Page 5 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

5

MAYA

T he morning light filters through the half-drawn curtains, touching my face with gentle persistence. I stir, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling above me. The events of yesterday flood back—the wailing minotaur calf, his massive, desperate uncle, and my impulsive decision to help them both.

I slide from the bed, my bare feet meeting cool floorboards. The guest room Dex offered is surprisingly comfortable, if sparsely furnished. A quick glance outside tells me it's barely past dawn—my usual waking time. Some habits never break, even away from my own farm.

The house is quiet except for a soft snuffling sound coming from down the hall—Ellis, thankfully sleeping. I tiptoe past Dex's closed door and make my way to the kitchen, only to stop short at the threshold.

"By the gods," I mutter.

The kitchen looks like a battlefield, worse in the daylight than last night. Unwashed bottles crowd every surface. Empty milk cartons and forgotten food lay on the counters. Something sticky covers a portion of the counter, and there's a distinct smell of spoiled milk hanging in the air.

I press my fingers to the scar on my right hand—an old habit when I'm thinking—and take a deep breath. This won't do. Not at all.

Without hesitation, I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I wash the bottles first, scrubbing each thoroughly before setting them to dry. I clean out the food that's gone bad, wipe down every surface, and sweep the floor. The rhythm of cleaning calms me, gives my hands purpose.

When the kitchen gleams to my satisfaction, I move on to the living area. Blankets are strewn everywhere, alongside scrolls, ink bottles, and what appears to be Dex's merchant ledgers. I straighten everything, folding blankets and stacking papers, careful not to disturb his organizational system—if there even is one.

Next, I tackle Ellis's things. Baby supplies are scattered throughout the house with no rhyme or reason. I gather swaddling cloths, tiny tunics, and soft blankets, folding each neatly before arranging them in a chest in Ellis's room. The poor calf is still sleeping soundly in his crib, his tawny fur rising and falling with each breath. His tiny horns catch the light as he shifts in his slumber.

"You deserve better than this chaos," I whisper, carefully tucking his blanket closer around him.

By the time the sun properly rises, I've transformed the interior of the house. Everything has a place now, surfaces shine, and even the air smells fresher. I pull open a window just as I hear hoofsteps behind me.

I turn to find Dex standing in the doorway, one hand absently rubbing at his horns. His massive frame nearly fills the entire doorway. His copper-tinted fur catches the morning light, giving him an almost burnished glow. Sleep still clings to him; his green eyes are heavy-lidded and his posture relaxed. Without the panic of yesterday animating his features, he looks different—softer somehow, and undeniably handsome in a wild, untamed way. His curved horns with their bronze rings catch the sunlight, giving him a crowned appearance that suits him.

He looked pretty deranged when I met him, but after a bath, it was impossible to ignore how good he looks. And right now, sleepy and at ease, he's hard to look away from.

"What... happened?" His deep voice rumbles through the room, doing something to me it shouldn't.

I lean against the wall, trying not to let my eyes wander down the full length of his body. "I made it livable," I reply, forcing my gaze away.

"I thought you weren't staying." There's confusion in his voice, but no anger.

I shrug. "I'm not. But I can't work in chaos."

Dex doesn't argue. He just assesses me, his massive form still and silent. Something warm and unexpected flutters in my chest at his attention. I try to ignore it, focus on the task at hand, but I'm acutely aware of him—his presence, his scent carried on the morning breeze, the quiet strength he exudes without effort.

This is a job , I remind myself. Nothing more. The fluttering sensation means nothing.

But I can't help the way my stomach flips as he shifts, his eyes meeting mine. "Thank you," he says with such sincerity that I don't know how I couldn't want to help this minotaur, this gentle giant. I feel so…drawn to him.

Just then, a tiny, insistent cry breaks the moment between us. Ellis has awakened, and his displeasure at finding himself alone is evident in every wailing note.

"I'll get him," I say quickly, grateful for the distraction. The brief connection I felt with Dex has left me unsettled, my heart beating a touch too fast.

But Dex's massive hand gently blocks my path. "No, let me." His voice is firm but anxious. "I need to learn, don't I? Can't depend on you forever."

There's something so unexpectedly vulnerable in his statement that I step back, nodding. "Of course. I'll prepare his bottle."

I move to the kitchen, grateful I organized everything earlier. The milk is easy to find now, and I measure it precisely, warming it to the perfect temperature. Behind me, I hear Dex's heavy hoofsteps followed by Ellis's continued protests.

When I return to the living area, the sight before me nearly makes me laugh. Dex, this enormous minotaur merchant who probably intimidates half his business associates with his sheer size alone, looks completely terrified of the tiny calf in his arms. Ellis squirms against his uncle's stiff hold, little hooves kicking in protest, his gold eyes wide with frustration.

"Here's the bottle," I say, handing it to him.

Dex takes it with a determined nod, then proceeds to hold it at an awkward angle that has more milk dribbling down Ellis's chin than into his mouth. The baby's cries increase in volume, and Dex's expression shifts from determination to panic.

"I don't understand," he says, frustration evident in his voice. "The bottle is right there. Why won't he just drink it?"

I bite my lip, feeling an unexpected wave of tenderness for this struggling uncle. He's trying so hard.

"He's new to the world," I explain, stepping closer. "And you're new to him. Here, like this."

I move behind Dex without thinking, reaching around his broad frame to adjust his hold on Ellis. The closeness hits me immediately—his warmth, the solid wall of muscle beneath my fingertips, the clean, earthy scent of him. My breath catches as I guide his large hands into a better position.

"Support his head more," I murmur, suddenly conscious of how my arms brush against his. "Tilt the bottle so there's no air. That's it."

Ellis latches onto the bottle properly, his cries ceasing as he drinks eagerly. Dex's entire body relaxes against mine, and I become acutely aware of how I'm practically embracing him from behind, my chest pressed against his broad back.

I should step away. I know I should. But I find myself lingering, watching around his shoulder as Ellis drinks contentedly in his uncle's arms. My hands remain lightly on Dex's forearms, feeling the powerful muscles beneath his copper-tinted fur. For a merchant, his physique suggests years of physical labor or training.

Dex turns his head slightly, and suddenly we're face to face, inches apart. His green eyes meet mine, surprise and something warmer reflected in their depths. I've never been this close to a minotaur before—close enough to see the individual strands of fur along his jawline, to notice how his eyes aren't just green but flecked with gold near the pupils.

Something unspoken passes between us, a current of understanding or attraction or both. My heart beats faster, and I realize I've forgotten to breathe.

I clear my throat and force myself to step back, suddenly self-conscious. "You're not bad at this, you know," I say, trying to sound normal despite the unexpected flutter in my stomach.

Dex swallows visibly, his attention returning to Ellis. "Doesn't feel that way," he admits, his deep voice quiet. "Every time I think I'm figuring him out, he changes the rules."

There's such honesty in his admission, such openness in his expression. This isn't the confident merchant I glimpsed yesterday; this is a man—a minotaur—completely out of his depth and courageous enough to admit it.

"You'll get there," I say, my voice softening. I reach out impulsively and touch his arm. "No one knows what they're doing at first. But look at him now."

We both glance down at Ellis, who's drinking contentedly, his golden eyes half-closed in satisfaction. Dex's entire posture has changed, becoming more natural, more confident with the baby. He just needed guidance, not replacement.

"He needs you," I add quietly. "And you're already learning."

I'm not sure when I became this coach, but I want to help him. I've never felt like my life was empty before, but with Dex, I find myself wanting to help shoulder his burden. Like I was meant to be there for him, knowing he would do the same for me.

Gods, when did I get so soft?