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Desperate to be something other than being horny for the horned Minotaur, I focus on the food. A selection of sliced meats and cheeses, crackers and quarter slices of some sort of grainy bread. Assorted cut fruits and raw vegetables. A wedge of pâté with a spreading knife. Little bowls of dip. There are even pickles. Very specific pickles. In fact, everything on the platter looks deliberately selected.
Picking up one of the little green cornichons, I meet his gaze again. The pickle is crisp, tart, and sweet, and I can’t help making an mmm noise when its flavor bursts in my mouth.
His smile widens. “Good?”
I lick my lips to catch any lingering juice. “Very. Those are my favorite kind of pickles. Did you take notes during our conversation about foods we like and dislike?”
The deep chuckle he makes might as well be his fingers on my clit. “No note-taking required. I remember every detail.”
“Your memory is better than mine. I always have a notebook on the go—tabs for work projects, personal stuff, banking, etcetera. On top of that, I have online spreadsheets. Every aspect of my life has to go in a list or a spreadsheet. I can’t imagine how much I’d forget if I didn’t record it all. I write everything down.”
“I hope you left a lot of pages for your Fate’s Falls section.” He drapes one beefy arm along the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers nearly reaching my shoulder.
The serving tray on the cushion between us prevents me from subtly shifting closer. But I want to. Even though my hoodie would be in the way of skin-on-skin contact, I’m still tingly at the thought of feeling his touch.
I focus on the charcuterie board while I attempt to settle the flutter low in my abdomen. “I think Fate’s Falls is going to need its own notebook.” Unable to resist, I look at him from beneath the fringe of my eyelashes—and find him staring at me. “Is there a stationery or other store in town that sells pretty notebooks?”
“The notebook has to be pretty?”
“Of course.” My body temperature is on the rise again, and it’s not from the cozy sweats I’m wearing. The oversized, nondescript sweats I’m now regretting. I’m not the shapeliest woman around, but my body is decent enough, and I’m kinda wishing he could see it, even though we agreed tonight was just for relaxing and getting to know each other. It wouldn’t hurt for him to get to know what I look like when I’m not hidden inside boxy fleece coordinates. Too late now.
“Yes, there’s a store. Fae-vorite Things. It’s downtown, near my coffee shop. Stationery, trinkets, lots of pretty things.”
“Is it owned by a non-human?”
He nods. “A fairy named Flora.”
“A fairy? For real?” Appropriately, or inappropriately, I’m gaping like a fish. “Does she have wings?”
“She does, yes.”
“Is she tiny, like a butterfly?”
“No,” he says, chuckling softly. “Pixies are small like that. Fairies are human-sized.” He says it all as if it’s totally normal. Which it is to him.
“Are there pixies here in Fate’s Falls?”
“Several families of them. Quite a few fairies, too.”
“Wow, that’s…it’s all so…” Completely unbelievable. But I’m hearing it from a Minotaur, which makes it as possible as anything. Still, I make a mind-exploding gesture and kaboom sound, at which he chuckles again—a sound that makes me smile. “I can’t wait to see it all.”
“And I can’t wait to show you everything.”
Warmth washes through me as he looks into my eyes. I should be making these plans with my cousin, not him. I’m here for Ro, not to play fake dating your alleged Minotaur mate with Constantine. Except, it wouldn’t be fake. And every minute I’m with him makes it feel less alleged.
His smile widens while watching me line up three crackers, then layer each in production-line fashion, until they’re perfectly equal mini towers of identical deliciousness. “How much trouble would I be in if I said you’re cute?”
“Zero trouble. I never understood women who get bent out of shape by the word cute. Did your last girlfriend have a problem with it?” Now I’m the one whose mouth is going to get them in trouble. “Not that I’m comparing myself to anyone who’s had girlfriend status.”
“You shouldn’t.”
It’s as if my stomach has a trap door. “Of course not,” I say, returning the loaded cracker I’m holding to the tray.
His dark eyebrows draw together, his eyes flaming with intensity as his gaze focuses on the frown tugging my lips downward. He shifts, dropping his arm onto the seat cushions and capturing my hand, where it lies like a dead fish beside the serving tray. “You’re my mate, Natalie. Whether you accept what fate chose for us or not, you will always be beyond comparison.”
How sad is it that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me? A short time with this man, this Minotaur, is already proof I’ve dated nothing but duds until now.
Until now. Well, that thought sprang out pretty darn naturally. Is this the beginning of dating Constantine? Am I really going there while I’m here?
