I try to dodge, but I am small, and he is fast.
And before I know it, I am absolutely covered in flour.
I gasp, outraged. “You cheated!”
He arches a brow. “You started it.”
“I am a delicate baker,” I say, gesturing to my disaster of an apron. “You are a beast of war.”
His mouth twitches.
I see it.
And before I can overthink it, I point at him. “I knew you could smile.”
He rolls his eyes—but he doesn’t deny it.
The workshop is a mess. We’re both covered in flour, and the carefully laid out blueprints are now dusted with white powder. But standing here, watching Thorne try not to smile as flour clings to his horns, I can’t bring myself to care.
“This display better win,” he mutters, brushing flour from his shirt. “After all this.”
“It will,” I say confidently. “We’re an unstoppable team. You with your precision, me with my?—”
“Chaos?” he suggests.
“Improvisational creative energy,” I correct primly.
He makes a sound that might almost be a laugh.
I freeze, staring at him.
“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just...Didn’t know you could make that sound.”
He scowls, but there’s no heat behind it. “Don’t get used to it.”
I smile, tucking the memory away. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As we start cleaning up the flour mess, working side by side in comfortable silence, I realize something that should probably worry me more than it does:
I am really, really looking forward to spending the next few weeks with my grumpy Minotaur landlord.
And for the first time, I think he might be looking forward to it too.
Or at least, he’s looking forward to the pastries.
Which, honestly? Is a good enough place to start.
CHAPTER 8
thorne
HOLY SHEET CAKE
One Week Later
The second I hear her yelp, I move. It’s not a conscious decision. One moment, I’m sanding down a support beam for her dessert display, and the next, I’m in her too-small kitchen, scanning for blood, broken bones, missing limbs—anything that would explain that sound that just punched through my chest like a physical blow.
