Epilogue
Two months later…
“There’s a minotaur in a pickup truck blocking the front entrance,” Brenda announced, poking her head into my office where I was finishing my end-of-day paperwork.
I glanced up from the circulation report I’d been double-checking, a smile already spreading across my face. “That would be my ride.”
“Your very punctual ride,” she said, tapping her watch. “It’s five o’clock on the dot.”
“Rion’s never late,” I replied, gathering my things and stuffing them haphazardly into my messenger bag. “It’s one of his many endearing qualities.”
“Along with those shoulders, that voice, and the way he looks at you like you hung the moon?” Brenda’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. One month into officially living together, and I still blushed like a teenager whenever someone mentioned my relationship with Rion. “Stop it.”
“Never. Your happiness is the most interesting thing to happen in this library since we found that colony of bookworms in the ancient mythology section.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Mrs. Wilson’s already out front, by the way. Giving him The Look.”
I groaned, shoving the last of my papers into my bag. “Of course she is.”
“To be fair, she’s upgraded from her ‘you’re a dangerous creature’ look to her ‘I’m watching you, but somewhat less suspiciously’ look.” Brenda mimed the transition between facial expressions, making me snort with laughter despite my annoyance.
“Such progress,” I muttered, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early. I want to hear how the final move-in went!” She gave me a quick hug. “Still can’t believe you’re shacking up with a minotaur. My love life consists of my cats judging me while I watch baking shows.”
“Get a dog,” I suggested, heading for the door. “More drool but less judgment.”
“Profound wisdom from the woman dating mythology made flesh!”
I made my way through the library, weaving between the last few patrons browsing the stacks.
The main floor was peaceful in the late afternoon light streaming through the tall windows.
I never tired of this view—books stretching in every direction, organized chaos contained within solid oak shelving that Rion had recently reinforced for us.
Another month, and I’d be leaving for two weeks of vacation—my first real time off since starting here.
Our first vacation together, I thought with a flutter of excitement. We’d been making plans to visit a private beach house on the coast, far from curious eyes but close enough to the ocean for long walks at sunset.
As I pushed through the front doors, the sight that greeted me still made my heart skip a beat.
Rion’s huge pickup truck was parked directly in front of the library steps.
And leaning against it, arms folded across his broad chest, was Rion himself.
He’d dressed well today—no hat, no trench coat, just dark jeans and a button-down shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. His horns gleamed in the late afternoon sun, recently polished to a high shine.
He spotted me immediately, his serious expression softening into the smile he reserved just for me. My heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he looked at me that way.
Then I noticed Mrs. Wilson standing a few feet away from him, her posture stiff but not hostile—an improvement over our first few encounters after the Spring Festival.
“Clara,” she nodded as I approached. “I was just thanking Mr. Asterion for his help with Tuesday’s delivery.”
“The new reference collection?” I asked, coming to stand beside Rion. His hand found mine automatically, our fingers intertwining.
“Yes. The crates would have been impossible for our regular staff to manage.” She adjusted her glasses, her gaze flickering between Rion and me. “I must admit, having someone with his… capabilities on call has been useful.”
Coming from Mrs. Wilson, this was practically a glowing endorsement. I squeezed his hand, knowing he understood the significance.
“I was happy to help,” he replied in his deep, measured voice. “The library provides an important service to the community.”
Mrs. Wilson’s lips twitched into what might almost have been a smile. “Indeed it does.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I should let you two be on your way. Clara, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We need to discuss the summer reading program lineup.”
“Of course.”
She turned to go, then paused. “And Mr. Asterion?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you… the integration has been going better than I anticipated. The children’s story hour last week—the one where you read ‘Ferdinand’—was our most attended session this year.”
The admission clearly cost her something.
Mrs. Wilson had been against Rion making appearances at the library initially, concerned about “disruption” and “parental complaints.” But after the Spring Festival, when several non-human beings had begun cautiously revealing themselves around town, she’d reluctantly agreed to a trial run.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. “The children were very welcoming.”
“Children often see more clearly than adults,” she replied, an echo of what my mother had said at the festival. “Well. Good evening to you both.”
We watched her walk back into the library, her sensible shoes clicking on the stone steps.
“That was almost warm,” I said once she was out of earshot.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “For Mrs. Wilson, that was practically effusive.”
“Progress,” I declared, standing on tiptoe to place a quick kiss on his jaw. “Slow, grudging progress.”
“I’ll take it.” He opened the passenger door of the truck for me, helping me up into the seat that sat higher than I was strictly comfortable with. “How was your day?”
“Busy but good. We had that school group tour this morning—the fifth graders from Westbrook Elementary. One little girl asked if I was a princess because I live with a minotaur.”
Rion laughed as he rounded the truck and folded his large frame into the driver’s seat. “And what did you tell her?”
“That princesses are overrated and librarians have better job security.” I buckled my seatbelt. “Though I did appreciate that she didn’t cast you as the monster.”
“Progress indeed,” he murmured, starting the engine. The truck rumbled to life beneath us.
As we pulled away from the library, I found myself stealing glances at his profile.
The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his horns, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
Even after all these months, I sometimes couldn’t believe he was real.
That this extraordinary being had somehow become part of my ordinary life.
“What?” he asked, catching me staring.
“Nothing. Just admiring the view.”
He snorted, but I caught the pleased flush darkening the fur along his cheekbones. He still struggled with compliments, especially about his appearance. Years of hiding had left their mark.
We drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the scenery gradually shifting from the town’s neat grid of streets to the more wooded outskirts where Rion’s home—our home now, I reminded myself—stood nestled among ancient oak trees.
“I brought the last load of your things over this afternoon,” he said as we turned onto the private road leading to the house. “The boxes from your storage unit.”
“Really? That’s the last of it?” A strange mix of emotions bubbled up in me—excitement, nostalgia, even a touch of disbelief that I had actually done this. I’d given up my apartment and moved in with a minotaur. Six months ago, it would have seemed utterly preposterous.
“Second thoughts?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
I turned to him, surprised. “None at all. Why would you think that?”
“You went quiet,” he said. “And you had that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where your eyebrows scrunch together and you bite your lower lip. It’s your ‘processing complicated feelings’ expression.”
I laughed. “You know me too well.”
“Not possible,” he replied simply.
The house came into view as we rounded the final bend—Rion’s masterpiece, his personal labyrinth transformed into a home. Our home. The evening sun caught the glass and stone of the exterior, making it glow with warmth.
“No second thoughts,” I assured him, reaching over to place my hand on his arm. “Just… marveling at how much my life has changed. In all the best ways.”
He covered my hand with his much larger one, his eyes softening. “Mine too.”
We pulled into the garage—recently expanded to accommodate my modest sedan alongside his truck—and he came around to help me down from the passenger seat, his hands spanning my waist as he lifted me effortlessly.
“Show-off,” I teased, though I secretly loved these casual displays of his strength, especially when they weren’t born of insecurity but of simple affection.
“You like it,” he rumbled, keeping his hands on my waist a moment longer than necessary.
“I do,” I admitted, leaning into him briefly before stepping back. “So, where did you put all those boxes? Please tell me not in the living room. I was hoping to actually see the couch tonight.”
A mysterious smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Actually, I have something to show you first.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is this why you insisted on picking me up instead of letting me drive myself home?”
“Perhaps.”
He seemed unusually… fidgety. Normally he was as solid and immovable as the stone his house was built from, but tonight he was actually shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“What are you up to?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“You’ll see.” He took my hand and led me through the door connecting the garage to the kitchen.