Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ispent way too much time the next morning trying to figure out how to text Rion about the coffee date.
“Hey, so about that coffee…”
“When are you free for coffee?”
“Coffee date planning time!”
I deleted them all, horrified at how juvenile they sounded. Was it even a date? I hadn’t meant it that way when I’d blurted it out in the library, had I? The question rattled around in my brain as I showered and dressed for work.
Coffee with a minotaur. No big deal. Just two… friends? Acquaintances? Texting buddies who once had an intense moment between bookshelves?
I finally settled on something simple as I walked to work:
Thanks again for your help with the display. It looks amazing! Any day work for coffee this week?
I hit send before I could overthink it further, then immediately regretted not checking the emoji selection more carefully. Was the smiley too casual? Should I have used the coffee steam heart emoji instead? Or no emoji at all?
Get a grip, Clara, I scolded myself. It’s just coffee with a… person. A very tall, very strong person with horns and fur who lives in a labyrinth and bakes excellent biscuits.
My phone vibrated with his response before I even reached the library steps.
Thursday afternoon works. I have no appointments after 2.
Typical Rion—direct, practical, no unnecessary words.
But this time, I found myself smiling at the familiarity of his texting style rather than feeling uncertain about its brevity.
I knew the deep, rumbling voice behind those words now.
I could almost hear him saying them, that slight hesitation before social commitments, the careful precision of his speech.
Thursday at 3 would be perfect! Any preference on location?
I added the cake and book emojis on impulse, wondering if a bookstore café might be more comfortable for him than a regular coffee shop. Somewhere quiet, with fewer people.
His reply came a few minutes later, after I’d unlocked the library and started booting up the computers.
Somewhere quiet would be preferable.
I stared at the house emoji for a good thirty seconds, my heart doing a little flip. In all our previous exchanges, Rion had never once used an emoji. Not a single one. This tiny digital house felt monumental, like he’d handed me a small gift wrapped in significance.
I texted back quickly:
I know just the place. The Book Nook on Maple Street has a little café inside. It’s usually pretty empty on weekday afternoons.
His response was almost immediate:
That sounds suitable. I’ll meet you there at 3 on Thursday.
A thumbs up emoji! I felt ridiculously pleased, like I’d witnessed some rare natural phenomenon. Rion, master architect and minotaur, was using emojis. With me.
The day passed in a blur of reshelving, helping patrons, and cataloging new arrivals. During a quiet moment in the afternoon, I found myself texting Rion again—something I wouldn’t have done before our library encounter.
You won’t believe what just happened. A patron asked me if we had any “non-fiction books about unicorns” because her daughter needs them for a “scientific report.” I showed her our mythology section, and she said that wouldn’t work because “unicorns are real, they’re just rare. ” If only she knew what I know now!
I sent it without thinking too hard, the kind of random observation I might share with a friend. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Humans have interesting beliefs about mythological creatures. She’s not entirely wrong about rarity, though. I haven’t met a unicorn personally, but I’ve heard they exist in remote areas.
I nearly dropped my phone. Unicorns? ACTUAL unicorns? I hurried to the break room to respond in private.
Wait… are you serious? Unicorns are REAL?!
The three minutes it took him to reply felt like an eternity.
Most mythological creatures have some basis in reality, though rarely matching human descriptions exactly. Your medieval artists were… creative.
I leaned against the break room counter, mind racing. Of course. If minotaurs were real, why not unicorns? Dragons? Phoenixes? The implications were staggering.
This is incredible. What else is real? Mermaids? Dragons? Is there like a secret monster society or something?
Another pause before his reply.
We prefer “non-human beings” to “monsters.” And yes to both questions, though again, not as depicted in human literature. Perhaps we can discuss this further on Thursday.
I blinked at his gentle correction. Monsters. I’d used that word without thinking, like it was harmless. To me, raised on fantasy novels and fairy tales, “monster” just meant “magical creature.” But to Rion, it probably carried centuries of prejudice and fear.
I’m so sorry about the “monster” thing. Thoughtless of me. And yes, I have about 10,000 questions for Thursday.
His response made me smile.
No offense taken. Your curiosity is… refreshing.
Throughout the next day, our texting continued with this new layer of openness. I sent him a picture of the mythology display, now complete with informational cards I’d created.
Your handiwork is drawing quite a crowd!
He replied with a photo that made me catch my breath—a detailed sketch of what appeared to be a custom ladder design. The proportions were perfect for the library shelves, with wider steps and reinforced sides.
Initial concept for a safer ladder. Thoughts?
I studied the sketch, touched by the thought he’d put into it. It wasn’t just functional; it was beautiful, with subtle decorative elements that would complement the library’s vintage aesthetic.
It’s gorgeous, Rion. Seriously, this is way beyond what I expected. The library can’t afford something this nice, though.
His response came quickly:
Consider it a donation. I enjoy building useful things.
Something warm spread through my chest. Thank you. That’s incredibly generous.
Instead of a text reply, he sent another image—a close-up photo of a woodworking tool I didn’t recognize, resting on what looked like a blueprint.
Starting the preliminary work today.
The idea of Rion in his workshop, those powerful hands carefully crafting something specifically for me—for my library—made me feel strangely emotional. I sent back:
I can’t wait to see it. And I promise not to break it with my legendary klutziness.
The next morning, I woke to a text that must have been sent late at night:
How did you become a librarian?
The personal question surprised me. Until now, he had kept our conversations primarily focused on immediate topics or practical matters. This felt like him reaching out, trying to know me better. I replied while eating breakfast:
I’ve always loved books—they were my escape growing up. My mom was a teacher so I’d hang in the school library after school while I waited for her. When I went to college, I studied literature, then got my Master’s in Library Science. It felt like coming home.
I hesitated, then added: What about you? How did you become an architect?
His reply didn’t come until midday:
I’ve always been fascinated by structures and spaces. It comes naturally to me. I’ve worked as a stonemason and a builder, but creating spaces where people feel secure yet free speaks to something deep within me.
That’s beautiful. Creating sanctuaries for others while building your own. Makes perfect sense, given your home.
After sending it, I felt bold enough to follow up with:
What about your parents?
His response came after a longer pause:
They have been gone for a long time. It can be… lonely.
The admission caught me off guard. Rion, who seemed so self-sufficient, so contained, admitting to loneliness. I wanted to reach through the phone and… what? Hug him? Hold his hand? Assure him he wasn’t alone anymore?
I settled for:
I can’t imagine. But I’m glad our paths crossed, even if it was because of my terrible texting skills and ladder emergency.
His reply made me smile:
As am I.
The bull emoji nearly made me drop my phone. It was so unexpectedly perfect—serious yet playful, acknowledging his nature while making light of it. I found myself grinning at my screen like an idiot.
That evening, as I curled up on my couch with tea and a book, I sent one more text:
Reading anything good lately?
His reply came a few minutes later:
Revisiting Vitruvius’ “De Architectura.” The Romans understood something about harmony and proportion that many modern architects have forgotten. You?
I glanced at the contemporary romance novel on my lap and briefly considered lying to sound more intellectual. But something about our evolving relationship made me want to be authentic.
A romance novel with horned alien warriors. Pure escapism, but sometimes that’s exactly what I need.
All reading has value. Escapism serves an important purpose.
The book emoji made me unreasonably happy. I imagined him sitting in his labyrinthine home, perhaps in a study lined with ancient texts, carefully selecting an emoji to add to his message to me.
Spoken like a true book lover. Looking forward to tomorrow!
As am I.
Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. I spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing my outfit, finally settling on a light spring dress with a lacy white cardigan and white sneakers that made me feel both comfortable and put-together. Casual, but not sloppy.
As I applied a touch of mascara, I caught myself wondering what Rion would wear. Would he try to disguise his horns again? Would he be uncomfortable in public? What if someone recognized him as… not human?
I pushed the worries aside. The Book Nook was quiet and dim, with secluded corners and an owner who minded her own business. We’d be fine.
Throughout the morning at work, I found myself checking my phone more often than usual, half-expecting Rion to cancel. Instead, at noon, I received:
Still planning for 3pm?
Absolutely! Looking forward to it.
As am I.
The house emoji again. This time, I thought I understood its meaning better—a symbol of safety, of refuge. The Book Nook would be our temporary sanctuary.
At 2:30, I left the library, my stomach fluttering with anticipation.
As I walked the few blocks to the bookstore, I scrolled back through our recent texts, smiling at the evolution of our communication.
From my rambling ladder emergency text and his single period response, to shared photos, personal questions, and yes, even emojis.
We’d developed our own language, Rion and I—a blend of his formality and my enthusiasm, his ancient wisdom and my modern references. Something unique to us, built word by word, emoji by emoji, creating a bridge between his world and mine.
I paused outside the Book Nook, taking a deep breath. Whether this was friendship or something more, I knew one thing with absolute certainty—this communication we’d built had become one of the most meaningful connections in my life.
My phone buzzed one last time before I entered:
Almost there.
And despite all my nerves, I couldn’t stop smiling.