Page 8 of Screwed by the Minotaur in Hallow’s Cove (Hallow’s Cove #6)

Chapter six

Lea

The sunlight outside was too bright, the air too sharp.

I barely made it to the curb before the tears came.

Not a full breakdown—just a trickle, an overflow, a hot flush that threatened to drag my dignity through the gutter.

I pressed the heels of my hands hard against my eyes, refusing to let anyone in this picture-perfect, happy little town see me cry.

Not on my first official business day, not after everything I'd already survived.

But when I opened my eyes, there was Randy, leaning against the hood of a battered white van labeled “Moorhouse Contracting & Repair.” He held out a disposable coffee cup, steam rising off the lid, and when he caught my look, he didn’t flinch. If anything, he softened.

“Rough morning?” he said.

“Brutal,” I replied, managing a wobbly smile as I accepted the coffee. It was hot, black, and tasted faintly of burnt caramel.

“Want me to break his kneecaps?” Randy asked.

Despite myself, I laughed. “You think he’d even notice? Guy’s built like a steamroller.” The joke didn’t quite land, but the humor steadied me. I wiped under my eyes with the back of my sleeve, careful not to smudge my makeup.

Randy shrugged, mouth hitching up. “Maybe not, but I’m persistent. Besides, Beth always says it’s the thought that counts.” He regarded me sidelong, like he was measuring how much I’d let him see. “C’mon, let’s go brutalize some drywall. It’s good for the soul.”

I followed him into the shop, the warmth of the coffee burning slow and steady down my throat.

The building that would become my shop—mine!

—looked marginally less derelict in the daylight.

The windows glared with sun, the floors were sticky with time, and the corners were home to a city’s worth of cobwebs.

But it was mine, every splinter and stubborn floorboard.

We attacked the layer of old carpet and linoleum that covered the front half of the shop.

Randy handed me a crowbar and a pair of battered gloves, and together we pried and peeled and hammered our way through decades of bad choices.

By the time the rest of his crew arrived, the air inside was heavy with dust and the sound of our laughter banging off the high ceilings.

The crew was an eclectic mix—a banshee with a penchant for power tools, a hulking troll who worked with the care and delicacy of a jeweler, a pair of brownies who moved so quickly that I could never tell if there were two of them or just one in constant motion.

I’d worried, in some distant, city-bred corner of myself, that I’d never fit in here—that the small-town monster vibe would swallow me whole.

But within an hour, the entire crew had adopted me, folding me into their easy banter and letting me take the lead on every design decision, however small or ridiculous.

It didn’t matter if I was human, or a girl, or wearing mascara that probably made me look like a raccoon.

They just wanted to build something good, and, for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp, they wanted to build it with me.

By late afternoon, we’d unearthed the original hardwood floors, battered but beautiful, and I was up to my elbows in wood putty when Randy called a halt.

“Let’s pack it in for the day,” he bellowed, clapping his hands so loud dust snowed from the rafters.

The crew dissolved in a flurry of goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows, and in two blinks the shop was empty except for me and Randy, who surveyed my progress with a critical but not unfriendly eye.

“You did good, kid,” he said. “Most folks would’ve tapped out after an hour of demo.”

I wiped sweat off my brow, grinning in spite of myself. “My mother would rise from the grave if I abandoned a project halfway.”

Randy laughed, a big, rattling sound that seemed to vibrate the whole shopfront.

“Remind me never to underestimate you with a parent like that.” He squinted, sizing up the bones of the place, then looked back at me with a kind of pride I hadn’t seen since Mom’s last good day.

“This’ll shine up real nice. Once it’s done.

” He hesitated, then placed a careful, paint-stained hand on my shoulder.

“And hey—if you ever need to talk off the record, about anything, Beth’s a world-class listener.

She’ll bake scones and not ask a single question until you’ve had at least two. ”

I felt a lump forming in my chest, but I only nodded, blinking hard against the grit in my eyes. “Thanks, Randy. For everything.”

He snorted. “If you want to thank me, buy Beth a coffee at Cool Beans and agree to let her make you a pie for the grand opening. She’s been looking for an excuse to try out her new brown butter crust.”

I laughed, the exhaustion hitting all at once. “Deal. On both counts.”

He nodded, then let his hand fall away. For a moment, we stood in companionable silence, drinking in the dusty, sunlit emptiness of the shop. It felt good—better than I’d ever have guessed. Like seeing buds on a young plant glistening with dew, right before the bloom.

When Randy left, I stayed back for a little while, savoring the quiet.

I paced the length of the shop, imagining where the tables and displays would go, picturing sunlight falling in a thousand colors through vases lined up in the front window.

I thought about what my mom would say—probably something about the importance of having fun even when everything was chaos.

I remembered a time she’d flooded the counter with a hundred cheap keychains and insisted we arrange them in a rainbow, just to see if anyone noticed.

I missed her. I missed her so much. But for the first time in months, the missing wasn’t just hollow—there was something alive growing in the space she’d left behind.

I left the shop in the early evening, the sky painted in improbable sunset colors: peach and blue, the clouds lit up from below like the world’s best flower arrangement.

My hands were raw, my hair full of sawdust, and my mood…

not good, exactly, but better. I wanted to call Britt and tell her about the day, but part of me wanted to hold it close, keep it just for myself a little while longer. Like a secret I wasn’t ready to share.

I puttered around the shop before heading to the apartment upstairs.

In two days, I was supposed to have this place ready to sleep in.

In two days, I’d be officially a resident of Hallow’s Cove.

The apartment was spacious for only one.

I wandered around thinking about what furniture I could bring over from Mom’s once I was more settled.

I had the basics arriving in the morning: bed, fridge, tiny kitchen table.

There had to be a grocery store in town that I could check out—so I had staples when the time came.

I locked the door behind me, set out down Main, and promptly realized I had no idea where the hell to find a grocery store.

There were a number of shops I could have stopped at—Cool Beans was open late, and the faun barista had already tried to set me up with a punch card and a social life.

But I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

I took my coffee to-go instead, letting my feet lead the way, weaving through side streets and alleys until the houses began to thin and the air took on a different smell—cool, mossy, alive.

The park was on the edge of town, a long stretch of lawn bracketed by overgrown thickets and a lazy creek.

I didn’t mean to end up there, but as soon as I saw the sign—HAWTHORNE PARK, in peeling blue paint—I made a beeline for the bench nearest the water and sat, shoving my hands deep in my pockets.

The sun was dropping fast and the trees threw long, dramatic shadows over the grass.

The creek made steady music, nothing like the chatter and grind of the city.

Here, the quiet was deep and stubborn, and it left too much room for my thoughts.

I sat there for a while, breathing in the bright, green scent of evening, and let myself unravel.

I tried to replay the morning with Rick like it was a funny story, something I’d tell Britt and she’d roll her eyes at my taste in men, but the humor kept fading away before it took purchase.

All I could do was stare at the water and think about how easy it had been last night to let him in.

How he’d felt like a home I didn’t realize I’d been missing.

How I’d let myself hope, in the small, unguarded hours, that maybe, just this once, something good might last.

I’d spent my whole life pretending to be unbreakable, but it turned out that the only thing harder than being left was letting yourself be soft in the first place.

How my mother had done that—year after year, heartbreak after heartbreak—was a mystery.

I didn’t have her patience or her faith.

But sitting here, I realized I wanted to.

Even if it meant looking like a fool sometimes.

A crisp wind picked up off the water, and I hunched my shoulders, pulling my knees to my chest. I tried to blink the tears away, but they kept coming—slow, embarrassing, but also weirdly relieving.

I cried because somewhere in the marrow of myself, I already missed Rick, and I hated how easily that happened.

I let myself cry until the sky went dark.

I didn’t even hear anyone approach when a woman about my age appeared in front of me.

She had curly red hair and large hazel eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked, brows raised.

I sniffed, embarrassed to be caught crying in public. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m—” I broke off, then tried to smile. “I moved to town and nobody told me the pollen count in Hallow’s Cove was, uh, catastrophic.” I wiped my face on my shoulder, trying to play it cool.