Page 29 of Scr*wed By the Minotaur in Hallow's Cove
I stopped dead on the sidewalk, almost stumbling. “A date?”
He didn’t even blink. “Yup. Seven sharp. Dress nice, or don’t, but don’t wear another paint-stained shirt unless you want to break the entire aesthetic of the restaurant.”
My brain short-circuited. “There’s an aesthetic?” I tried to picture what counted as fine dining in Hallow’s Cove. “Is this one of those places with the fancy vinegar?”
He grinned but said nothing, pulling me to the door of my shop.
“Go, sleep. I’ll be here to get you at seven.”
Chapter fifteen
Rick
AlldayItriple-checkedevery detail, then checked it again, because the one thing I knew about Lea was that she didn’t like to be fussed over. She hated anything showy, hated attention and spectacle, but somewhere along the line I’d decided she deserved at least one night where the world bent itself into something soft and easy—just for her.
I waited until sunset, then sent her a text:Meet me at the north end of the park, past the playground. I didn’t say more.
The twilight was just starting to frost the tops of the trees when I saw her appear, hair down, a dress that was more “I want to be comfortable” than “I’m trying to seduce you,” but on her it looked like a million bucks. She moved like she didn’t know how pretty she was, or else she knew and had decided to mess with me about it. She stopped short when she saw what I’d built.
There, tucked behind a stand of old-growth spruce, was a table set for two: real plates, real silverware, a white tablecloth, and about a hundred mason jars filled with wildflowers and battery candlelights. I’d commandeered them from Roan and coaxedevery monster kid in town into picking flowers all afternoon, bribing them with cookies and the threat of my eternal disappointment. I’d even borrowed a damn charcuterie board from the mayor, and I wasn’t sure what half the cheeses on it were called, but the effect was sweet, almost magical.
Lea slowed, her steps hesitant, like she was approaching a crime scene. When she finally reached me, she looked around, mouth doing a weird little twitch—half smile, half are-you-fucking-kidding me?
“This is…” she started, then surveyed the spread again. “Are you trying to get laid, or is this an elaborate cult initiation?”
I made a show of considering. “Both are viable outcomes. But you don’t have to say yes to the cult until we finish dessert.”
She snorted, and the sound was a little too loud, echoing off the spruce. “Wow. I figured you’d be the type to take a gal to Killy’s and call it a night.”
I shrugged, feeling my cheeks go a little warm. “I wanted to show you the nicest part of Hallow’s Cove. Not the bar, or the hardware store, or even the flower shop. Just…” I gestured at the clearing, the tangle of violets and clover, the little string lights I’d wrapped through the tree branches. “This.”
I expected her to laugh at me, or roll her eyes, or find some clever way to puncture the spell. Instead, she just stood there, blinking at the table in the soft, twilit glow, and for a second she looked so young and hopeful that I almost had to look away. Finally, she turned to me, grinning so wide it made her whole face bright.
“You are…this is beautiful, Rick,” she whispered, and when she stepped into me, it was deliberate, her arms looping around my neck.
I breathed her in—all cinnamon and lilac and the after-sun-warmth of her skin. “You hungry?” I asked, even though she’d barely looked at the food.
She nodded, but didn’t let go right away. “I’m starving,” she murmured, then tipped up and kissed me, gentle and grateful and a little bit wild, just like her.
When we finally broke apart, I realized I’d been holding my breath for most of it. She sat, folding her legs under the chair with a grace that was all her own, and looked at the spread like she might cry if she stared too long. For a second, I almost apologized—for the fuss, for the effort, for making her the center of something—but her eyes, shiny in the lantern glow, made me swallow the words.
We ate. We tried every cheese, even the ones that looked like they should have been illegal. She made a face at a particularly runny blue, then snuck a wedge into my mouth when I least expected it. I retaliated by stacking three different meats onto her cracker and threatening to feed it to her if she didn’t try at least one. She did, bracing herself with a preemptive swig of wine, then made a show of dying dramatically, head thrown back and tongue out.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard, or so freely. It was easy: the world shrank to the circle of light around our table, the hush of trees, the giddy energy that came from not having to impress anyone, not even her. We talked about everything and nothing, and every time there was a lull, she’d rest her chin in her hand and look at me in a way that made my whole body tighten, like she was memorizing me for later. For keeps.
When the sun finished its downward slide, I poured the last of the wine. Lea leaned back, arms crossed under her chest, and grinned up at me. “So what happens now? You take me out into the woods and have your way with me?”
I pretended to think. “Only if you promise not to report me to the cult recruiter.”
She rolled her eyes, but the edge in her smile went soft, almost hesitant. Her hand found mine under the table, fingers weaving through. For a long, buoyant moment, everything stilled—no miscommunication, no grief, just her, me, and the crickets wrapping us in velvet.
She squeezed my hand, then squinted into the dark like she could see what I was planning before I’d even stood up. “That’s not it, is it?” she said. “You’ve got another thing up your sleeve.”
“Maybe,” I said, but she already looked delighted, so I pulled her out of the chair and led her along the narrow path that wound through the trees, a gravel crunch magnifying our steps. The air was thick with green and damp wood, the sky overhead going the color of blackberries at the edge.
We broke out of the spruce and into the parking lot, where my truck waited under a sagging pine.
“You’re kidnapping me,” Lea said, mock-serious, but she let herself be boosted into the passenger seat, skirt bunching around her thighs as she scrambled up and folded in, small and sturdy and exactly where I wanted her. The inside of the cab still smelled like sawdust and old work boots, and she took a deep breath, then shot me a sidelong grin. “So. Where are we going?”
