Page 8 of The Satyr Next Door
My grin came slow, and deliberate. "I warned you. Passionate by nature."
She glared over the rim of her mug, dark eyes flashing with something that might have been indignation if not for the heat beneath it. "That isn't a sonnet. That's—" She waved the paper at me, exasperated. "That's shameless flirtation disguised as poetry."
"Thank you." I gave a little bow, horns catching the morning light, enjoying the way her breath caught at the gesture. "I try to be honest in my work."
She rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering for patience, but the smile tugging her lips betrayed her.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s a sin to tease?” she asked, sharp on the surface, breathless underneath.
“Depends on the saint.” I let my gaze roam the length of her until her cheeks burned hotter. “Dionysus would call it holy.”
Her laugh slipped out, quick and husky, unguarded. Gods, I wanted more. I wanted to collect her laughter like coins, hoard it against the long winters of this human world.
“Dionysus wasn’t a saint,” she said, voice softer now.
“No,” I agreed, stepping closer to the fence until I could smell her coffee, the sweetness of fig juice on her lips. “He's better. Honest about what he wants.”
Her pulse lept, visible in her throat. I could smell herarousal, rich and heady. She wanted to to ask what I wanted. I could see it forming.
Instead, she folded the paper carefully and slipped it into her pocket. Close to her body. Kept. Saved.
Something in me unclenched. She hadn’t thrown it away.
For a satyr who’d spent too many nights with silence for company, that was no small victory.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Perhaps tomorrow I’ll write you a song,” I said, casual shrug. “A reprieve from my terrible poetry.”
That earned me another laugh, lighter this time.
“It’s not terrible,” she admitted, patting the pocket. “Shameless, yes. Terrible, no.”
“High praise, Juliet.”
She sipped her coffee instead of answering, but she didn’t go inside. Didn’t retreat.
Progress.
“I should…” She trailed off, glancing toward her door, remembering duty.
“Go,” I said gently. “You have a life outside of keeping me company.”
Her laugh was startled, bright. “Right. A life of laundry and emails.”
“The most important kind.” And I meant it.
She smiled, unguarded, and something shifted. Not just attraction, though that crackled like a storm, but recognition. A beginning.
“Same time tomorrow?” I asked.
“Maybe,” she said. But this time, maybe sounded like yes.
After she went inside, I stayed at the fence, breathing in her lingering scent.
Perhaps it was time to stop waiting and start hoping.
Tomorrow, I’d ask if she wanted to come closer.
