Page 5 of Minnie

I catch the gorgon watching me, and that coupled with Formula M’s effects on my powers, makes me miss most of what Tiptoe says. I only catch one word. Sleep.

I’d let him snuggle comfortably inside my Birkin during my shift, but apparently health inspectors aren’t fond of mice. “Natty, Tiptoe’s sleepy. Let him rest when you get upstairs, okay?”

Natty nods.

Wes does too. “I’ve got your favorite pillow ready, Tiptoe. And some carrot and apple slices for you boys to share.”

I settle the happily-chirping mouse on the grinning boy’s shoulder and kiss the tops of both their heads. Then I pull the boy in for a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you during my break, Natty.”

He nods, and Wes turns to Amber. “Come upstairs with us, Ambear? You should rest, and Minnie’s got everything under control down here.”

I really don’t, but I nod anyway.

Thankfully, Amber shakes her head. “I don’t mind working. And I can always waddle upstairs if I feel tired,” she adds with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

Wes frowns. “You should still put your feet up. I can give you a foot rub and make you something to eat. Are you craving pickles? Ice cream? Pickle ice cream?”

Natty jumps on the mention of dessert. “I want pickle ice cream!”

Since Flying Horse has a dick-flavored ice cream, pickle might be on their menu. But judging by the look on Amber’s face, not one she plans on having.

Wes chuckles. “I was just kidding about the pickle ice cream.” He ruffles Natty’s hair and turns to Amber. “But I’m here for you, Ambear. Anything you need.”

It hurts that no one will ever look at me the way Wes is looking at Amber, but I try to be happy for my friend. She deserves to be happy, and I do not.

Amber rests her hands on her protruding belly and smiles warmly at her mate. “I’m fine, Wes. I promise. And if I get hungry, or tired, or somehow even more pregnant, I’ll come upstairs, okay?”

Considering she’s already carrying triplets, and we live in a supernatural town, she’s basically just tempting fate… but her stomach doesn’t balloon further.

Wes chuckles, gives Amber a loving kiss, and scoops up Natty. Then he races upstairs, the sound of pounding feet echoing through the small cafe.

And that’s when I feel the gorgon’s eyes on me.

Chapter 3

Minnie

I busy myself putting away my Birkin and slipping on my apron while I take in the gorgon. He’s claimed a seat by the door and he’s lounging back in his seat like Jewels Cafe is his own personal living room. One of his sneakered feet is resting on his jean-clad thigh, but his casual outfit doesn’t fool me. He’s radiating confidence, and he wouldn’t be doing that if he wasn’t someone important, rich, or famous.

If there’s one thing that Maude Montgomery—my not-so-dear mother—has taught me, it’s to sniff out success from a mile away. But there are plenty of other handsome men in Silver Springs who fit the bill. One of Amber’s sister’s mates, Cash, is the social media mogul who built Screech. Zoe’s mated to the famous hockey player Leith Rogowsky, who’s played for the Silver Springs Blades and the Maple Ridge Meese. And fine, they’re both taken, but Luca the siren—who’s the town’s fire chief and comes in for iced coffee, even in the dead of winter—is single, and I’ve never been this drawn to him.

Amber looks pointedly at the gorgon and raises an eyebrow. I respond with a Formula M yawn and examine my fingernails. They’re painted pink to match my dress and look perfect thanks to the Enchanted Nails potion I’ve been using since I turned six. It was initially called Nails to Die For, but sales were down because no one was willing to test fate, and it got rebranded when I was in my late teens.

Amber stares at me for a few long seconds, shrugs, and waddles into the back, leaving me alone with the gorgon in the otherwise empty cafe.

He’s still glued to his phone, acting for all the world like I don’t exist. Even his snakes are completely still and ignoring me.

I clear my throat. “So… what are their names?”

The gorgon looks up from his phone, his brows knit in confusion—or possibly, annoyance. “Are you talking to me?”

I want to look away in embarrassment, but Formula M forces me to roll my eyes instead. “Who else would I be talking to?”

“Yourself?” The gorgon snorts at his own lame attempt at a joke and turns back to his phone. Dick.

His snakes don’t utter a word, and I wonder if Formula M is especially potent today, or if they’re as unfriendly as he is. It just figures that the hot ones are always jerks. Not that I was interested in the first place.

I turn my back on the gorgon and wipe down the already clean espresso machine. But when I sneak a peak at him, I realize I shouldn’t have bothered. The gorgon seems too fascinated by whatever he’s reading on his phone to even notice.