Page 10 of Scr*wed By the Minotaur in Hallow's Cove
Was I really going to talk about this?
“My mom died last year,” I said, and I could feel my own voice wobble a little, but I kept going. “Cancer. It was fast. They told us six months, but she barely made it three. I took care of her at the end and, uh… I don’t regret that, but sometimes I wonder if I lost myself along the way.”
Rick’s grip tightened around my waist, just a little.
“She owned a flower shop. Well, her mom did. Then she took it over, and then I did, and…” I trailed off, waiting for that familiar awkwardness to slide in between us. But Rick just held my gaze, warm and unflinching. It made the rest pour out.
“I loved the work—genuinely. I think it made her happy to know I’d keep the shop alive. But after she was gone, it felt likeevery order, every bouquet, was just a reminder that she wasn’t there to see it. I don’t even remember most of last summer, just the muscle memory of making arrangements and smiling at customers like nothing had changed.”
I twisted the sheet between my fingers. “My best friend, Britt, called me out. She said I was killing myself slowly, clinging to the shop like it was a lifeline, but really I was just stuck.”
I almost told him then—about the building, how I’d signed the deed and bought the fixer-upper, and how I was hoping to find my new beginning here in Hallow’s Cove. But what would the end goal be? He’d saidonly one night.It wouldn’t be fair to suddenly expect more.
I blinked and realized I’d let the room fall silent for a minute too long. Rick’s eyes were heavy with understanding. I braced for a platitude, or maybe an awkward “sorry for your loss,” but instead his thumb swept across my cheek—gentle, reverent. And then, to my absolute shock, I saw it: a single tear, bright and unmistakable, carving a path through the dark stubble at the corner of his eye.
He looked away, quick, almost embarrassed, and swiped it with the heel of his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice thick. “It’s just—” He paused, looking back at me, and this time there was no filter. “I know what that feels like. To want so bad to move on, but not knowing the right direction to aim your feet.” His words landed with the heavy, practical finality of a shovel hitting dirt, and something in me loosened.
“Do you always get this deep after sex?” I asked, only half joking.
Only I realized too late that I’d said “after sex,” like this was a recurring event, like I assumed it would happen again. My face flamed, but Rick only grinned—wide and toothy, like I’d given him a present he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“Only if the company’s good,” he said. “And the post-coital cuddling is excellent.”
He drew me closer, big arms wrapping around me until my whole body was eclipsed by his. I let out a sigh and found myself sinking into him, into the pillow, into the hush of the small hours of the night. For the first time in months, maybe longer, my mind didn’t immediately leap to a checklist of anxieties as soon as the adrenaline faded. It just… rested.
We drifted like that, talking quietly. He told stories about the townspeople, the way the monster and human populations tangled together here. I learned that Killy’s Bar had an underground karaoke night that only regulars got invited to, and that there was a lake at the edge of town you couldn’t swim in after dark, because the nixies got handsy. “They’re not mean,” Rick said, “but they’ll try to drown you for a prank if you look like an easy mark.” It was clear, the longer he talked, that this place was not simply a town he’d settled in by chance. I wondered what this town would look like with the sun up, with new flowers blooming in the window of a shop I might one day run.
Maybe tomorrow I’d tell him the truth. That I was here for keeps. That I’d signed my name on the ancient deed of the old clothing store, the one currently covered in dust and spiderwebs and possibility.
But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted to savor the afterglow and the raw connection with someone for only a brief moment. I relished the way my body still hummed from his touch, the way his palm held me like I was the answer to a riddle he’d been working at for years.
I closed my eyes for a minute, just to see if sleep would come. I was so used to fighting for rest that the quiet, sated heaviness felt like a miracle. Rick’s breathing settled into a deep, even cadence, and the sound of it—so close, so sure—lulled me toward dreams.
Chapter five
Rick
Thesunwashighin the sky when I finally awoke, and my first thought wasShit—the shop!But then I quickly remembered I didn’t open until noon on Mondays and nuzzled further into Lea’s curls, grasping her around the waist where we still lay together in bed. I let myself sink into that moment, the heat of her soft body entwined with mine, her presence so vibrant even in sleep. I was tired, exhausted even, yet I felt more alive than I had in a long time. This woman had a way of disarming me without even trying, digging past my defenses, and that terrified me. I spent so much time thinking about Lea and how perfectly she fit against me, how I could get used to this—more than used to it. A life like this, with someone like her.
My stomach clenched at the thought of her leaving. The visit to the inn was supposed to be a one-time thing, a brief encounter that I wouldn’t think about again. I was fooling myself if I thought I wasn’t getting attached, her soft breaths puffing against my neck making that clear to me. I slowly extricated myself, careful not to wake her. She had me reeling, and Icouldn’t let that happen. It would mean nothing but heartache if I got attached and then she left.
I headed to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water, letting the droplets run down my furred face as I stared into the mirror, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I looked away from my reflection and down at my junk. “That’ll have to be taken care of,” I muttered to myself as I grabbed a nearby washcloth. After cleaning up, I stood in the doorway for a moment, a strange flutter running through me as I took one last look at her in bed, still blissed-out from the night before.
I grabbed my pants from the floor and my shirt from where it hung on the back of the desk chair before I finally tore myself away, exiting quietly out of her room. I shut the door and headed back to my place to get ready for a Monday filled with shoppers who had no idea what they were doing.
It was early enough that I didn’t pass anyone on the way to the shop, and I was able to shower. I was distracted by thoughts of Lea and it was barely more than three minutes to noon when I finally emerged from the shower, hastily putting on a T-shirt and jeans. I quickly rolled up the shutters, hoping it was early enough that no one from the inn would see me and recognize me as the guy who had left earlier that morning.
The afternoon passed in a blur of busywork and self-recrimination. I tried to focus on the shop, on the parade of customers who needed screen repair kits or rawhide mallets or window boxes they’d never actually install. I told myself it was for the best—better to keep things compartmentalized, to remember what happened last night and this morning for what they were: a bright, ferocious bloom that would wilt by Monday.
She said she was just visiting. She’d made it clear. And I wasn’t about to get caught up in fairytales, no matter how good she looked straddling my hips or curled up against my chest.
Lea
The first thing I noticed when I woke was the ache—low and slow in my thighs, the memory of being expertly, extravagantly fucked. The second was the emptiness: the bed cold on his side, the sheets rumpled and smelling of minotaur and sex but not warmth. Not him.
He was gone. He’d left without saying anything. Not even a goodbye kiss.
I rolled over, pushed my face into the pillow, hoping to catch a phantom trace, but all I got was the chemical tang of hotel laundry beneath the smell of my own sweat.
