Page 30 of A Witch and Her Minotaur
He still looks confused.
I sigh. “Here, I’ll put these down, and then I’ll help.”
Instead of waiting for his okay, I brush past him—and try to ignore the even bigger rush of heat his proximity causes in me—and step into the little hut. The fire is crackling, and it smells like woodsmoke and mountain sage. A few bags are already sitting on the floor in the kitchen, and there’s a wooden box atop the table. As Cairn steps through the doorway behind me, I set the cupcake platter on the kitchen table. We sidestep each other—this space feels significantly smaller with him standing in it—and I hurry outside to the cart. There’s a sack of flour sitting at the edge, and I look at it with determination.
I can get that.
Grabbing hold of the edge of the bag, I grit my teeth and heft it up and onto my shoulder. And immediately, the weight tips me off-balance, and I stumble back, already preparing myself to hit the ground.
Stupid, stupid, stup—
Strong hands grasp my waist, steadying me. They’re big enough that they could probably encircle my entire waist. Such big hands...
Heat rushes through my veins as I tip my head back and find Cairn looming over me.
Okay, maybe not so stupid . . .
Cairn huffs out a breath, and with what looks like no effort, he lifts the bag of flour from my shoulder and transfers it to his own. “Why don’t you get that instead?” He points to a small wooden crate loaded with what look like gardening supplies.
“S-sure,” I say, trying (and probably failing) to banish the blush from my cheeks.
Taking hold of the crate, I lift it (definitely more my size) and carry it into the hut. While Cairn sets the huge sack of flour down, I put the crate onto the table.
We work in companionable silence, unloading everything from the cart. Once it’s empty, Cairn leaves me standing by the front door while he pulls the cart around the back side of the hut. And I’m still standing there, wondering what the heck I’m even doing here, when he returns.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing the taut muscles in his forearms, and his chest looks even bigger as he crosses his arms and regards me with an arched brow. Histail whips behind him, though I can’t tell what the sharp flicks of it mean.
“Why are you really here?” His voice is deep and cautious.
I draw myself up. “Already told you.” Gesturing toward the hut, I say, “I brought cupcakes.”
“You came all the way here to bring me cupcakes?”
I can’t tell if he sounds annoyed or amused. Maybe a bit of both.
“Well, Iassumedyou like chocolate, but if not...” I shrug. “I could take them back. Raelan will probably eat them.”
“Raelan?” His tone sounds slightly sharper, and his brown eyes narrow.
For some ridiculous (and probably immature) reason, I opt not to clarify. He doesn’t need to know Raelan is Alina’s mate and fiancé.
“I guess I’ll go, then.” I turn and start into the hut. “I’ll just grab the cupcakes and—”
“Wait.”
A smile wants to curl across my mouth, but by some miracle, I’m able to keep a straight face as I look back at him.
With an unnecessarily heavy sigh, he drops his arms and says, “I like chocolate.”
This time, I do smile.
“WHO MADE THESE?” CAIRN ASKS. We’re seated at the bistro table in the garden, the cupcake platter between us. He started with the chocolate-caramel cupcake, and Ithink he’s melting into his chair right now as he takes another bite.
“My roommate’s mom. You ever been to the Wandering Cup? In Wysteria?”
Cairn shakes his head and takes another bite.
“It’s a little café. Poppy’s mom owns it. She brought some cupcakes today, and we had leftovers. So I snagged you some.”
