Page 18 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

18

MAYA

T he tiny bell above my shop door jangles with unexpected enthusiasm, jolting me from my concentration over a particularly stubborn herbal compound. Looking up, I'm immediately assaulted by a cacophony of childish giggles and the rapid patter of small hooves against my wooden floors.

"Maya! Maya! Look what I found!" A silver-white blur races toward me, Mira's tiny form barely visible behind an enormous purple flower clutched in her small hands.

Right behind her, Kai follows with more restraint, though his young face betrays excitement as he carefully navigates around my display shelves, his emerging horns catching the morning light.

And then there's Lyra, copper-red hair gleaming as she steps through the doorway, her practical green dress dotted with travel dust, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

My heart sinks to somewhere around my ankles.

Not today. Any day but today.

My hands tighten around the mortar and pestle I've been using for the past three hours. The shop is in complete disarray—half-filled jars line every surface, bundles of drying herbs hang from the ceiling beams, and I have six separate orders due by sundown. My silver-blonde hair is falling from its practical knot, and I haven't slept properly in days.

This time, not because of Ellis.

"Surprise!" Lyra calls out, her green eyes bright with mischief. "We thought we'd come see Auntie Maya while Theron handles some business in town."

"Did you now?" I manage, setting down my tools and wiping my hands on my work apron. I pat Mira's head as she bounces beside me, careful to avoid her delicate horn buds. "What an unexpected pleasure."

My voice doesn't quite hit the right note of enthusiasm, and I know Lyra notices. She's always been too perceptive for comfort—it's what makes her such a good healer and such an inconvenient friend when you're trying to hide something.

"Maya, Maya, Maya!" Mira tugs at my apron, thrusting the purple flower toward me. "This is for your medicines! Daddy says you make the best medicines in all of Karona!"

I kneel to her level, forcing a smile that I hope looks genuine. "Thank you, little one. This is a beautiful fialon blossom." I take the slightly crushed flower, its fragrant petals already wilting. "It'll make a wonderful addition to my sleep tincture."

Kai steps forward, his serious nature evident in how carefully he surveys my workspace. At nearly eight, he already carries himself with the dignified bearing of someone much older. "Are you making medicines now? Can I watch? Father says I should learn useful trades."

"I am indeed, but it's rather boring work," I say, standing to my full height—which isn't saying much compared to the minotaur children who will soon tower over me. "Perhaps you'd prefer to see the new shipment of sweetgrass candies I got in yesterday?"

Both children's eyes widen at the mention of treats, exactly as I'd intended. Distraction is a healer's best friend when dealing with curious youngsters in a shop full of potentially dangerous substances.

"In that basket on the counter," I point to the far side of the shop. "Take two each, not more."

As they rush off, Lyra approaches, her petite human frame navigating the cluttered space with practiced ease. The way she moves—confident yet gentle—speaks volumes about how she's learned to carry herself in a world built for creatures twice her size.

"Working yourself to the bone, I see," she remarks, casually picking up a half-labeled jar of burgona root powder. "Six orders? Seven?"

"Eight, actually," I correct her, taking the jar from her hands and setting it in its proper place. I move between shelves, trying to look busier than I already am. "The summer solstice festival has everyone wanting healing tonics and beauty elixirs."

Lyra perches herself on the edge of my worktable, completely ignoring my unspoken signals that this isn't a good time for a social visit. Her copper braid falls over one shoulder as she tilts her head, studying me with those unnervingly direct green eyes.

"And how's Dex?" she asks, her voice deceptively casual.

My hands falter slightly as I reach for a bundle of drying fortisia leaves. "Fine, I imagine. Busy with trade matters."

"You imagine?" Her eyebrows rise slightly. "I thought you were practically living at his house these days."

"I help with Ellis when needed." I shrug, focusing intently on measuring fortisia into a jar, though I've done this particular motion so many times I could do it blindfolded. Like I'm not lying through my teeth. "But I've been busy here. Lots of orders."

"Mmm-hmm." The knowing hum in her voice makes me want to throw something at her. Preferably something sticky and difficult to wash out.

Instead, I move to another shelf, grabbing empty jars with more force than necessary. The glass clinks loudly together, almost drowning out the sound of the children giggling over their candies.

"You know," Lyra continues, apparently oblivious to my desire for her to drop the subject, "Theron mentioned seeing Dex yesterday. Said he looked like someone had stolen his favorite trading route."

"The summer season is stressful for merchants," I respond automatically, focusing on pouring a carefully measured amount of golden liquid into a series of small vials. "Everyone wants everything delivered yesterday."

"Maya." Just my name, but spoken in that particular tone Lyra has perfected—equal parts compassion and stubborn insistence.

I ignore her, crossing to another shelf where I begin rearranging jars that don't need rearranging. The scar on my right hand feels particularly prominent today, a reminder of all the times I've chosen difficult paths.

"Maya," she repeats, this time standing and following me. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." I thrust a bundle of dried meqixste bark into a storage bin. "Nothing at all."

Behind us, something crashes—likely one of the children bumping into a display—but I barely register it. My mind is too busy constructing walls against Lyra's gentle probing, walls I know from experience will ultimately prove useless.

"You know what I can't understand," Lyra continues, absently smoothing a hand over her herb-laden braid, "is why Dex hasn't found another nanny yet. It's been, what? Almost three months?"

The question lands like a physical blow. My hands freeze mid-motion, the delicate glass vial I'm holding suddenly feeling as heavy as an anvil. A familiar ache unfurls in my chest—that peculiar mixture of hope and dread that's been my constant companion for weeks now.

"We've just been busy," I manage, my voice barely audible over the cheerful chatter of children across the shop. "The summer trading season for him, festival preparations for me. There hasn't been time to interview proper candidates."

Lyra's eyebrows arch skeptically. The small gold flecks in her green eyes catch the sunlight streaming through my shop windows, making her gaze even more penetrating.

"That's interesting," she says, tapping her fingers against my workbench. "Because Theron mentioned that Dex turned down three perfectly qualified minotaur nannies just last week. Highly recommended ones, too."

I nearly drop the vial, catching it at the last moment with fumbling fingers. My scar—that jagged line across my right palm from the time I'd saved a minotaur child from a magical accident—tingles uncomfortably.

"He... must have had his reasons," I reply, focusing intensely on securing the cork stopper into the vial, avoiding Lyra's gaze. "Ellis is particular."

"Ellis is a baby," Lyra counters softly. "You're the one who's particular."

I shake my head, silver-blonde hair falling across my face, providing a momentary shield from her scrutiny. "That's ridiculous. Why would I?—"

"Because you care about them." The simplicity with which she delivers this truth makes my throat constrict. "Both of them."

"I'm just helping him out," I insist, moving to a different corner of my workshop, putting physical distance between us as if that might somehow weaken the impact of her words. "It would have been criminal to leave him alone with that baby."

Behind us, Kai is explaining something to Mira about the different herb bundles hanging from my ceiling. His serious, patient tone reminds me so much of his father that I can't help but smile despite my discomfort.

Lyra follows me, herbal skirts swishing against the floorboards. "Maya Silverleaf, you've never been a convincing liar. Not when we were children stealing rirzed herb from old Healer Gremton's garden, and certainly not now."

I busy myself with reorganizing a shelf of perfectly organized jars. "It doesn't matter what I feel. Dex is..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate the complex tangle of emotions that surround that particular minotaur.

"Dex is what?" she presses. "Stubborn? Thick-headed? Terrified of being rejected again?"

The accuracy of her assessment makes me wince. He's told me, in the briefest terms, about Arekia and it seems Lyra knows about her too. I turn to face her finally, shoulders sagging in defeat.

"It's complicated. After what happened last week..." I swallow hard, the memory of that night—his touch, his abrupt departure—still raw enough to make my cheeks flush. I continue before she asks what happened because I am not ready to go there. "I don't think he wants what I want."

Lyra's expression softens, and thankfully she doesn't push. She reaches out, taking my scarred hand in her smaller one. "It's okay to want him, Maya. It's okay to want to be in Ellis' life permanently. What's going to get everyone hurt is if you keep denying it to yourself."

The truth of her words pierces through my carefully constructed defenses. I exhale shakily, feeling suddenly exposed, as if she's stripped away layers of protection I didn't even realize I'd built around myself.

"What if I'm wrong?" I whisper, giving voice to my deepest fear. "What if he only sees me as convenient help? A temporary solution?"

Lyra leans forward, her tone dropping to an almost-whisper. "If you want him, you have to make him see it. Before someone else does."

The thought of someone else stepping into the life I've begun to think of as mine—caring for Ellis, sharing meals with Dex, filling that grand house with warmth—creates a hollow ache in my stomach that no herbal remedy could cure.

I don't answer. Instead, I pull my hand away and return to filling tiny vials with meticulous precision, my movements deliberate and focused while my mind races in disorganized circles. Each cork I push into place feels like another seal on the emotions threatening to overflow.

My heart is heavy with uncertainty. I'm a practical woman—I've built my entire life around practicality after being disowned by my family. I analyze, I observe, I make calculated decisions.

But there's nothing calculated about the way I feel when Dex looks at me across the dinner table, or when Ellis falls asleep against my shoulder, his tiny horn buds pressing into my neck.