Well, maybe someday. Or I could pick some up for us. No pressure.
I wanted to add something more, to express how much I wished the world could see him as I did—as remarkable rather than frightening—but I sensed that such sentiments might only make him uncomfortable.
Instead, I changed the subject.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I should warn you though—I might have trouble keeping my hands off your horns. They’re kind of irresistible.
I added a winking emoji, hoping the flirtation wasn’t too much. His response made me laugh out loud.
I find I have no objection to that whatsoever.
Followed immediately by:
Your hair is equally fascinating to me. So soft. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.
The intimacy of the admission sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. I remembered the feeling of his large hands gently tangling in my hair as we kissed, the careful restraint in his touch despite his obvious desire.
You have permission to play with my hair anytime. It’s only fair, since I’m obsessed with your horns.
I hesitated, then added:
And your fur. And your hands. And pretty much all of you, if I’m being honest.
The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you.
I set my phone aside, my cheeks warm with pleasure at his words. I couldn’t wait for dinner—and what might come after dinner.
A sharp knock startled me from my daydream about dinner with Rion. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Brenda would have texted first, and Rion always announced his visits with a message—his careful nature wouldn’t allow for surprises. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole.
Mark?
I blinked, momentarily confused. Mark Evans, my attractive neighbor from 3A, stood in the hallway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The same Mark I’d mistakenly tried to text about my ladder emergency, inadvertently leading me to Rion instead.
I hadn’t seen much of Mark lately—our paths rarely crossed beyond quick nods in the mailroom. But there he was, looking as casually handsome as ever in faded jeans and a snug Henley that emphasized his gym-toned physique.
I opened the door, suddenly conscious of my flour-dusted apron and the smear of chocolate I’d probably left on my cheek.
“Mark! Hi! This is… unexpected.”
He flashed that easy, charming smile that had made me crush on him when he first moved in. “Hey, Clara. Sorry to bother you.I was wondering if you had a ladder I could borrow? The irony isn’t lost on me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “A ladder? Seriously?”
His dimples deepened. “I know, right? But my smoke detector keeps chirping, and I need to change the battery.”
“The universe has a weird sense of humor,” I said, shaking my head in amusement. “But I actually don’t have a ladder. That’s why I was trying to text you that day.”
“That’s what I figured.” He leaned against my doorframe with casual confidence. “I never got your text, by the way. Must have gone to someone else.”
Oh, it definitely did. I fought back a smile, thinking of where that misdirected message had ultimately led me.
“Yeah, I probably typed the number wrong,” I admitted. “But it all worked out. I found… help.” I stumbled over the last word, not sure how to casually refer to finding a minotaur boyfriend through a wrong number.
“I can see that.” Mark’s eyes traveled to the flour on my apron. “You’re baking? It smells amazing in there.”
“Brownies,” I explained. “For a… date.” The word still felt new and exciting on my tongue.
Mark’s eyebrows rose slightly. “A date? Good for you, Clara.” Was that a flicker of disappointment in his eyes? “Anyone I know?”
