Page 24 of Wooing the Wiccan
Our sassy receptionist grins at me. “You’ve always been one of my favorite people, sir. Don’t worry—I intend to. Now.” He leans forward, expression turning serious. “What can I do for you?”
“Let me update you.” I run through everything that’s happened since Jared’s and my second bookstore meeting, skimming over the very personal details and finishing with, “It’s my turn to plan a date, and I don’t know what it should be. It needs to be something that shows him I want him in every part of my life.”
Dáithí, who made appropriately happy noises in all the right places during my story, says, “Hmm, yes. You need a couple-y date.”
I frown. “What?”
He’s nodding to himself. “A date that longtime couples would go on. A concert, or a movie you actually want to see. The kind ofdate where you’re together, but not necessarily focused on each other. It sends a signal that you think you’ve moved on from the getting-to-know-you stuff to the actual relationship stuff. That you’re boyfriends.” He meets my gaze. “Is that the vibe you want to give?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”
“Great. Okay, so you said you’ve been to a movie already, and it’s unlikely you’d get concert tickets for anyone good this late—is there anyone good even playing at the moment?”
“I’d need to check.” Though, I haven’t truly taken much interest in Earth music yet. A stubborn part of me is clinging to the music of my own people, and I can’t take Jared to one of their shows—not yet.
“Sports, then,” Dáithí suggests. “Something fast-paced so you don’t get bored, with snacks and entertainment when there’s no play.”
“That sounds reasonable.” And I can buy Jared a souvenir of the game—something to remember the night. “What about baseball? I like baseball.” At least, I’ve been to two games before, and they were fun.
He shakes his head. “Too early. I like baseball too—baseball pants are a gift.”
He’s not wrong.
“When’s your date?” he asks, pulling out his phone and tapping industriously at the screen.
I wince. “Tonight. The planning’s been a lot harder than I expected.”
He waves that off. “It always is. But we’re too late for football, which leaves basketball with those ugly loose shorts, or hockey.”
“Basketball shorts are ugly but you’re okay with hockey pads?” I ask in surprise, and he looks up from his phone.
“It’s all that power flying down the ice,” he says dreamily. “Trust me.” He looks back at his phone. “Plus, there isn’t a basketball game tonight, so it’s hockey or nothing.”
I shrug. “Hockey it is. That’s the one where they’re on skates, right?” His comment about ice jogged my sports memory, such as it is.
“Yes. And they play with apuck, not a ball. That’s important.”
“Puck, not ball,” I repeat. “Got it. Dáithí?”
“Hmm?” He’s still tapping at his phone.
“What’s a puck?”
“It’s a… thing. That they hit. To score. I never really paid that much attention to that part. Maybe see if there’s a hockey for beginners tutorial on YouTube.”
Turning to my computer, I wake up the screen and begin the search. I’m very familiar with YouTube—all of us who migrated are. It helped us learn so much about this planet and its customs.
“Okay, I’m getting you tickets at center ice, opposite the team benches, about seven rows back. They’re expensive, but you’ll have a great view, and you’ll get access to one of the lounges, so it’ll be easier to get drinks. How does that sound?”
Completely foreign, but I’m ready to try something new… with Jared. “Good. Wait! Should I check if he even likes hockey?”
Dáithí’s eyes widen. “Good idea. At least make sure he doesn’t hate it.”
I tap out a quick text message:
Got an opportunity to go to the hockey tonight—does that sound okay, or should we pass?
There, that’s vague enough that he won’t feel obligated to say yes—or no. It’s also the kind of message people send their long-term partners, like we’re an established couple. I like it.
