Page 82 of The Minotaur's Valentine

Marmalade and Chloe leave the front office and go back to get the cat’s vaccinations. I update her file while musing that dating outside of my species has certain risks.

But it has perks. So many perks.

Not the least of which is a very, very large amount of sexual satisfaction.

As Peterson and Chloe chat in the exam room, I finish my first cup of coffee and flip through my planner. End-of-the-month bills need to go out today. I have to mail all the March reminder cards and make the confirmation phone calls for next week. I also have to call my landlord and see what he says about ending my lease early—if I can find a renter. Milo says I could advertise on campus. He was talking about over the summer, for when my lease is up in September.

I’m thinking about starting to look even earlier. You know, based on what my landlord says.

The planner that Doc gave me for Christmas comes out and falls open to a to-do list I made weeks ago. Have a social life.

Stop living on coffee, cheese puffs, bananas, and sushi.

Find a club.

Get a date.

My brain is riveted to these words. Won’t move forward.

Have a social life.

I know so many more people since I met Milo. The Night Market is full of faces I recognize. I stop and chat. I have not one, but two men in my life who would like me to call them ‘Dad.’ I have a warm, sweet woman who wants to treat me like a daughter. I have a best friend.

Stop living on coffee, cheese puffs, bananas, and sushi. Well... coffee’s been downgraded to a staple beverage, not the elixir of life it used to be. I actually cook now, and Milo cooks. We cook together. I eat more veggies and fruits now, too. Maybe that’s why I have more energy. Or maybe it’s just because I’m in love?

Find a club. Well. I found it. But I have no desire to go back right now. Milo and I crank up our new playlist of his favs and mine (so many were favs for both of us) and we rock out in his place. It’s a very exclusive club, but my naughty fantasy of having sex on the dance floor finally came true last night.

Get a date.

Got one.

What we have is so far beyond simply dating.

My heart is superglued to Milo’s. Not to be too dramatic—but our hearts, they beat as one. And yes, I do sing those words in my head. I know Milo would sing along, and then we’d laugh.

I pull out my phone as I flip to today’s date and start writing my list in swirly blue gel ink. “I’m grateful for you,” I voice text and hit send.

Milo will wake up to that message.

If I type out addresses while singing “You’re in Love” by Ratt under my breath, no one says anything. When the banshee and her cat leave, she winks at me.

Chapter Sixty-Two: Milo & Libby

When you wake up to a message from the woman of your dreams saying that she is grateful for you, you, a big, clumsy dude with hooves, horns, and no fashion sense, who works nights and whose idea of a conversation piece is an anvil... Well. You start the day knowing that she is the ONE. More certainly than you have ever felt about anything.

And you wanna make her happy, as happy as she could ever be.

We spent last weekend at my house and the one before at hers. I’ve offered to keep alternating, or even better, take her away somewhere special. I haven’t gone on many vacations (a little tricky for minotaurs, even ones with a glamour-casting accessory). Aside from concert tickets and metal memorabilia, I don’t spend much, so I can afford to spoil her.

But she’s stubborn. She wants to come here. She even asked if we could have dinner with my parents again! Because she likes them! (Holy shit. Pinch me. I mean, I love them, but Libby just met them and my dad is kind of a dork and my mother is too much sometimes...) Anyway, all of this is a very good sign, and I'm more certain than ever that Libby is the one for me. I've known all along (and I also know that it's way too early to use phrases like all along). So, I figure that this weekend should be one to remember—and I never did give her that necklace. It’s still in my duffle bag.

Tonight's going to be all about Libby, and it's going to be the perfect time to give her jewelry. It says romance without the permanence of the big sparkly diamond she ought to have—but probably wouldn’t accept yet. I'll have wine, and I'll get really good French bread because I found out that Libby likes really good French bread. We had a late lunch/early dinner at the Pine Loft this week, and Georgie (the chef) made these omelet sandwich things on a baguette. Libby ate all of hers and most of mine. Apparently, luxury bread wasn’t a thing in her life growing up. She ate the cheap thin white bread that all the jelly leaked through, or whatever the school’s free lunch program provided.

As I write my grocery list, I put down two baguettes.

When I spoil someone, I pay attention to the details.

I will also ask the experts. “Mom?”

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