Page 11 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

11

DEX

I step through the front door, my hooves scuffing against the worn welcome mat—a touch I never bothered with before Ellis came into my life. My shoulders ache from hunching over ledgers all afternoon at the trading post.

I've been trying to ease back into work, just a few hours here and there while Maya handles Ellis. After a month of this arrangement, and I'm still not sure which part of my day I look forward to more—the familiar rhythm of commerce or coming home to... this.

The house envelops me in warmth, nothing like the empty space it used to be. A sweet, herbal scent hangs in the air—something Maya brewed, no doubt. The woman has filled my kitchen with jars and bundles I couldn't name if my life depended on it. But they make the place smell alive, and I find myself inhaling deeply.

Before I can announce myself, a high-pitched squeal cuts through the calm. That sound—unmistakable, impossible to ignore. Ellis. My heart does that strange little leap it's been doing lately whenever I hear him.

I follow the sound to the sitting room where Maya stands swaying, her practical silver-blonde hair catching the late afternoon light. She's holding Ellis against her chest, but the little one's attention is entirely on me. His tiny arms flail wildly, tawny fur just a shade lighter than mine, those gold eyes—Iris' eyes—wide with recognition and excitement.

Maya arches one eyebrow, her gray eyes dancing with something I can't quite name. "I think someone missed you."

Simple words. Nothing fancy. But they hit somewhere deep, somewhere I've kept locked up tight since Arekia walked away years ago. The weight of it settles in my chest, pressing against my ribs.

I move toward them, no longer the hesitant bull who once held Ellis like he might shatter. My arms reach out naturally now, and Maya transfers him with a practiced handoff we've perfected over weeks.

"Hey there, little one," I rumble, my voice automatically softening the way it only does for him. "Giving Maya trouble today?"

Ellis immediately snuggles against me, his tiny form finding that perfect spot against my chest. His baby horns, barely nubs poking through his fur, brush against my shirt as he settles with a contented sigh. The tension in my shoulders melts away, replaced by something else entirely.

"He was perfect," Maya says, stretching her arms now that they're free. "I read him your ledgers from last season while you were gone. Ellis has quite the head for numbers." Her dry humor slips out with that half-smile I've grown to expect.

I stroke Ellis's back with one large hand, feeling his heartbeat against mine. "You hear that? Already following in your uncle's footsteps instead of charging into battle like a proper Ironhoof." I grin, remembering my own father's disappointment when I chose commerce over combat.

Something cracks inside me—a fissure in the walls I built after my parents died, after the marriage that wasn't meant to be. Because I missed him. I missed them both.

The realization hits like a physical blow. I didn't think I'd ever be the kind of man who longed to come home to someone. The merchant who thrived on independence, who laughed off his friends' domestic contentment while pouring them another drink.

But right now, standing in this quiet home with afternoon light painting the walls gold, holding my nephew's small body against my massive frame, with Maya watching me with that knowing look like she belongs here—like they both belong here—I wonder when that changed.

"You look different," Maya says suddenly, studying my face. "When you hold him. Less..."

"Intimidating?" I offer with the grin that's charmed countless business partners.

She shakes her head, unimpressed by my practiced charm. "Real. You look more real." She gives me a soft smile, the kind that sends warmth through me that I don't even bother to ignore anymore. "Looks like you can be taught after all."

Ellis shifts against my chest, his contented stillness transforming into tiny, restless movements. His face scrunches, gold eyes squinting as he lets out a grumbling noise that I've learned means hunger is imminent. Amazing how in six weeks, I've become fluent in a language I never knew existed.

"Someone's getting hangry," I say, bouncing him gently. "Takes after his uncle that way."

Maya rises from her chair, all efficiency and purpose. "I'll get his bottle ready."

"I'll feed him this time." The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. I've been gone most of the day, and something in me craves this simple connection. "If you show me how you're mixing it now." She told me he needed more nutrients, and I'm not going to argue with someone who knows her herbs.

"Sure," she says with that slight quirk of her lips. "About time you learned the secret recipe."

I follow her into the kitchen, Ellis tucked securely against me. From the doorway, I watch as Maya moves through the space that was once just a room where I occasionally heated leftovers from the tavern. My kitchen now holds dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, jars of mysterious substances lining the shelves, and an order I never could have maintained myself.

She reaches for specific containers with confidence, not hesitating for a second. The way she moves reminds me of how I navigate a negotiation—knowing exactly which pieces need to be in place for success. Her silver-blonde hair catches the lamplight as she bends to retrieve a pot, her movements precise and practiced.

"The gankoya helps with his digestion," she explains, measuring a small amount of powder. "And the zabilla extract soothes him before bed."

I nod like I understand completely, though I'd be hard-pressed to identify either herb if my life depended on it. The merchant in me still wants to memorize the process, to be self-sufficient, but there's something else too—something about watching her work in my space that feels... right.

She hums under her breath, a melody I don't recognize but have heard countless times now in the quiet moments around the house. Ellis responds to it instantly, his grumbles subsiding as he turns his head slightly toward the sound. Smart kid.

Maya tests the temperature of the milk against her wrist, another gesture I've seen so many times it feels like a ritual now. "Perfect," she declares, pouring the mixture into a bottle with practiced ease.

The domesticity of it all hits me like a physical blow. This isn't some temporary arrangement anymore—this is routine. This is life. Maya stands in my kitchen, making my nephew's dinner, humming a song that soothes him to sleep, completely at ease. Like this is something she does every night. Like she belongs here.

And gods help me, she does look like she belongs. The practical healer with her no-nonsense attitude fits in these walls better than I do sometimes.

Ellis's tiny fingers grip my tunic tighter, those little claws catching on the fabric. I swallow hard, my large hand moving to support his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. This—this moment—feels too damn good.

Business deals, drinking contests, village festivals—I've known plenty of good feelings in my life. But this quiet moment watching Maya prepare a bottle while Ellis nestles against my chest tops them all.

And that terrifies me.

Because things that feel this good don't last. My parents, taken by the Red Fever. Iris, gone before her time. Even Arekia, though that wound healed cleaner than I expected. Life has a way of snatching happiness away, especially when you start thinking you deserve it.

"Something wrong?" Maya's voice breaks through my thoughts. She's extending the bottle toward me, her gray eyes searching my face with that unsettling perception she has.

"Just hungry myself," I lie, taking the bottle with my free hand. My massive fingers dwarf the container, a reminder of how fragile all this is. "Think you could work your magic on something for the adults after the little one's settled?"

She nods toward the living room. "Yeah, I don't mind."

I settle into my favorite chair, the one with the worn arms and a reinforced frame that even my bulk can't damage. Ellis takes the bottle eagerly, his tiny hands reaching up to grasp at it alongside mine. His gold eyes—so like Iris'—stare up with complete trust as he feeds.

"He's getting stronger," I murmur, watching those small fingers curl and uncurl against the bottle. "Grip like a proper merchant already."

Maya leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. In the lamplight, her silver-blonde hair catches golden highlights, and for a moment, she looks softer than the practical healer I first met.

"Most babies his age can't grip that well yet," she says, that note of pride in her voice mirroring something in my chest. "He's advanced."

"Of course he is," I say with a wink. "He's an Ironhoof."

She snorts, but there's fondness in it. "I'm sure that's it. Nothing to do with all the exercises we've been doing with him."

We. Such a simple word. When did it happen? When did this arrangement—this temporary solution—become a partnership? I watch Ellis suckling contentedly and realize it doesn't matter when. It just is. Even if it shouldn't be.

Maya moves to the kitchen, and I hear the familiar sounds of her preparing our dinner. The rhythm of her knife against the cutting board, the clink of pots, the soft hum under her breath—they've all become as familiar as my own heartbeat.

"You know," I call out, keeping my voice low to not disturb Ellis, "I've been thinking about expanding the eastern storeroom at the trading post. Could use an herb section. Specialize in medicinals."

The chopping pauses. I hear her set down the knife.

"Is that right?" Her voice carries that dry tone that I've come to enjoy far too much. "And who would manage this herb section? Certainly not the minotaur who can't tell gankoya from goligan."

I chuckle, jostling Ellis slightly. He makes an indignant sound around the bottle, and I readjust. "I know a skilled herbalist who might be interested. If the terms were right."

She appears in the doorway again, a bunch of fresh frisse in her hand. Those gray eyes study me with an intensity that makes my fur prickle. "Terms?"

"Partnership," I say, the word slipping out before I can reconsider. "Fifty-fifty. Your knowledge, my connections. We could supply half the healers in Karona."

Something flickers across her face—surprise, interest, and something else I can't quite name. "That's... generous."

It is. Too generous, from a purely business standpoint. But nothing about this feels like just business anymore.

Ellis finishes his bottle with a satisfied grunt. I set it aside and shift him to my shoulder for burping, a move that felt awkward a month ago but now comes naturally. His warm weight against me, the faint milky scent of him—they ground me in a way nothing else ever has.

"Just practical," I say finally, patting Ellis's back gently. "Your herb knowledge is valuable. And you've proven reliable." The understatement of the year. She's been my salvation these past weeks.

Maya returns to the kitchen without answering, but I hear her humming again—a good sign. Ellis burps loudly, and I laugh, the sound rumbling deep in my chest.

"That's my boy," I say, shifting him back to the crook of my arm.

The words hit me like a physical blow. My boy. Not mine at all, but Iris' son. My nephew. The child I've sworn to raise, but not... not mine.

Yet my heart doesn't seem to know the difference. Every day, this little baby burrows deeper into places I thought long sealed shut. His tiny hands grip my fingers with complete trust. His gold eyes light up when I enter a room. His sleepy sighs against my chest as he drifts off feel like the most precious thing I've ever been entrusted with.

And Maya—gods help me—Maya with her no-nonsense attitude and her unexpected gentleness with Ellis. The way she's transformed this house into a home. How she knows exactly what Ellis needs before he even cries for it. The quiet conversation we share over wine after he's asleep.

It's all temporary. It has to be. I can't let myself believe otherwise. Someone like Maya doesn't stay with someone like me—a merchant minotaur with more ambition than sense, according to my late father. And Ellis deserves better than a bachelor uncle fumbling through parenthood.

But for now, in this moment, with Ellis drifting to sleep in my arms and Maya's humming drifting from the kitchen, I allow myself to pretend. Just for a moment. That this is mine to keep.

Ellis's eyes flutter closed, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks. His breathing deepens into the rhythm of sleep, and I find my own breath matching his. In. Out. Together.

"Dinner in ten," Maya calls softly from the kitchen, knowing Ellis is likely asleep by now.

I should put him in his crib. That's what I should do. But instead, I hold him closer, savoring the weight of him against my chest. These moments are fleeting. I know that better than most. Better to hold tight while you can, even knowing that someday I'll have to let go.