Page 46 of Horned to be Wild
“Careful with those,” she warned as Mabel butted the treat bowl with her head. “You’ve already had plenty today.”
He laughed. “She knows exactly what she’s doing. Always has.”
“Of course she does. She’s the smartest goat in Harmony Glen. Aren’t you, Mabel?” She scratched between the goat’s horns, earning a contented bleat in response.
Torin moved to the back of the gallery, where a simple workbench held her painting supplies and a smaller version of his carving tools. It was their shared creative space, arranged so they could work alongside each other during quieter times in the gallery. The sight of their tools mingled together—her brushesbeside his chisels, her palette next to his sanding blocks—never failed to fill her with a profound sense of rightness.
He pulled a large, carefully wrapped package, secured with twine and brown paper, out from behind the workbench and set it on up.
“What’s that?” she asked.
A hint of shyness crossed his features. It was an expression she’d come to treasure—the powerful minotaur momentarily vulnerable, uncertain. “It’s for you.”
She moved over to join him, running her fingers lightly over the wrapped package. Whatever lay inside was large, nearly four feet across. “What’s the occasion?”
“Does there need to be one?” he asked gruffly, but she could see the warmth in his eyes.
She smiled up at him. “No. Of course not.”
She carefully untied the twine and peeled back the brown paper wrapping, then gasped as the last fold fell away.
The package contained a wooden frame unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was clearly Torin’s work, but he’d surpassed himself in every way. The carved “doorway” echoed the designs they’d created for the elementary school library, but this was infinitely more complex, more personal. The entire frame told a story—their story.
She traced her fingers over the intricate carvings. Here was Mabel, captured in perfect mischievous detail. There was a tiny replica of her great aunt’s cottage as it had first appeared, weathered and neglected. Further along, she recognized scenes from their journey together: the broken carving they’d repaired,the paint-splattered workshop, the thunderstorm that had driven her to his door. The detailed carvings covered the bottom half of the frame but the top half was smooth, polished wood, ready for their next adventures.
And within the frame—a pristine, blank canvas, perfectly sized to fit the wooden doorway, waiting for her touch.
“This is…” Her voice caught. “I don’t even have words.”
“I was thinking about those doorways we made for the children. How they were meant to be portals into other worlds.” He tapped the blank canvas with one large finger. “This one’s different. It’s not a doorway into someone else’s story. It’s a doorway into ours.”
Her eyes welled with tears as she understood the profound symbolism of his gift. “A blank canvas,” she whispered. “Ready for whatever we create together.”
She looked up at him, this imposing creature who had opened his heart to her, who had trusted her with his art and his deepest fears. The minotaur who had once believed himself unworthy of love or recognition now stood before her, offering a future of endless possibility.
“Do you like it?” he asked, a hint of his old uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Instead of answering, she went up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love it,” she said against his lips. “And I love you.”
His powerful arms encircled her, lifting her easily until they were face to face. “Our future, Lila,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “The future we carve out together.”
He kissed her, a kiss that held all the promise of that future—all the joy, the passion, the trust, the love. A kiss that sealed their bond and opened a thousand doorways, each leading to a new story waiting to be written.
When they finally broke apart, she was breathless. She rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the quiet of the gallery.
“Where should we hang it?” she asked.
He glanced around the gallery, then shook his head.
“Not here,” he decided. “This is for sharing with others. That—” he nodded towards the frame, “—is just for us.”
She nodded, understanding perfectly. “Above our fireplace, then. Where we can see it every day.”
“And when you’re ready to fill that canvas, I’ll be right there beside you.” His amber eyes held a warmth that still amazed her, this minotaur who had once been so closed off, so afraid of connection.
As if sensing the emotional moment, Mabel butted her head against his leg, demanding attention and she laughed.
“Some things never change,” she said, bending to scratch the goat’s ears.
