the café. My instinct doesn’t usually?—

Is that woman staring at me?

I glance over my shoulder to see if she’s looking at something behind me—maybe she’s reading a poster.

There’s nothing there but a wall of books, so unless she has fantastic eyesight and can read the spines from a dozen feet away, she’s staring at me…

and her expression isn’t the friendliest. She’s standing beside the self-help section, not even pretending to be interested in books, and looks like she’s sizing me up.

Should I be worried? My instincts say no—in fact, now that I’ve noticed her watching me, they don’t seem concerned about her in the slightest. Sometimes I wonder if there’s any point to having good instincts if they can’t give me any real information.

“Jared?”

I look away from the woman and see Raeulfr walking down the aisle toward me, a smile on his face, and I can’t stop myself from smiling back. “Hi. I was just browsing.” I put the container gardening book back on the shelf.

“Really?” he asks with a teasing note. “Because it seemed like you were staring into space.”

Chuckling, I pull a rueful face. “Yeah… well, no. Not to sound conceited or anything, but I thought that woman might be staring at me, and I was trying to work out why.” I gesture vaguely in the direction of the woman, who’s still watching.

Raeulfr glances that way, and his lips tighten just the tiniest bit. “I bet she’s jealous of your hair,” he declares. “It’s so curly and healthy.”

I blink. She’s… what? “Uh…”

“Ignore her. Do you know where the section on parenting is? I want to get my friend a book—kind of a joke, since he thinks it’s funny that his daughter rules the house.”

Letting myself be distracted, I lead him toward the right area—it’s one I’m familiar with, since it includes all the books about early childhood development. “Is this the friend who told you the horrifyingly amusing story?”

“Yes! It all started when Brandt—my friend—ate some cake that was being saved for her…” He launches into the story, and he’s right about it being funny and also terrifying.

“That kid is going to rule the world one day,” I predict, and for some reason, he winces.

“She’s certainly going to have her family under her thumb,” he agrees.

We wander through the shelves for almost an hour, talking about books and friends and work, and then end up in the café once the after-school crowd starts to thin out.

“Tell me about Wicca,” he says, tapping the cover of the book on top of the stack I’ve gathered, and I sputter, taken aback.

“You don’t… I’m sorry. I guess I just assumed you already knew about… I mean, with the magic and all.” He flinches just like last time when I say “magic,” and I wish I knew what that was about. Why does that one word worry him?

He takes a sip from his drink, then explains, “My family is a different branch of pagan. You might have guessed from my accent that I’m not from around here.

Where I used to live, we didn’t learn a lot about religions and other practices…

not recently, anyway. I’ve been meaning to do some reading on the subject since I came here, but time is a commodity that always seems to escape me.

” He shrugs. “Some colleagues of mine have talked a lot about Wicca and other hu— religious practices, and it all sounds beautiful. You have gods, don’t you? ”

“The god and goddess,” I correct. “Although our relationship with them is different from many other religions, and our worship tends to be a lot more personal and less… communal.”

Raeulfr props his elbows on the tabletop and leans forward. “What does that mean? Less communal?”

He seems genuinely interested and not at all judgy, so I relax a little. “No churches, for one. Some do choose to gather for special ceremonies—solstice or equinox, to name the biggest—and some witches are most comfortable as part of a coven, but not all.”

“Are you?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry—is it okay for me to ask that?”

“I don’t mind,” I assure him. “I think we’re good enough friends to ask the occasional personal question—don’t you?” My heartbeat picks up as I realize that I could have phrased that better. What if he thinks it means I only want to be friends?

His lovely gray eyes meet mine, and he says hesitantly, “I think we could venture beyond friendship, if we both wanted to.”

Giddy excitement bursts inside me, and I smile so wide my cheeks feel like they might crack. “Me too.”

We sit there grinning foolishly at each other for a moment, and then I pull myself together.

“Uh, so… no, I don’t have a coven. I considered it when I first started practicing—most witches come to Wicca through mentorship by another witch, and mine was part of a great coven.

They were very welcoming and offered me a place with them, but it never quite fit.

I think I’m more of a solitary witch. They still invite me to join them sometimes, and I’ll go, or I meet up with some other solitary witches.

” I pick up my mug and sip my coffee—I have some lesson planning to do tonight, so the caffeine is needed.

“I like that,” he muses. “That your religion is something so deeply personal, to be shared only if and when you want, and that there’s no judgment or expectation from other practitioners for your choice.”

I snort. “Oh, we have plenty of expectations and the occasional judgment,” I correct.

“But not how you mean. Some people might judge me for not being in a coven, might think I’m missing part of the experience, but it’s their personal opinion and not anything else.

We all have our preferred ways of doing things, and of course everyone thinks their way is the right way, but mostly, the only expectation Wicca has—the only real rule—is that we do no harm.

We do not use our gifts from nature to cause hurt to others. ”

He nods. “That’s a rule I also live by. We have so very much in common. Were you raised Wiccan?”

Shaking my head, I glance away. “No. I came to it when I was already an adult. My family was—is—Christian, and their church isn’t… well, it’s not accepting of anything that doesn’t fit a very rigid perspective.” I stop, because he doesn’t need my whole life story—not yet.

But his gaze is far too perceptive. “They hurt you deeply,” he murmurs, and I nod helplessly.

“Yeah. For a lot of reasons. I don’t have contact with them anymore, and although that makes me sad sometimes, it’s more because I miss having a family than because I regret cutting ties.

My phone number and email address are the same, so if they’d changed, they could have reached out.

The silence means they haven’t, and I don’t need to be part of something that was so harmful for me. ”

Reaching across the table, Raeulfr covers my hand with his, just for a moment. “I’m glad you have the strength to know that, though I’m sorry that you have to.”

It’s the best thing he could have said. “Thank you. What about your family—I know you learned magic from a young age, but have they been supportive of… everything?”

The solemn moment dispelled, Raeulfr sits back.

“Oh, yes. I had two sisters, one older and one younger, and my grandfather came to live with us when I was small. My parents were both musicians, and any time one of us complained about lessons or chores, they’d find a way to set it to music.

I can’t even remember how many times I tidied my bedchamber to a three/four count. ”

A laugh escapes me. “How would that even work? I mean… I’m not completely sure what that is .”

“Maybe one day I can demonstrate,” he suggests. “Though I haven’t done it for a very long time. It did help to make things fun, though, if only because we were so busy laughing or rolling our eyes at our parents that we forgot to be petulant.”

“I can’t imagine you ever being petulant. Peevish, maybe,” I tease, still excited by the idea that he might help me clean a room in my house someday. That’s intimate—well, it is for me, anyway. I don’t invite a lot of people to even visit my house, much less make themselves at home.

“I can be petulant,” he assures me. “Peevish, too. Though I’m not very often, these days. My life is happy, so I don’t have much call to be.”

“I like to look on the positive side of things too.” Our gazes meet again, another drawn-out moment that makes me feel all the excited tingles inside.

I can’t remember the last time I had this kind of reaction to someone, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

When did my relationships become so low-key and transactional?

“Did your family move to America too, or do they still—I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught where you lived before? ”

Sadness crosses his handsome face. “They died. My younger sister first, then my mother. My father chose not to continue without her. They loved each other so deeply, you see. My older sister was the last to be lost.” He shakes his head and adds, almost absently, “I tried so hard, but nothing I did stopped it.”

Clearly he blames himself for their deaths, though I can’t imagine why. It sounds like they might have lived in a conflict zone? I’m not going to push for more information when it upsets him.

Repeating his gesture of not long ago, I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine. “I’m so sorry. They sound like they were amazing people.”

His smile returns, sadder and simpler, but still there. “They were. The best. I hope to meet them again in future lives.”

“I’m sure you will. We’re drawn to the souls we loved in the past.”

“We are,” he says, turning his hand under mine so they’re palm-to-palm. “It’s a true joy.”

We’re basically just holding hands and staring at each other, but I wouldn’t give this moment up. Such a simple connection and yet?—

Something bounces off the side of Raeulfr’s head. Blinking, I let go of his hand as we both lean to look down at the floor. It’s a wadded-up piece of napkin.

“What…?” I turn to scan the side of the room it must have come from, looking for kids or even teenagers who might be responsible, but the only occupied tables have adults. Who would?—

“Is that the same woman who was staring before?” Surely she didn’t throw a napkin at us. She’s not even looking at us anymore.

“Maybe,” Raeulfr says, his eyes narrowed in her direction. “Never mind. I suppose it’s not a terrible thing that we were interrupted. I’ve been here longer than I planned.”

I glance at my watch and wince. “Me too. I was having too good a time. We could do it again soon?”

That easily, he forgets about the woman, turning instead to smile warmly at me. “We will.”