“Can’t the Gods make just one somewhat nice, not‑too‑smelly, mentally stable, single male to date?” I sigh.
My friend Janasa laughs, her brown eyes twinkling and curly red hair bobbing. She is a half‑dwarf–half‑elf with the bodacious curves coveted by every skinny elf we meet. “’Cause you’re not too picky at all.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
I nod and push my golden‑brown hair over my shoulder. “Right!? I mean, it might be nice if they cook or clean a bit, but, hey, who am I to judge since I don’t do those things much myself?”
Janasa smirks. “Uh‑huh. Your apartment could air on Hoarders.”
I narrow my eyes. “Stop it. It’s not that bad. And it’s not asking too much for a simple fellow who likes hugs and isn’t too hard on the eyes.”
Janasa smirks. “Maybe you’ll meet The One tonight.”
I shrug, scanning the crowded tavern where us singles are mingling. It’s one of the newer drinking establishments, with dark paneling, red chairs and seats around dark‑wood high‑tops. The dim, red‑tinted candles thankfully put everyone in the best light.
Janasa says, “They described themselves as a swanky tavern on their website.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s an oxymoron. I doubt we can meet The One at a swanky tavern.”
A bronze‑framed mirror faces me from the next room. It’s meant to look like a copy of that famous ancient mirror. Oh, what is the name?
The Soothsayer.
The one that told foreboding news to the viewer until, that is, an angry werewolf didn’t like what it said and smashed it to bits at the museum. My lean visage peers back from the replica: amber eyes, tanned skin, thin face, and golden‑hued honey hair. I certainly take after my mother, the wood elf. “Well, any one would work for me.”
Janasa raises her mug. “Oh right, is your dad still set on forcing you into that arranged elven marriage if you don’t find your own mate soon?”
My mirth drains. “Gods, yes! He won’t let it go! He keeps droning on about how the full‑blooded elf is just the ticket to re‑purifying our lineage.” My father has been badgering me for months to agree. “But I want to choose someone I actually like.”
Janasa’s brows furrow. “Isn’t he at least rich?”
“Sure. But he’s also really smelly, and kind of mean, though he of course hides that from my father.”
She slaps my arm. “WTF, Autumn? You didn’t tell me that before! What did he do? Tell me!”
I sigh. “I’ll tell you later, because we really ought to actually mingle at this singles‑mingle, right?” Especially given I was under pressure to find my own mate.
She rolls her eyes. “I guess so. So our safe word is Pineapple, right?”
I nod. “Yup.”
We both walk into the crowd.
Janasa is soon chatting with a gnome. I keep meandering, and finally a tall silver elf turns to me.
I smile. “My name is Autumn. And yours?”
He peers down his sharply hooked nose, his long silver tresses swaying slightly in a nonexistent breeze, which is clearly a magical effect he’s applied in an attempt to look manly or attractive. The narcissistic nature of that alone turns me off.
He replies, “I’m Aelynar Korne‑Shar de Argentilla.”
I know I’m expected to be impressed. They’re an illustrious and rich elven family who own most of the western plains, with a long and apparently glorious bloodline. But here he is at a singles‑mingle and speed‑dating event, just like me.
Not so illustrious.
He clears his throat and asks, “So, Autumn, are you a wood elf?”
“Yup.”
“Hmmm. Yes. The amber eyes give it away.”
I nod to ward off the impending eye roll. “Yeah, the color of falling leaves and all that rot.”
He sniffs.
Normally, I would assume disdain, given the rest of his attitude so far. But my magical calling (or gift, or gods‑granted talent, or whatever they decide to call it that week) is to know true intent. An itchy feeling twitches along my forehead: he’s outright dismissing me.
Gods, he’s so annoying.
Around us, others hold brightly colored alcoholic concoctions while easily chatting. Why can’t I do that? I guess I could try a little harder.
I feign the necessary tone. “So you’re from the west? I hear it’s lovely on the plains…”
He cuts me off. “I graduated from the Sartorio Academy of Magic and Lore.”
And it was to talk about himself, again.
I simply can’t muster the energy to feign interest in this peacock splaying his tail. “I really need to go to…”
“And I was in the honors program.” His silver eyes sparkle and his white eyebrows rise, clearly impressed with himself. At least someone is.
“Cool.” I text Pineapple to Janasa.
My cell phone rings.
I cut off the silver elf with a raised finger (what is his name again?) mid‑soliloquy about his honors classes. “I simply must take this call.”
He scowls, white eyebrows furrowing.
I scurry off and answer. “You just saved me from the most arrogant elf I’ve ever met!”
Janasa laughs. “I bet he isn’t half as annoying as the gnome I was chatting with, who did nothing but joke about everything. I couldn’t get a single serious thing out of him.”
I take a deep breath. “Maybe this was a mistake?”
She says, “Well, how else are we going to find a mate? Now that we’ve graduated and have jobs, it’s so hard to meet people except at work.”
“I work at a bookstore. It’s not exactly the singles‑meeting‑venue‑of‑the‑year.”
“Yeah, well, I work at a hair salon, so unless I swing the other way, my options are the weekend farmer’s market, the scroll stacks at the library, or an ale house. If I keep meeting so many duds, I might try the other team.”
I sigh. “How can there be so many losers on the dating scene?”
Janasa barks a laugh. “Um, honey, we’re on the dating scene.”
I giggle. “Sure, but we’re fun losers.”
“Oh, a really hot body‑builder dwarf is walking over. I gotta go.”
She hangs up.
I peer across the candlelit bar at Janasa. The dwarf now talking to her has long red dreadlocks with silver rings sprinkled throughout. Definitely her type.
She and I go for very different males.
I remember the blind date she set me up on once with a vampire. It didn’t go well. All he wanted to do was suck on my neck. I shudder at the memory of his sloppy, wet licks.
And there was that one human male; a nice, normal wizard. We met at a coffee shop. When I returned from the restroom, he said, “You have a mighty fine car seat.”
Really? On the first date?
Nope.
Once I went on a date with a gnome, and Janasa isn’t kidding; all he did was joke around nonstop and play pranks on me all night. The toothpaste substituted for the sour cream was the end for me. He laughed and laughed as I got up and left.
And the emerald‑skinned orc from my aunt’s summer party seemed nice, that is, until he wouldn’t stop making 4:20 references.
Ugh.
People who mention 420 constantly are the least cool around. It’s legal now!
But my most disastrous online dating night was definitely the werewolf! As it turned out, he hadn’t learned to control his change yet. So there we are, out for a nice, romantic candle‑lit dinner, and he suddenly shifts into a wolf and starts tearing and shredding the restaurant up.
I had to run for my life!
Like I said, I’d settle for simply ‘not hard on the eyes’. But dating generally hasn’t worked well for me.
And now with my father pressuring me into an arranged marriage, I hoped to meet someone interesting here. Or at least someone without sloppy licks or uncontrolled transformations.
My phone pings.
A text: Pineapple.
I call Janasa.
She extracts herself from the dwarf and pushes through the crowd. As a half‑elf–half‑dwarf, she’s shorter than me but not nearly as short as most dwarves.
Her dark brown eyes drip with exasperation as she sidles up. “Too many steroids. He couldn’t string two intelligent words together.”
I smirk. “I didn’t think you were interested in his, mind.”
She elbows me, eyes gleaming. “At least some smarts are good along with the hot bod.”
I reply, “Do words matter when dwarves are endowed with very, very, uh, large hands?”
She snorts. “Nah. Guys on steroids often have very, very small hands.”
We laugh.
A tiny spark of magic flickers along the ceiling beams. A firefly‑bright speck of yellow light drifts down and brushes past me. A whisper curls against my ear: He’s in the next room.
I glance around, confused.
Janasa notices. “What?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “Just the universe messing with me again.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all: dating, destiny, taverns, and elves.
Save me.
Janasa takes a long swig of ale. “You wouldn’t believe how many packs of werewolves were prowling the docks this morning.”
I nod. “Yeah, sure. It’s catch day and the mongers toss out fish heads. The wolves go crazy for them.”
“Well, maybe a werewolf is better than an arranged marriage?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been on my date with one.”
She grimaces. “Oh, right. I hear the restaurant is suing him.”
The bell rings, signaling us into the next room for the speed‑dating event. The reminder of my father’s pressure steels my resolve to find a partner of my choosing.
Janasa bumps my shoulder. “Maybe tonight’s the night.”
I snort. “Look, I’ll just be happy if my next date doesn’t shed, shift, sniff me, or brag for twenty minutes.”
We shuffle forward with the crowd.
Inside the next room is a long line of tables. I sit on the female side. Janasa sits to my right. I settle into the wood chair and shrug off my coat.
A handsome man sits across from me: blond hair, blue eyes, tall. Likely a human wizard or a vampire.
The bell rings.
He smiles.
No fangs. So, maybe a wizard.
I smile and extend my hand. “I’m Autumn.”
He shakes it warmly. “Tom.”
So far, so good.
I ask, “So, tell me, Tom, what’s an activity you enjoy?”
He taps his lips with his index finger. “Well, for full disclosure, not much lately. A warlock hexed me, and now anything I do ends up ruining something.”
I blink. “Hexed?”
He nods.
Well, at least: no fleas, no shifting, no arrogance?
Maybe still better than a werewolf?
Gods, my bar is so low.
I ask, “Has anything bad happened tonight?”
He shakes his head. “No. I stayed on the back wall, far away from everyone, so I wouldn’t ruin the appetizers or cocktails.”
“All food around you goes bad?”
He nods, drumming fingers on the wood table. “Any concocted recipe of multiple ingredients does. Potions. Cocktails. Meals. Makeup. Hand cream. Shampoo. It’s rather annoying.”
My lips thin. “Must have been a gnome warlock. How do you eat?”
“I can only eat raw foods, like apples and carrots.”
“Why not get the hex…”
“Removed? I tried. It was absurdly expensive, and the witch still couldn’t undo it.”
“So living with you means…”
“Eating bad or raw food for the rest of your life.”
I look around. “Um. So why are you…”
“Here?”
Gods, that was annoying.
“I’m hoping to meet another hexed person. Maybe we can make a match of it.”
The bell rings, and I’m not unhappy about it.
I text Janasa: It’s a pineapple.
She reads it and rolls her eyes.
Across from me, the replica of The Soothsayer mirror suddenly fills with ethereal clouds and pink‑yellow light. Letters swirl across its surface:
THE ONE APPROACHES.
My stomach flips, remembering that firefly‑spark moment from earlier.
Is it a real magic mirror?
Then the silver elf flops into the chair across from me.
I groan and glare daggers at the mirror.
Traitor.
A gnome must’ve made it.
The elf glowers. “Hello, Autumn. You never returned after your call.” He sneers. So he’d worked out that I didn’t like him and couldn’t understand why.
He begins bragging about the ‘amazing conversation’ he just had at another table.
I glance left. It’s a fire sprite. I try to picture her and the tall elf in intimate poses. I can’t.
I cut him off. “Sprites like everyone.”
He glowers again.
We sit in un‑companionable silence until the bell rings. He rises sharply, smooths his silver blazer, glares at me, and strides to Janasa’s table.
I give Janasa a Pineapple look.
Her shoulders sag.
I wait, but no one sits across from me.
Confused, I look around.
Snap!
I jump as a loud crack sounds and a blue, celestial spirit fae materializes across from me.
Smoke and the smell of ozone drifts off him. I wave a hand to clear the air.
He grimaces. “Sorry I am late. I am called Star.”
“I’m Autumn.”
I reach to shake his hand, and he pulls back, confused.
Then I remember: he isn’t corporeal.
We chat, but I don’t invest much energy since I don’t relish the prospect of a partner I can never touch.
The bell rings.
He floats to Janasa’s table, and the body‑builder dwarf sits across from me, red dreadlocks bobbing. He bangs a fist on the table so his muscles flex.
Ugh.
He smiles, a tooth missing. “Hello, gorgeous. I’m Stanner.”
I purse my lips. “I’m Autumn.”
He winks. “Ya ain’t frigid as the autumn, I hope? I hate a frigid gal.”
I sigh. “Only with annoying people.”
He laughs as if I’ve made a joke. I haven’t.
“Wanna hear me workout routine?” He opens a notebook and reads it off proudly.
When finished, he leans in and whispers, “That half‑dwarf at the next table, she’s a real nutcase.”
I look over at Janasa.
So she’s someone’s pineapple?
I glare. “She’s my best friend.”
His face blanches.
The bell rings.
I put my head in my hands. Whatever God oversees romance is asleep at the wheel.
A new male sits down across from me. He has short black hair and dark blue eyes. He seems familiar. I rack my brain.
How do I know him?
He settles in and looks up. He freezes. His lips thin. “Gods. Not you!”
Startled, I ask, “Do we know each other?”
He crosses his arms and stares wide‑eyed. “Y‑you’re the one from the restaurant incident with the werewolf, right?”
My eyes widen. “That wasn’t my fault!”
He shakes his head. “You two tore that place apart. You know, my cousin worked there. He’s still in therapy.”
“But I’m not a werewolf!”
He glowers. “Right. Sure.”
We sit in stiff silence until the bell rings. He bolts.
Fantastic. I’m someone else’s pineapple too.
I sigh and check my watch. I’m not sure how much more I can take.
Then a flicker of yellow catches my attention.
A soft, silvery‑yellow thread appears from above, connecting to the head of the male walking toward my table.
He is handsome, tall, slender, with reddish‑brown hair and golden‑brown eyes.
And the line touching him, that’s a fate line.
My heart stutters.
I glance at The Soothsayer mirror to make sure this isn’t a joke. It remains dark.
Seeing a fate line is extraordinarily rare. Some never see one. It appears only vis-à-vis destiny; for a partner, friend, a lost family member, or someone who will change your life.
One cannot go in search of them or force it, because it only shows when the destined meeting occurs. It all depends on the right time, the right place, and the right person, aligned in a single moment by the Gods.
He meets my gaze. His unusual horizontal pupils widen slightly, not in fear, but in admiration.
He says, “Wow.”
Somehow he makes it sound sweet.
My cheeks warm. When was the last time someone looked at me like that?
Not assessing.
Not judging.
Just seeing.
Suddenly, I’m not so interested in escaping anymore.
He sits, eyes drifting above my head. He falters. “You, uh, you have a fate line.”
My eyes widen. I look up but don’t see mine; only the fated person can. I glance at his once more. “You too!”
It’s real.
OMG. It’s reaaallll!
His expression shifts to wonder, and maybe happiness.
I smile shyly. “I’m Autumn.”
He smiles shyly back, revealing fangs.
My breath hitches.
No, no, no.
But I halt myself.
Stop it, Autumn.
Janasa is right: you’re too picky. You always run. Breathe. Give him a chance.
It’s fate, after all.
He sees my look. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’m just a simple water deer shapeshifter. I work as a dentist, enjoy long walks in the woods, and love hugs. I’m Kael.”
My magic stirs, my truth‑sense humming with something I haven’t felt in a long time:
Real, authentic honesty, and mutual connection and interest.
My heart flutters. Maybe the Gods hadn’t forgotten me after all.
I laugh, relief washing through me. “Honestly? That’s the least weird thing I’ve heard all night. Tell me more.”
My phone pings.
Pineapple?
I ignore it.
Author Note
This is also published at my Substack, “Tales Beyond the Pale”.
Many a friend has endured the hardships of online and modern dating… speed dating… online dating apps… and trying to figure out how and where one might meet someone.
Ugh.
And always, I have this little voice inside that says, “Why can’t fate just take care of it? It would save everyone so much hassle and trouble.”
And then friends would share the most horrific “first date” stories. You really cannot believe how crazy some people can act. And, that was reality, not a fictional story. At such times I am reminded of that famous quote that I think is attributed to both Lord Byron and Mark Twain, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
So there you go, this idea came out of all that, and I wanted the story to be an urban fantasy as well.
I hope you enjoyed my take on the topic.