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Chapter Nine
Even though I really wanted to get home last night and google the shit out of shifters, fae and incubi (oh my god, what is the plural for incubus? Why does my head hurt so much when trying to figure this stuff out?!) I didn’t. I thought it would be rude; kind of like spying on someone. I forced myself to go to bed instead.
I can be patient. I’m sure my dates will allow me to ask plenty of questions and get to know each of them as individuals rather than species stereotypes. Well, that’s what the logical part of my brain is telling me anyway. The louder part is screaming at me to just run an internet search already.
I’m not too sure how I feel about their request to date me. Well. I’m pretty sure Linden didn’t ask. I think he’s just tagging along for the ride (which he won’t be getting from me!) as he didn’t really show any interest in dating me —besides that joke about getting me into bed. I think he’d take anyone to bed though. Maybe I could have some fun with him. I mean, how many witches can he have slept with—even in Silver Springs?
I’m close to crumbling and reaching for the laptop to research the shit out of him and the others, when the doorbell rings. That’ll be Ash.
I nervously wipe my palms on my floaty white skirt. I wasn’t sure what to wear for a breakfast date. But I figured, as I’d have to head off to work straight after, he’d just have to take me as I am: work ready, I mean. I’m not in my pjs or anything like that.
“Hey.” I smile as I open the door. Ash is there, a wicker basket under each arm, grinning at me. He’s wearing jeans with his firefighter t-shirt. His tight firefighter t-shirt. “Looking hot, fireman.” I wink.
“Could say the same about you,” he replies, giving me a once-over that makes me tingle all the way down to my toes.
“Come in. That’s a lot of baskets for breakfast!”
He chuckles and passes me, heading straight for the kitchen. Oh, yeah, I guess he knows his way around this place. A pang of sadness hits me—I miss Batfink—but I shake it away. I’m going to enjoy this date. Meal. Whatever it is.
“Ok, I’m going to take care of breakfast, so you just sit down. In fact, you can unpack that basket there. It’s for you,” Ash tells me, pointing to the wicker basket he’s placed on my small kitchen table. It has a cornflower-blue, velvet bow on it.
I move over to it, take a seat and tentatively lift the lid to see what’s inside.
“Oh my god!” I squeal as a soft, fluffy golden head pops up out of the basket. The cutest puppy I’ve ever seen in my life is peeking up at me from within the basket. He’s golden all over and has huge fluffy ears the size of his entire head dangling either side of his face.
“Oh hello, gorgeous,” I coo, scooping him out of the basket and up into my arms for a cuddle. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing!” I shower attention and love on the pup for some time while Ash makes breakfast in the background.
“What is he?” I eventually ask Ash.
“Just a dog, I promise,” he replies. I laugh.
“I meant, what breed?”
“Oh! He’s a golden retriever dachshund!”
“He’s beautiful! Is he really for me? Or did you just bring him for a visit?”
“He’s all yours, if you want him. I said I’d get you a pup to replace Batfink.” Yes it’s weird to hear him refer to himself in the third person like that, but it’s kind of cute.
“Of course I want him!” I cry indignantly, holding the pup closer to my chest because I’m scared Ash might try to whisk him away from me. “Does he have a name?”
“Anything you like,” he tells me. Hmmm. Nothing is striking me straight away.
“I’ll think about it.”
“About…?” he prompts, looking worried.
“His name.”
“Oh good! I’m so glad you like him!”
“I love him,” I reply, and I mean it. The sad, hollow, empty feeling I had inside me since ‘losing’ Batfink has abated for the first time. The pup is adorable. He licks the end of my nose affectionately. Yep, love him already.
Ash lets me love on the pup a while longer, and when breakfast is ready he brings an assortment of pancakes, toppings, pastries, fruit and yoghurt to the table.
“Oh my, this is an absolute feast! Who else is joining us?”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made a selection of my favorites. I hoped we’d have something in common.” He smiles sheepishly, like he’s a little nervous to admit that, and it makes me like him all the more.
