Page 11 of Wooing the Wiccan
“Why are you both changing the subject?” Brandt demands. “We were talking about how to make Raðulfr’s life more interesting!”
I blink. “We most certainly werenot, thank you very much. My life is just fine. But now you need to finish telling us about Cecy’s rampage, because I refuse to believe that precious baby actually rampaged.”
“Me too,” Sam agrees. “Last time I saw her, she offered me a kiss if I’d give her the ornamental letter opener from my desk. I said no, because it might not be sharp but it’s still not toddler safe, and she gave me big sad eyes and a quivery lower lip.”
I chuckle knowingly. “You surrendered immediately, didn’t you?” It’s hard to say no to Cecy’s sad face.
“We compromised,” Sam informs us loftily. “She could look at and touch it, but only while I was holding it.”
Brandt slow claps. “Well done. Not many people can hold out against her even that much.”
“So… rampage?” I prompt, and he sighs.
“You’re right, it’s not exactly a destructive rampage. She’s just refusing to talk to anyone or play with anyone and keeps giving us the sad face. Sophie thinks she’s torturing us all until her betrayer—whoever ate the cake—reveals themselves and makes it up to her.”
I tip my head to one side. “Why do you sound proud?”
His smile breaks free. “Don’t tell Percy, but Iam. She’s so clever. If she can keep this up, she’ll get her way. Steffen’s already promised to set up security cameras around the fridge so this can never happen again.” He shakes his head admiringly. “She’s got him wrapped around her baby claws.”
Knowing Steffen, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I return my attention to the question looming large in my mind. “You ate the cake, didn’t you?”
Brandt gasps. “How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
Sam sighs. “He ate the cake.”
“You should be ashamed,” I chide. “Stealing cake from your toddler daughter—and then making everyone in the house live through your punishment.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grin. “Wait until I tell Steffen.”
The wingleader of all dragons begins to sputter, and I sit back, satisfied that he’ll never even remember the way I smiled about a text message. Not that it would really have mattered if I told Brandt and Sam that it was from Jared… and who Jared is. It’s not like it’s a secret that I had tea with one of the humans learning to use magic—my whole security team knows, thanks to Ari.
They don’t know about the text messages, though. It’s been five days since Jared and I met, and not a single one has passed without us texting each other.
First, he sent me the contact information for his silversmith, and I replied with a thank-you. The next morning, I impulsively sent a message to say I hoped his students didn’t get into any more paint. It took off from there, and we’ve been chatting about books, plants, magic, and things that happen at work (his work stories are much better than mine, possibly because I can’t tell him the really good ones). Last night he called me to say he’dover-ordered Dahlia tubers, and did I want some? I said of course, and then we talked for an hour about… stuff.
It's been a long time since I was able to talk so easily with someone I barely know.
I tune back into the conversation to find that Sam has soothed Brandt’s indignation and is insisting that Brandt will definitely have to stop the plane races before an accident happens. “Even the most careful dragon can’t be sure that the wind won’t knock the plane sideways—or that the pilot is a good one,” he’s saying.
I bite back a smile at the way he avoids adding that the very, very few “careful” dragons who exist would never race a plane anyway.
Once I’m backin my office with the door closed, I finally unlock my phone and read the message.
Jared:
I forgot to ask last night when you want to collect the tubers. Or I can bring them to you? Whatever’s easiest.
Yes! I can see him again. I start typing a reply—whenever he wants—but then stop. He can’t bring them to me. At home, I’d need to find a way to explain the bodyguard on duty—not to mention listen to said bodyguard’s lecture about inviting strange humans into my home—and we try not to invite humans to the office without scheduling a time with security and sending out a mass email to all staff beforehand, warning them not to do anything that might give us away. I can’t do that just soJared can drop off some tubers. The questions I’d face would be horrific.
I drum my fingers on the surface of my desk. I could pick the tubers up from him, but it’s unlikely that anyone on the security team is going to be happy about me going to his house, especially since I’d make them wait outside… a block away.
Raðulfr:
I can work around your schedule. Another visit to the bookstore?
I want to suggest lunch or dinner, but I’m trying to ease my security into the idea of Jared being in my life.
