Page 33 of Scr*wed By the Minotaur in Hallow's Cove
“How about Thai?”
When the food arrived, we sprawled on the couch, cartons between us, and played a stupid movie in the background. She ate with one leg slung over mine, scooping noodles with effortless dexterity, and when she dripped sauce on the couch, she just wiped it with her wrist and kept talking. I loved her for all the little human things, the imperfections she refused to hide.
After, she curled into my side like she always did and closed her eyes, fingers tracing circles on my thigh. “You know what I wish?” she murmured, half-asleep.
“What’s that?”
“I wish tomorrow was already opening night. So I could walk in and just…be done worrying.” Her voice was velvet soft, full of longing and exhaustion.
I kissed her forehead. “It’s going to be perfect, Lea. You know that, right?”
She hummed, unconvinced but comforted, and nestled closer. “Maybe. I’ll believe it when I see people in there. When I see someone pick up a bouquet and smile and it isn’t just you pretending.”
“Hey, I’m a damn good actor,” I protested, grinning. “You should see me with a bunch of tulips. I get weepy.”
“Liar,” she said, though I could hear the smile in her tired voice.
I kissed her again, slow and sleepy, and we drifted together until the late evening light faded out and the only thing left was the easy hush of her breathing in my arms.
Chapter seventeen
Lea
Fridaycamefast.Ibarely slept the night before, waking up every hour to mentally list all the things I still had to finish. The morning started with a downpour, so loud against the shop roof that it felt like a warning shot. I brewed coffee strong enough to make my hands shake, then spent the whole day pacing up and down the shop, triple-checking each shelf, plant, and price tag. Rick, meanwhile, was a blur of motion—hanging signs, polishing windows, even running out to pick up a flat of last-minute annuals when I realized I’d forgotten to order any poppies. He never stopped moving except to squeeze my shoulder or quickly kiss my cheek.
By 4:00 p.m., the rain had stopped and the clouds had drained out to sea, leaving the whole cove washed clean and bright. I was still wearing my ratty paint jeans and a T-shirt splattered with at least three different shades of green when Rick came jogging in from the backyard, cheeks flushed with wind and triumph.
“Hey!” he barked, startling me out of my inventory trance. “It’s time. Get going.”
“Going where?” I asked, half-distracted by the miniature cacti I was alphabetizing.
He grinned, wide and wolfish. “Home. Shower. Hair. Change. You’re not hosting your grand opening looking like an extra from a seed catalog.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off with a gentle but unyielding hand on my lower back, steering me toward the door.
“I mean it, Lea. Go get ready. I’ll finish up here and meet you back at the apartment.”
I let myself be herded, a little dazed by his energy. My feet squelched in my battered sneakers as I tromped upstairs, shedding layers of grimy clothes with every step. The apartment was its usual disaster, but the bathroom was a little island of calm: clean towels, a new candle (cinnamon vanilla), and two toothbrushes in the cup instead of one. My chest went weirdly tight at the sight.
Before I could overthink it, I jumped in the shower and scoured away three days of sweat, paint, and dirt. I even shaved my legs—first time all week. I took extra time co-washing my hair, silently thanking Rick for giving me enough time to care for my curls. Then I tore through drawers and found one of the summer dresses I’d packed for “special occasions,” which I hadn’t worn since that first night at Killy’s. I removed my hair from one of Rick’s soft shirts I wrapped it up in, working through product and styling my curls. I caught my reflection in the ancient, paint-speckled mirror. I looked… not put together, not beautiful, but alive. Electric, almost. Like something was burning inside me and leaking out my eyes and cheeks.
I was still barefoot and brushing my teeth when Rick banged through the door, arms full of flower bundles and a bag from Cool Beans I suspected was filled with pastries and not, asadvertised, “emergency supplies.” He stopped short when he saw me, something raw and unguarded moving across his face.
“You clean up nice,” he said, voice low and almost reverent.
“You see me every morning like a swamp creature,” I shot back, feeling self-conscious but also—strangely—wanting him to see all of it, every version of me.
He shrugged, setting the armful of flowers down on my counter and coming closer. He ran his thumb around my jaw, not bothering to hide the way he lingered on the spot near my ear where my hair still dripped onto my neck.
“I like the swamp creature. But this?” He let out a slow whistle that made me squirm. “This is unfair. You’re gonna kill ’em out there.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled, turning away so I didn’t start giggling like a teenager. “Are you here to make me nervous, or are you here for something else?”
“Both?” He plopped onto the edge of the bed, grinning. “Mostly, I came to steal five minutes of your time before you go and charm the socks off the whole town.”
I turned to face him, hands fidgeting with the cord of my dress. “Five minutes?”
He crooked his finger, summoning me. When I stood in front of him, he slid his hands up my thighs, fingers splayed possessively. “Nervous?”
