“Incredible,” he said, and then, with aching slowness, he kissed me again. I sank into it, letting the taste and the feel of him wash away everything but that moment.
“I should go,” he said reluctantly, when we broke apart the second time, his hand still firm around my waist. “It’s getting late.”
“Right,” I agreed, feeling both relieved and disappointed. “Of course. Thank you again for your help.”
“It was no trouble.” He reached for his hat, settling it carefully to partially obscure his horns. “Good night, Clara.”
“Good night, Rion.”
As he turned to leave, I was struck by a sudden, irrational fear that once he walked out the door, whatever had been building between us might dissipate—that without the immediate task of the library display, we might slip back into being just occasional texting acquaintances.
“Rion,” I called, surprising myself.
He paused, looking back at me.
“Would you…” I hesitated, then forged ahead. “Would you like to have coffee sometime? Or tea? Or whatever you prefer?”
The question hung in the air between us, loaded with implications neither of us had voiced. For a moment, his expression was completely unreadable. Then, slowly, his features softened into what was definitely a smile—small but genuine.
“I would like that,” he said simply.
Relief and excitement flooded through me. “Great! I’ll text you, and we can figure out when and where.”
He nodded, still wearing that slight smile. “Good night, Clara,” he repeated, his tone warmer this time.
After he left, I stood in the quiet library, surrounded by books about mythological creatures, feeling like I’d just stepped into a story myself—one with an uncertain plot but undeniable potential. I ran my fingers along the spine of the Greek mythology volume, thinking about strength and vulnerability, about minotaurs and librarians, about unlikely connections formed through wrong numbers and ladder emergencies.
And as I gathered my things to leave, I found myself looking forward to exploring that connection, one careful, thoughtful step at a time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ispent way too much time the next morning trying to figure out how to text Rion about the coffee date.
“Hey, so about that coffee…”
“When are you free for coffee?”
“Coffee date planning time!”
I deleted them all, horrified at how juvenile they sounded. Was it even a date? I hadn’t meant it that way when I’d blurted it out in the library, had I? The question rattled around in my brain as I showered and dressed for work.
Coffee with a minotaur. No big deal. Just two… friends? Acquaintances? Texting buddies who once had an intense moment between bookshelves?
I finally settled on something simple as I walked to work:
Thanks again for your help with the display. It looks amazing! Any day work for coffee this week?
I hit send before I could overthink it further, then immediately regretted not checking the emoji selection more carefully. Was the smiley too casual? Should I have used the coffee steam heart emoji instead? Or no emoji at all?
Get a grip, Clara,I scolded myself.It’s just coffee with a… person. A very tall, very strong person with horns and fur who lives in a labyrinth and bakes excellent biscuits.
My phone vibrated with his response before I even reached the library steps.
Thursday afternoon works. I have no appointments after 2.
Typical Rion—direct, practical, no unnecessary words. But this time, I found myself smiling at the familiarity of his texting style rather than feeling uncertain about its brevity. I knew the deep, rumbling voice behind those words now. I could almost hear him saying them, that slight hesitation before social commitments, the careful precision of his speech.
Thursday at 3 would be perfect! Any preference on location?
