Page 6 of Mochas and Minotaurs

It was winter, but I had two of those umbrella patio heaters up there, something I’d originally bought for the coffee shop but never used. I turned them on, basking in the radiant warmth for a moment before putting my basket down and settling into my wicker love seat after wiping off the newly fallen snow.

I placed my purse on the side table and opened it. It was spelled to open into one of my cabinets, where I’d preemptively put a hot cup of mint tea. I reached in, took it out, took a sip, then placed the tea back into my cupboard. It’d stay warm in there a lot longer than out here.

Then I started on my project, which was yet another hexagon cardigan because why not? I had the pattern memorized by this point and could make one in my sleep. At night, the hustle and bustle of downtown Darlington died down, and there wasnothing like crocheting at the end of the day in my little bubble of warmth surrounded by the peace of the snow-covered terrace with the stars twinkling overhead.

My peaceful stitching was rudely interrupted by the sound of a door swinging open several feet away from where I sat. The metal door slammed loudly into the brick wall next to it.

“What the fu—” I jumped to my feet, armed with my crochet hook and ready to protect myself.

In front of me stood Marcus in all his minotaur glory, completely free of the glamor spell he’d had on earlier. His eyes were a glowing amber, and horns sprouted from his head. He wore nothing but a pair of slightly too-tight gym shorts that barely covered his powerful legs and hooves. His chest was bare and covered in sweat. The metal of his nipple piercings was highlighted against his tanned skin.

I stood there, slack-jawed. How could I have forgotten that he’d have a key to the rooftop as well? In my defense, my old neighbors rarely came up here, and I was used to having the place to myself.

“Oops, I didn’t—” he began.

My robe decided that now was a good time to fall open, showing my red, low-cut, barely-there satin nightie.

Marcus’s tiny shorts struggled to hide his reaction.

Do not stare.Do not stare.My eyes betrayed me, and I stared.

One moment he was there, and the next the door was slamming shut again. Then he was gone.

Chapter 4

Marcus

Griselda had a surprisedlook on her face when I walked into the Witch’s Brew the next day instead of Declan. I couldn’t stay away, not after seeing her up on the roof last night.

I’d worked up a sweat from lifting all the heavy equipment and thought the rooftop patio would be a great place to cool off. I hadn’t expected anyone to be up there considering it was the dead of winter, most definitely not a cute little witch wielding a metal crafting tool. The fuzzy slippers and robe had beenadorable, but it was the sexy satin piece underneath that had completely destroyed any sanity I had.

I’d thought of her all night and barely got any sleep.

To be honest, last night was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. My minotaur had been ornery since that first day when she showed up with those cookies. I’d caught myself watching her through my apartment blinds every time she stepped outside, like when she received the morning shipment of baked goods.

My beast was enamored with her, which was ridiculous because he knew that we would never be able to settle down. But there I was, watching Gigi load every single box up on her arm so she didn’t need to take more than one trip. It had been everything I could do not to run down there and offer to help.

“Incoming heatwave,” whispered the man behind the counter, who probably had no idea I could hear him. I had excellent hearing; most minotaurs did.

I scanned the coffee shop, taking it all in. The decor was kitschy and eclectic, giving it a modern witch vibe, which wasn’t surprising considering the name. A photo depicting the shop’s exterior a decade ago, complete with a large tarot reading sign, was hung on the wall. Below was the explanation that Griselda had failed at witchcraft but brewed a mean coffee.

The sexy witch herself stood behind the counter, her eyes on me.

The man gave her a tiny shove before loudly exclaiming. “Oh look, we’re almost out of milk. Let me go grab some from the back.”

Something told me they had a fridge at the back but weren’t actually running low on milk at all.

“Morning, neighbor,” she said.

“Morning,” I said back.

Damn, it was awkward. I hadn’t thought past coming and had no idea what to say. If it were up to my minotaur, he’d just pick her up and carry her home. But kidnapping was a felony. It had been so much easier the first time when we met. I saw her, she saw me, we liked what we saw, and I took her home. Easy. Why the fuck was it so much harder now?

Luckily, she knew what to say. “Are you the Americano? Or the café mocha?” she asked.

“The mocha,” I said.

“Really? I’d totally pinned you for the Americano type. But I’ve been wrong before.”

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