A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch （Glimmer Falls, #2(127)
Themmie laughed. “I fucking encourage swearing. And thanks, but let’s go back to you. I think you have many lovely qualities and just need to find the right person who will appreciate them.”
That was precisely the problem. “Don’t know how.”
“Well, you could go to some singles’ mixers around town—”
He shook his head, instantly regretting it when his brain sloshed around in his skull. “People. Bad.”
“You interact with people all the time at the Emporium.”
“That’s different,” he said. “I know what to say and do there.” There were specific rules about interaction in a place of business, and he knew the entire shop top to bottom, down to the well-being of individual leaves. In his sphere, he was the expert and authority. If challenged, he could be brave for the sake of his employees and his business, and if he ever felt uncomfortable, his reputation for being serious and levelheaded meant he could hide his inner turmoil with stoic silence.
At a random public event, much less one designed to spark romance, he’d be a disaster.
“Dating apps, then,” Themmie said, pulling her phone from a pocket in her yellow dress. “You don’t have to meet anyone in person until you’ve chatted online.”
“Don’t know what to write.” Also, having never downloaded more than a few basic apps on his smartphone, he had a feeling he was too out of touch for that. He even kept handwritten ledgers at the office, preferring to practice his calligraphy rather than attempting Excel. Spreadsheets were undoubtedly helpful but lacked a certain artistry, and whenever he heard the words pivot table or conditional formatting, he wanted to flee.
“Just give some details about who you are and what you’re looking for. Like I’m a werewolf, six foot four or whatever, I like knitting and own my own business. In search of someone who enjoys gardening, blah-blah-blah. Then upload a nice picture of you. I’ll even take it for you!” She raised her phone and snapped a picture of him, then winced as she eyed the screen. “Okay, maybe when you aren’t quite so drunk.”
“Cake!” someone screeched from across the dance floor. “Time for cake!”
The music cut off and people started moving toward where an enormous four-tiered cake—half pumpkin spice for Oz and half chocolate for Mariel—was being wheeled out.
“Let’s put a pin in this,” Themmie said, standing up. “But promise you’ll at least try to set up an online dating profile.” She reached a hand down to help him up.
“I promise,” Ben said, staggering to his feet. “Thanks, Themmie.”
He watched from the back of the crowd as Mariel and Oz fed each other slices of cake, taking frequent breaks to kiss each other. They were so in love, and Ben teared up again with a mix of sincere joy and longing. He clapped and hollered as loudly as everyone else and accepted a slice of cake from Mariel with a grin.
She slid an arm around him in a side hug. “Thanks for being here,” she said. “You’re the best.”
Ben certainly wasn’t the best, but he would never do anything to dim her blissful glow, so he smiled and laughed and congratulated her again. Later, as the newlyweds exited the venue beneath an archway of sparklers and magic fireworks, he cheered until his throat was hoarse.
Then he took a rideshare car home and threw up in a bush in his front yard. Feeling marginally better after vomiting, he grabbed a glass of water, changed into pajamas, and collapsed on his brown leather couch. Bleary-eyed, he grabbed his phone and started searching for dating sites.
Bumbelina, OkEros, PaganMingle, Match.com, FarmersMarketOnly, Howly Ever After . . . none of them felt right. He sighed and switched to browsing something more practical.
The Emporium had done extremely well in recent years thanks to the quality of the plants, Mariel’s magic touch, and the rare varietals he was able to get his hands on from international connections. He’d purchased the empty office next door and would soon be opening an adjoining coffee shop and bakery, with a goal of eventually adding a small stage for lectures, music, and stand-up comedy. He wanted Ben’s Plant Emporium to become a real community destination.
Most of the construction work on the Annex—as he was calling the café space—was done, and he was now sourcing decorations. The current project was a rock-and-crystal terrarium to display succulents next to the muffins.
He’d had some luck finding bulk quantities of unusual stones on eBay, so he switched to the site, squinting through the alcohol haze. Blue sexy rock he typed in, having briefly forgotten the word crystal.
The first listing was for an old blues-rock album on vinyl, which was not helpful. The next was for an outrageously expensive sapphire that would supposedly give the wielder an erotic aura. He briefly considered it, wondering if he would have an easier time meeting women if he had an erotic aura, then decided it would be disingenuous to lure a woman in that way even if he could afford it.
The third entry gave him pause . . . and then he started to laugh.
Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK
The image was of a small, faceted blue stone that looked suspiciously like plastic, and the starting bid price was $0.99. No one had bid thus far, and the listing was closing in a few hours.
Ben read the description, growing more entertained with every word. Questionable capitalization aside, the poster didn’t even know how to spell succubus, and they were trying to position this as a rare, possessed artifact.