Page 36 of Wrong Number, Right Unicorn

My beast pawed the ground, and Errol turned around. “Oh my gods. One of you is silver and the other pink.”

That explained how my beast was both of those colors.

“Have fun.” My mate leaned on the fence and waved.

My parents’ beasts were on either side of mine, and we cantered into the woods until the trail narrowed, and my unicorn charged ahead. He was galloping up a hill, the wind whipping his mane, as his hooves threw up clods of dirt.

But I was sweating and my human heart was hammering against my chest until we reached the top. We stood together surveying the countryside and the house with Errol in the garden. Freedom felt pretty good from this vantage point.

Maybeviews aren’t so bad after all.

Chapter 17

Errol

My mate and I had sort of done things backwards. I wouldn’t change it for the world. We went on the journey we needed, but also, I was well aware that it wasn’t your typical dating.

We started with me borrowing money, something people did only after knowing each other for years unless they were a banker or a loan shark. We went straight from there to meeting Grams, my closest family. Had Grams not mooned the officer, we’d probably have never met—or maybe we would’ve, given that he was my true mate, but I didn’t know it at the time. He did, but I was obliviously human.

Then I mated him out of instinct. It was only later that I discovered the truth of who he was—that he was a unicorn and we were put on this earth specifically for each other.

In the time since I first accidentally called him, we had mated, I met his family, he met mine, and we did all the things a couple would—except we missed a step along the way; saying I love you.

Sure, we’d said things like “my love” or “I love you” in the throes of passion, usually with expletives after somebody didsomething particularly arousing, but we’d never had the true “I love yous,” the ones that said, “You’re my person.”

Maybe it was the human in me, but I wanted that, and I wanted it to be special. Yes, we were mated forever, and yes, we loved each other very much—none of that was in question. But I wanted that moment, the one we remembered for always and forever. And because I was me, I decided to create it for myself.

I went to the farmers’ market and grabbed pretty much everything that looked good. Tonight wasn’t just about me, and it wasn’t just about Davien—it was also about his unicorn. To honor his beast, I decided to make a very nice vegetarian dinner. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to make, but I knew it needed a lot of vegetables. When I got home, that’s exactly what I had—lots of vegetables and no plan.

I opened my laptop and pulled up a website where you could input what food you had in the house, and it would suggest meals. I entered everything I had, along with some pantry staples, and it suggested a kind of vegetable stew. I wasn’t sure it sounded particularly amazing, but it was missing a lot of things I normally ate, so I figured that was why it would be good. Better with beef in it, but what could you do?

I spent the afternoon preparing it, and I had to admit, it smelled pretty yum.

When Davien arrived, he brought flowers with him. It was sweet. He liked to do that. To surprise me with spontaneous gifts. At first I felt bad. He had money to spend on things like that and I didn’t. But now? Now I saw how much it meant to him, and I allowed myself to just enjoy the gesture.

“I saw these and thought of you.” He kissed my cheek.

“You did?” I smelled them—they didn’t have much aroma, but then I noticed the little pick in it with a unicorn on it. “You did think of me!” I gave him a quick kiss and let him into the kitchen, where I put the flowers in water.

“What smells good?” he asked, hesitating before saying “good,” which worried me a little.

“I went to the farmers’ market today. I wanted to make a special meal for us, one that even your unicorn would enjoy.”

He lifted the lid of the pot. “He’ll definitely enjoy this.”

Davien helped me set the table, and I served us bowls of stew with some crusty bread I had also found at the market. I took one spoonful and realized his initial praise of it being good was a lie. It was bland. Blander than bland.

“Is it me, or does this have no flavor?”

“No, it’s good,” he said. He was still lying. It very much was not. Edible, sure. But nowhere near good.

At the time, I thought it was odd that there weren’t any spices in it, but I figured it had to do with the vegetables or something. I didn’t know—I just went with it. I was now facing the errors of my ways, and I started to cry, of all things.

“Oh honey, don’t cry,” he said, getting up to pull me into a hug.

“I wanted to make this special, make this meal good for you and your beast. I just wanted tonight to be perfect.” And was failing at every corner.

“Of course, it’s perfect. You did this for me, for us. Look at all the work you did.”

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