He spotted me immediately, his serious expression softening into the smile he reserved just for me. My heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he looked at me that way.
Then I noticed Mrs. Wilson standing a few feet away from him, her posture stiff but not hostile—an improvement over our first few encounters after the Spring Festival.
“Clara,” she nodded as I approached. “I was just thanking Mr. Asterion for his help with Tuesday’s delivery.”
“The new reference collection?” I asked, coming to stand beside Rion. His hand found mine automatically, our fingers intertwining.
“Yes. The crates would have been impossible for our regular staff to manage.” She adjusted her glasses, her gaze flickeringbetween Rion and me. “I must admit, having someone with his… capabilities on call has been useful.”
Coming from Mrs. Wilson, this was practically a glowing endorsement. I squeezed his hand, knowing he understood the significance.
“I was happy to help,” he replied in his deep, measured voice. “The library provides an important service to the community.”
Mrs. Wilson’s lips twitched into what might almost have been a smile. “Indeed it does.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I should let you two be on your way. Clara, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We need to discuss the summer reading program lineup.”
“Of course.”
She turned to go, then paused. “And Mr. Asterion?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you… the integration has been going better than I anticipated. The children’s story hour last week—the one where you read ‘Ferdinand’—was our most attended session this year.”
The admission clearly cost her something. Mrs. Wilson had been against Rion making appearances at the library initially, concerned about “disruption” and “parental complaints.” But after the Spring Festival, when several non-human beings had begun cautiously revealing themselves around town, she’d reluctantly agreed to a trial run.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. “The children were very welcoming.”
“Children often see more clearly than adults,” she replied, an echo of what my mother had said at the festival. “Well. Good evening to you both.”
We watched her walk back into the library, her sensible shoes clicking on the stone steps.
“That was almost warm,” I said once she was out of earshot.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “For Mrs. Wilson, that was practically effusive.”
“Progress,” I declared, standing on tiptoe to place a quick kiss on his jaw. “Slow, grudging progress.”
“I’ll take it.” He opened the passenger door of the truck for me, helping me up into the seat that sat higher than I was strictly comfortable with. “How was your day?”
“Busy but good. We had that school group tour this morning—the fifth graders from Westbrook Elementary. One little girl asked if I was a princess because I live with a minotaur.”
Rion laughed as he rounded the truck and folded his large frame into the driver’s seat. “And what did you tell her?”
“That princesses are overrated and librarians have better job security.” I buckled my seatbelt. “Though I did appreciate that she didn’t cast you as the monster.”
“Progress indeed,” he murmured, starting the engine. The truck rumbled to life beneath us.
As we pulled away from the library, I found myself stealing glances at his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his horns, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Even after all these months, I sometimes couldn’t believe he wasreal. That this extraordinary being had somehow become part of my ordinary life.
“What?” he asked, catching me staring.
“Nothing. Just admiring the view.”
He snorted, but I caught the pleased flush darkening the fur along his cheekbones. He still struggled with compliments, especially about his appearance. Years of hiding had left their mark.
We drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the scenery gradually shifting from the town’s neat grid of streets to the more wooded outskirts where Rion’s home—our home now,I reminded myself—stood nestled among ancient oak trees.
“I brought the last load of your things over this afternoon,” he said as we turned onto the private road leading to the house. “The boxes from your storage unit.”
