I finally shake off the strange sensation from my meditation attempt and look around the room. Magic is fascinating, but I need to focus on the present. Tonight, I have my first date with an Elf, and I can't afford to be lost in my thoughts.

Truffles brought me the truffles and blubbered something about the Valerii party, telling me that we were invited? I don’t know. Did he sniff the wrong mushrooms in the forest? Look, whatever; I’ll just visit him tomorrow morning and see what’s up.

As I glance at the door and my clean clothes, I realize I'm wearing a nice shirt and pants that Fulvia crafted for me. That reminds me – I have to visit Fulvia again; I haven't seen her in a while.

“Ok,” I tell myself.

No reason to panic, right? I look around and pour myself a cup of the wine the Elves make. Yeah, they do have wine. Is it good? It pains me to admit that it actually is. Extremely good. I huff.

This will be the story of how I became a drunkard.

I take a sip of the fruity concoction and then another.

What do female Elves even wear on dates? Do they have some weird traditions? Will she bring a cousin along or something? Wait. Do they put leaves on their head? Have I heard something like that…? No, I don’t think so. I mean, all graduates of universities in Italy wear a laurel-leaf crown on their graduation day, now that I think about it.

My trail of thoughts is interrupted by a knock on the door. I fumble the glass and almost spill its entire content on my clothes.

“F–for all that is holy,” I catch myself before swearing.

I cough and shake my shoulders to shed the anxiety of the first date with an Elf.

Do Elves shave down there?

Jesus Christ Almighty. Why am I thinking about this right now?!

A second knock.

“Joey? Hello? Is this the right apartment…”

“Yes, he lives here,” I hear Antoninus’s voice.

Goddamn it.

I lunge for the door, just remembering that breathing is not optional and that I haven’t done it in the past thirty seconds.

I swing the door open, panting, probably red in the face.

“Hello!” I try to say suavely, even though it’s more of a raucous threat.

I clear my voice twice and try again.

“Hello, sorry—I was, like, cooking? No. Like, preparing ingredients. Yes. That’s what I was doing.”

“Ohhh, can I get some of the food if you don’t eat it all?” Antoninus asks from behind Irene.

“Shoo,” I say to him as my eyes fall on my date for the night.

My forehead must be making more creases than the Grand Canyon as I look at the gorgeous woman in front of me. She’s wearing a flowing red dress, conservative and elegant but also alluring like you would expect from a Duchess watching the opera from her private booth.

“Wow,” I say, making way for her and pushing the door wider open.

“Nice apartment,” she says with a cough, embarrassed.

“Yeah… it’s not too bad,” I smile.

“So, no food?” Antoninus asked.

I close the door in Antoninus’s face as Irene, and I stand for a second in an embarrassed lull.

“Right, would you like some wine? I am not an expert in Elven vintages, but this was very expensive; it’s either extremely good or the [Merchant] was very racist,” I say as I go to grab the bottle.

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“Racist?” She raises an eyebrow. “Did he harass you?”

“What? No, no. It was just a joke. I made sure to get a couple of nice bottles, and I asked Flaminia for recommendations,” I say. “It’s… Human humor?”

Human humor.

Holy f—are you serious? You didn’t have anything better?

I want to slam the bottle into my head, hoping it would concuss me hard enough to forget this embarrassing start. But worry not; this is just a tepid beginning.

“Sure, I’ll have some,” she nods, taking a chair.

Should have been a gentleman and moved the chair back for her, you idiot, I think, while wearing one of those smiles whose background music effect is the sound of breaking glass.

I pour a glass for her and pick up mine, going for a clink.

“What are you doing?” Irene asks, confused.

“A toast? Humans clink glasses?”

“With these expensive chalices? Have you molded your brain?” Irene frowns, and then, her eyes go wide. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Right, I bought expensive glasses to toast with. Ok, let’s try to recoup this somehow. Let’s go for a short, simple pass.

“No, it’s fine. How about you tell me how Elves usually toast,” I smile and wink at her. “I’m all in for learning more about your culture.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she raises an eyebrow. “I am not a noble.”

“Normal people don’t toast?”

“With glass chalices that cost a couple of golds each?” She looks at the chalice, almost scared. “I don’t think so.”

Holy f—for real? Lady Luck, is this you?

“Tell you what, let’s just drink, and I’ll start cooking.”

She nods, taking a big gulp from the glass.

As I turn my back to her, I also add, “I asked Lucillus and Antoninus to come tonight. They will walk you home. I don’t know where you live, but I’d feel more comfortable with them around. I hope that’s not a problem.”

I look over my shoulder and finally see a positive reaction.

“That’s very thoughtful,” she nods repeatedly.

…

So, some aliens have clearly abducted both Irene and me and replaced us with two idiots. This is not the flirty [Baker] who came up to serve me. This is a clumsy girl who seems like she accepted my invitation by mistake.

But thanks to my Italian blood, I know exactly what is up.

She isn’t used to dating. She’s the type that feels supremely confident in the boundaries of her world but also not that confident when she’s out. Well, that’s my hypothesis, at least.

“What are you cooking?” Irene asks.

“A specialty of where I come from,” I say while checking that the pan’s as hot as possible. “Burgers. And truffle-flavored fries.”

“What’s a ‘burger’?”

“Meat patties inside bread. I made them myself. It’s a simple but satisfying dish—was hoping for the same for our first date,” I turn to say with a wink. “Elven cattle are of incredible quality. Pigfeed is doing miracles for them, you know?”

Let’s not tell her that I made something for her with what they call Pigfeed.

“I heard the cake that won against Flaminia had Pigfeed in it. Is that true?”

Oh, come on.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I am not going to feed you anything weird tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” I shrug.

“Where did you get the truffles, by the way? I’m sure no [Merchant] had any.”

“Well, let’s say I have a friend who’s really good at sniffing them out,” I say while placing some onions on the pan slick with olive oil. I move it up and down to avoid burning them as the oil slowly sizzles.

“Did you steal them from the Valerii forest?”

“Did I steal from the Valerii forest? No, madam,” I cough.

“So, your friend did.”

“So!” I turn with a stressed smile. “How about you? I bet you have a very interesting life.”

“My life is as boring as staring at a tree putting roots under the soil,” Irene snorts. “You are the Human who apparently thinks well to steal from Amorium’s nobility. I heard that the Scarlet Huntress would be back in town soon. If she catches you or your friend, you’ll probably be dead meat, Joey.”

A tingle runs down my back as she spells my name out loud for the first time tonight. I pick up the smell of the nearly-ready onions and turn back to add some brown sugar. I am caramelizing them for a true burger experience.

Listen, when I found the equivalent of New York’s pastrami at Amorium’s market, I couldn’t help but want to recreate a Jewish deli experience. Plus, they also have pickles.

“Oh, boy, yet another woman after my neck? That would be too much.”

“Pray tell,” I hear Irene snicker, “who else would be after your neck?”

“I’m sure you know,” I say suggestively as I shuffle the pan around and start filling another one with seed oil for the fries.

Now, I am actually implying that she might be after my neck. What happens next, however, is a bit surprising.

“Oh, so you have heard about Camilla?”

I turn with the pan still in my hand.

“The shortie?”

Irene choked on the wine she was sipping.

“Cough! Cough! Rotten roots!” She slams her palm on the wooden table a couple of times. “Don’t call her that in her face! She might stab you!”

“The shorter they are, the bitterer the fight they give. But yeah, what about her? She’s interested in me?”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was very hyper and had nice eyes. But between her and Irene—well, let’s just say it’s like college football and the NFL.

“She is really interested in you,” Irene says, coughing lightly again. “She wants you at any cost, actually.”

I leave my mouth open.

“Wow.”

“Is it really a surprise?” Irene asks skeptically.

“Isn’t it?” I put the pan down for a second to scratch my chin.

“Well, you definitely have the perfect qualities she would go after,” Irene shrugs.

“I mean, I suppose short girls are after tall guys?”

For the second time tonight, Irene chokes on her wine.

“What are you talking about?” she squeezes the words out in-between coughs.

“What are you talking about?” I ask with a scandalized expression.