Page 2 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
“Good morning, Jacob,” I say, stepping closer. His stall is full of plump tomatoes, crisp apples, and bundles of fresh herbs.
“Morning,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve saved something for you.”
He reaches into a basket and pulls out a perfectly ripe peach, golden and blushing pink at the edges. My heart does a little squeeze. He’s always doing kind and thoughtful things like this for me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, though I take the peach anyway because I’m not a fool.
Jacob grins. “I know. But I figure you’ll need something sweet to get through the day.”
I bite into it, and the juice bursts over my lips, trickling down my chin before slipping in a slow, sticky trail down my neck. It glides between the curves of my full breasts, disappearing into the dip of my cleavage.
Jacob’s gaze follows the path of the juice, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away himself.
“Jacob Carter,” I tease, licking the sweetness from my thumb, “if you’re trying to woo me with peaches, you might succeed.”
His ears turn pink, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Well…there could be worse things I could do to win a girl’s heart.”
I laugh, and the truth is, I do like him. He’s good. Sweet, patient, always willing to help when anyone in the village needs it. He’d make a wonderful husband…for someone else.
I hate that I can’t force my heart to want more. It would be so easy. Jacob would be kind. He would take care of me, never raise his voice, and never make me feel like I was just part of a trade agreement. But when I look at him, I feel affection, not fire.
I press my fingers over his hand, squeezing lightly. “Thank you, Jacob. Really.”
Something flickers in his expression—hope maybe—but before he can say anything else, a voice calls from behind me.
“Maeve! Hurry up!”
I glance back to see Beatrice and the others gathered near the barn, waiting. Time to work.
“I should go.”
He nods, and I give him my sweetest smile. “See you later?”
“Always.”
I turn and jog after the others, the taste of peach lingering on my tongue.
Chapter Three
The Milking Barn
Maeve
We walk across the pasture together, a small herd of laughing, chatting girls, and make our way inside the large, red barn. I take a deep breath through my nose. The calming scent of fresh hay and lavender greets me.
“I swear, if Mister Thorne pulls too hard again, I’m going to kick him in the chin,” Beatrice mutters, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder. She sounds serious, but there’s a playfulnessin her blue eyes. “I’m not a cow, I’m a lady, and these girls deserve to be treatedgently.”
I giggle, biting my lip. “Youarea cow, technically.”
“Shush, Maeve.” She rolls her eyes but bumps her shoulder against mine in that fond, big-sisterly way of hers. “I’m alady cow.There’s a difference.”
Annie, who has been quietly walking on my other side, clutches the edge of her apron with nervous fingers. “I don’t mind Mister Thorne,” she whispers, her brown eyes wide. “He always says please.”
Beatrice snorts. “Annie, you’d say thank you if someone tied you to a post and forgot you for three hours.”
Annie blushes furiously. “That only happenedonce.”
I can’t help but smile. Annie and Beatrice couldn’t be more different. Beatrice, with her fair skin and sassy attitude, commands attention, while Annie, with her rich, dark skin and soft-spoken warmth, radiates kindness. And then there’s me, caught somewhere in the middle, neither as bold as Beatrice nor as gentle as Annie, but finding my place somewhere between them.
