“Everything about you is surprising,” I admitted, reaching for a cookie. “But yes, the baking is particularly unexpected.”
The cookie was still slightly warm, as if he’d made them just before our meeting. The first bite was revelatory—buttery, not too sweet, with the perfect chewy texture. I made an involuntary sound of appreciation.
“These are amazing,” I said after swallowing. “Seriously, they’re incredible.”
Was it my imagination, or did his chest puff slightly with pride? “Thank you. I find baking… calming.”
The image of this massive, mythological being in a kitchen, carefully measuring ingredients, perhaps wearing an apron, wassimultaneously absurd and endearing. It humanized him in a way nothing else could have.
I took another bite, savoring the flavors while trying to reconcile the Minotaur of legend with the baker of excellent biscuits sitting across from me. They seemed like entirely different entities, connected only by horns and extraordinary strength.
“So,” I said, brushing crumbs from my fingers, “about this ladder.”
He nodded, seeming relieved to return to practical matters. “As I was saying, you need a complete redesign. The current structure cannot support the weight requirements at that height.”
“And you could build this?” I asked, gesturing to his detailed sketch.
“Yes. It would take approximately three days, including materials acquisition.”
“Three days? That’s… fast.”
He made that almost-smile again. “I work efficiently.”
“I can see that.” I hesitated, then added, “But there’s a slight problem. I can’t exactly bring a minotaur into the library in broad daylight.”
“No,” he agreed. “That would be unwise.”
“So how would this work? Practically speaking?”
He considered for a moment. “I could work after hours. When the library is closed.”
“You mean, like, break in?”
He looked mildly offended. “I mean, you could provide access. I assume you have keys?”
“Oh. Right. Yes, I do.” My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m still adjusting to… all of this.”
“Understandable.” He gathered his sketches neatly. “Shall we proceed with this plan?”
I should have hesitated. Should have carefully considered the implications of letting a mythological being—one traditionally depicted as dangerous—into my workplace after hours. Should have asked more questions, established more boundaries, perhaps consulted someone else first.
Instead, I nodded without a second thought. “Yes. Let’s do it.”
The decision felt momentous, though I couldn’t have explained why. It was just a ladder project. A simple exchange of services.
Except it wasn’t. Not anymore. It was a door opening to a world I’d only read about, a world where myths walked and talked and baked exceptional biscuits. A world I suddenly, desperately wanted to explore.
As Rion carefully rewrapped his remaining biscuits, I watched his movements, still half-expecting to wake up at any moment. But the café remained solid around us, the chai cup cold and real beneath my fingers, the biscuit crumbs tangible on the table.
This was happening. He was real.
And I had never been more captivated by anything or anyone in my life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Those were delicious,” I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
I’d already eaten two while trying to process the fact that I was sitting across from an actual, living, breathing minotaur.
