Page 13 of Wooing the Wiccan
“Every day? Is he someone you need to be in contact with for work?”
“No.”
His delighted laugh is the answer to my question. “He’s into you, sir. If you’ve been texting every day and he’s signing off with a kiss, he’s trying to send you signals.”
“You’re sure?” Hope and insecurity war inside me.
“As sure as I can be with what I know. Let’s face it, you’re hot, kind, and nice to talk to. He’d be an idiot not to be interested.”
Heat flushes my face. “That’s… uh…”
“Don’t get shy, sir. Start planning your move. I want to hear all the details when you two hook up!”
I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but, “You’ll be the first to know.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jared
I strollinto 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 Raðulfr—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 Raðulfr 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 theself-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 Raðulfr 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.
Raðulfr 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.
