Page 49 of Wooing the Wiccan
Raðulfr
TWO WEEKS LATER
The buzzof my phone against the table interrupts the report the director of finance is giving. Around the table, eyes turn toward me, and I grimace apologetically and gesture for her to continue while I grab my phone.
My intention is to put it into my pocket until the meeting is done—if it’s urgent, people know to call Dáithí or Eoin next—but the name on the screen catches my attention.
Jared texted me.
I almost drop the phone in my haste to unlock it, and my hands are shaking slightly as I tap to open the message. It’s been two weeks since I heard from him, two weeks of me trying to respect his space and hoping that eventually, he won’t want me to do that anymore. Two weeks of forcing myself not to ask Sam or anyone at CSG if they’re in contact with him and how he’s doing. Two weeks of giving Dáithí hopeful glances every time I see him, just in case Jared’s reached out to him for something—and getting Dáithí’s regretful expression in return.
But now he’s texted me. That’s good. It has to be good, right? He wouldn’t text me to say he wanted nothing to do with me, would he?
He might. Jared’s the kind of person who believes in closure. I told him I’d wait for him, and he would never be able to live with himself if he decided it was over and left me waiting forever.
Mustering my courage, I glance at the message.
Jared:
Could we meet up to talk? At your convenience.
Those last three words tease a smile from me. They’re soJared. I wonder if I’ll get the chance to show him that my convenience is whenever he wants.
Raðulfr:
Yes. Tonight? Anywhere you want.
His reply comes quickly enough that his phone must have been still in his hand, and I glance at the time. His students are on their lunch break.
Jared:
Your place?
That feels like a test, but I no longer have anything to hide from him.
Raðulfr:
Yes.
I follow it up with the address.
Jared:
I’ll be there at seven thirty.
There are a million things I want to say, but I merely send an acknowledgment of the time, then slip my phone into my pocket, forcing myself to look like I’m listening to the state of the DEA’s finances. They’re excellent, which is just as well, since I’m not actually listening at all.
He wants to talk. That’s good… or maybe not. Maybe this is part of his “give people closure” mentality. He has excellent manners, so maybe he doesn’t want to officially break up with me via text message. Instead, he’ll come to my home and smash my heart there.
“I knew you weren’t paying attention!”
The voice cuts through the cycle of negative thoughts and faint hope cycling through my head, and a second later, Brandt’s body lands in the chair beside mine. Startled, I glance around the now-empty room.
“Where did everyone go?”
“The meeting’s over,” Brandt says dryly. “Don’t worry, you made some suitable comments to wrap things up. I don’t think anyone else noticed you were sleepwalking through them.”
“I noticed,” Ari mutters from behind us. I twist around to stare at him.
