Page 3 of The Art of Professing Love

Yes, I needed to reach out to this fae, go on a date with him, and see where we went from there. How bad could a quick little date at the library possibly be? I wrote a short text to the phone number I’d been provided and waited patiently for a response. I got one almost instantly and with that text, I confirmed my date at 7:00 tonight.

I had underestimated my tolerance for a free spirit, and it was never clearer than when the fae I’d matched with walked into the library nearly 10 minutes after he promised he would arrive.

“You’re late,” I told him before he’d even had a chance to sit down and introduce himself.

“Yes, well, I got distracted by some flowers outside,” the fae said, producing a bouquet he’d been hiding behind his back. “This is for you. There were a few other flowers that would have looked lovely included in this arrangement, but I had to leave them as they’re not meant to be picked.”

I forced a frustrated sigh back down into my chest. “Uh, thank you – Sylvan, yes?”

Sylvan bowed, still holding the bouquet. “That’s correct. And you’re Irving Scott, I take it?”

“I am.” I checked my watch, tapping my foot impatiently on the ground. “Now, shall we begin our date since we’ve already lost so much valuable time?”

Sylvan smiled. “Certainly. Oh, and, I don’t know if I mentioned it, but these are for you.”

He pushed the flowers into my hands, forcing me to take them from him lest I appear rude. I had to give it to the fae, he took things in stride much better than I did. That wasn’t always a strength, though, and right now he needed to prove himself to me if he had any expectations of a long and happy relationship.

He wasn’t particularly bad-looking either, if unmistakably fae: pointed ears peeked out behind hair that fell in copper waves around his face and down his shoulders, practically glowing in the soft light in the back of the library. He had a strong nose, gentle gray eyes, and freckles dotted across his pale, almost translucent skin.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I hear that you’re a professor at the local university?”

“Yes, I am.” I cleared my throat, discreetly dropping the bouquet by my feet and placing my hands neatly in my lap.

Sylvan didn’t take the hint, instead leaning forward even farther, his entire upper half draped over the surface. “I loved college, but unfortunately my grades purported otherwise.” He shot a toothy grin at me.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” I replied dryly. “What did you study?”

“Art.”

“Art?”

“Painting, mostly, but art history as well. I did all right in applied art studies, except for when I needed to strictly follow the rules, but the more structured classes with quizzes and such were a nightmare. What do you teach?”

“English literature.”

Sylvan raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. “That’s quite an…interesting field to dedicate your career to.”

“Is it?”

“I think so. I mean, I like reading, but studying it on a college level? It seems a little much, don’t you think?”

“Do you really believe that I, a professor of English lit, would agree that the study of it is unnecessary?”

“No, I suppose not.”

He pulled back from me, finally moving his elbows off the table. There was a comfortable amount of space between us, but the look he gave me was far from comfortable. I took that as my cue to leave.

“Well, Sylvan, it was lovely to meet you, but I believe our time here is done. I’ll see you to your car if you would like.”

“Oh, I walked. I don’t even own a car, truth be told. Thank you, though.” Sylvan stood, his disappointment clear despite his attempt to hide it with a smile. “I suppose even my cousin has their off days.” He chuckled.

“Your cousin?” My brow furrowed. “You don’t mean to tell me that the Librarian is your cousin, do you?”

“Why, yes, I do. What makes you so surprised?”

“Your cousin is well-read, polite, and a much more, how shall I say, grounded fae. I should know – I had them in my very first class when they attended my university.”

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