“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I laughed.
“It was meant as one.” He reached over to take my hand, his large fingers engulfing mine. “Your parents are remarkable, Clara. Not everyone would have been so accepting.”
“They just needed to get to know you,” I said, squeezing his hand. “That’s all anyone needs. Which is why the festival is important.”
He sighed, but it was more resigned than reluctant. “I’m still not convinced it’s going to go well. But… I’m willing to try. For you.”
“Not just for me,” I corrected gently. “For us. For the future we want to build.”
Rion was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “A future where we don’t have to hide,” he said finally. “Where we can just… be.”
“Exactly.” I leaned over to rest my head against his shoulder, careful of his horns. “It has to start somewhere. Why not with us?”
“Why not indeed,” he murmured, and though I could still hear the apprehension in his voice, there was something else there too—a cautious hope that hadn’t been there before.
As we drove through the darkening countryside towards his home, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Tonight had been a victory—small, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, but significant for us. My parents’ acceptance was just the beginning, a foundation upon which we could build something lasting.
The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be stares and whispers, prejudice to face and minds to change. But for the first time since Mrs. Wilson’s return, I truly believed we could do it—together, as a family.
The thought warmed me all the way home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Spring Festival. Every year, the town transformed its central park into a riot of colors and scents—food stalls with their tempting aromas, craft vendors displaying handmade treasures, children darting between attractions with cotton candy-stained fingers. Usually, I loved wandering through the maze of booths and activities, but today my stomach churned with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
“You’re squeezing my hand so hard I think you might break it,” Rion murmured as we approached the festival entrance. “And considering my size, that’s impressive.”
I loosened my grip immediately. “Sorry. I’m just nervous.”
“You’re nervous?” He gave me an incredulous look, his dark eyes peering out from beneath the brim of a stylish wide-brimmed hat—a concession to make his horns slightly less noticeable at first glance. It didn’t work particularly well, but it was a gesture towards subtlety.
“Yes, I’m nervous. This matters to me.” I straightened the collar of his button-down shirt—a rich forest green that complemented his dark fur. “I want this to go well.”
Behind us, my parents exchanged a look.
“It will be fine,” my mother said with a confidence I envied. “Just remember, anyone who’s rude is making a statement about themselves, not about you.”
“And if anyone gets out of line,” my father added, “your mother still has that teacher stare that could freeze lava.”
Mom swatted his arm. “Richard, please.”
“What? It’s true. Twenty-five years of high school English gives you superpowers.”
Their familiar banter helped ease some of the tension in my shoulders. This was normal. We were just a family attending a community event. Nothing extraordinary at all—except for the seven-foot minotaur I was dating.
“Ready?” I looked up at Rion.
He took a deep breath, straightening to his full height. “As I’ll ever be.”
Together, we walked through the festival entrance. I felt the ripple of awareness spread outward from us like a stone dropped in a still pond. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Heads turned. Children pointed. But no one screamed or ran away, which I counted as a win.
“Look at the flowers first,” my mother suggested, gesturing towards the horticultural society’s display to our right. “Mrs. Henderson’s dahlias are spectacular this year.”
It was a good choice—starting with something quiet and relatively uncrowded. As we moved towards the flower display, I caught snippets of whispered conversations:
“…that a costume?”
“…can’t be real…”
