Page 13 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
But Sage doesn’t move. She stays right there while I help Mr. Kowalski select honey for his wife’s arthritis remedy, and I can feel her eyes boring into me the entire time.
The moment he leaves, Sage pounces.
“You’re talking about the minotaur.”
“His name is Raphael.”
“Holy shit.” She’s staring at me like I just said I enjoy putting hot sauce on ice cream. “Holy actual shit, Frankie. The minotaur?Thatminotaur?”
“He’s kind of the only one, so yeah.”
“Just to be clear, you’re talking about the one who’s buying up the town, right?”
“He’s not what people think,” I say, though even as the words leave my mouth I know they’re not entirely true. He is dangerous, just not in the way everyone assumes. “Raphael’s actually quite thoughtful.”
“Thoughtful.” Sage crosses her arms. “The ginormous bull man who’s been buying up properties around town is thoughtful.”
“Yes.”
“And you know this because…?”
My cheeks are probably about to catch fire. “We had dinner.”
“You had dinner. With Raphael the minotaur.” Sage sets down her coffee and grips the edge of my table. “Okay, I need details. And I meanallof them.”
I glance around the market, noting how many people are within earshot. “Not here.”
“Then when?”
“Later. Maybe. If there’s anything to tell. Because right now? There really isn’t.”
“Oh, there’s definitely something to tell.” Sage’s expression shifts to something more serious, more protective. “Frankie, I hope you’re being careful. I know everyone treats you like you’re made of spun glass, but this is different. Minotaurs… They’re not exactly known for gentle courtship.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. Even Sage, who’s always encouraged me to take more risks, draws the line at Raphael.
“I can handle myself,” I say quietly.
“I know you can. But promise me you’ll be smart about this?”
“I promise.”
Sage studies my face for a long moment, and I can see her putting pieces together. She’s always been too perceptive for my own good.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “Whatever happens, you know I support you, right? I just want you to be happy. And maybe finally get some action.”
The simple acceptance in her voice nearly undoes me. Here’s someone who actually wants me to follow my heart, not just live up to their expectations of what everybody thinks I should be.
“I know,” I whisper.
“Good.” She squeezes my hand. “And when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here with some strong drinks and completely inappropriate questions.” With that, she finally takes her leave.
The rest of the market passes in a blur of transactions and small talk. By the time I’m packing up my booth, my decision has crystallized into something solid and unshakeable.
I load my truck, my mind churning. The drive home passes in a haze, and before I know it, I’m standing in my farmhouse kitchen, staring at the foreclosure notice still pinned to my refrigerator.
Three months to come up with forty-three thousand dollars.
Or one impossible arrangement with the monster the entire town fears.
