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18

Mor

I wasn’t sure how much of a help Bo would be.

Not because of his reading ability.

I was being honest about the plethora of tasks that didn’t require literacy.

I think I just couldn’t wrap my mind around someone else doing something for this library better than I could.

At best, I figured Bo would watch the front desk, dust some things, and maybe run the occasional errand, like grabbing me coffee.

Helpful, but not particularly life-changing.

But, oh, was I wrong.

And I’m not one to easily admit that.

When you have three younger siblings, admitting fault is like bleeding in a pool of sharks.

Consider me chum because Bo, on day one, officially became invaluable.

How so?

He decided the only way he could work in this house was to get to know every inch of it.

Bo started at the top, working down, exploring all nooks and crannies.

That included the bathrooms. And under my vanity, he identified a pipe with a crack that was already leaking water.

On the verge of bursting.

Bo shut off the water to the house, replaced the pipe, and preemptively saved my entire life’s work.

If that pipe had burst, water would have rained down on a room full of books.

True, I’ve started spelling the texts against damage.

But I doubt the enchantments are strong enough to ward off full submersion in water.

When Bo told me why he needed to temporarily shut off the water, the monster apologized.

To me. For doing something that would protect my books.

Meanwhile, I was on the verge of hugging him.

But that’s not what employers do, so I simply thanked him for his initiative.

And this week, he’s stepped up in so many ways I never thought to.

Fixing a whole range of small things around the house.

Mowing the lawn. Washing the windows.

He even changed the oil in my truck when he saw the Check Engine light was on during his coffee run into town.

“Ma’am.” His deep voice tugs me out of my contemplation.

“I’m sorry?—”

“Bo,” I cut him off.

“Stop calling me ma’am. And stop apologizing.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Was that a joke?”

A blush races up his neck.

“Force of habit.”

“Fine. I’ll let you off with a warning. What’s up?”

“I’m headed out to get you a coffee. Want me to grab you lunch too?”

Only when he mentions food do I realize I haven’t eaten anything other than a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Sometimes, I get so distracted that I forget to feed myself.

“Yes, please.” I stand up from my chair and bend my spine backward, letting out a groan when I hear a series of cracks.

Bo’s face goes brick red.

Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t make those noises around my employees.

I search for my bag, finding it hanging off the arm of a chair, and I dig out my wallet and pull out some cash to pass to Bo.

He’s diligent about bringing me back the receipt, even though I told him I believed him about how much a coffee cost.

I get the sense Bo is not used to being trusted.

That’s probably something to do with being a monster in Folk Haven close to two decades ago.

Even now, I know there’s a decent amount of mythics in town who shy away from monsters.

Ones who judge inter-mythic relationships.

I’ve seen the sneers behind my siblings’ backs when they’re holding hands with their mates.

I stare at those people, so they know I saw.

So they know I have their number.

But I also don’t stir shit because, to many here, I’m still an outsider.

And I want to be a part of Folk Haven.

Want this town to be my home in a way that the house I grew up in never was.

Maybe Bo is looking for the same.

After I hand him the cash for my coffee and food as well as the keys to my truck, he turns to go.

But he pauses when I place a staying hand on his arm.

“There’s enough there for you to get food for yourself too. Why don’t we have lunch together when you get back?”

Bo blinks at me.

“I … all right.” He nods.

Then nods again, though his focus seems inward.

Is an invite to eat together really so shocking?

“It’s a plan.” I give him a gentle push toward the door.

“And when you get back, I challenge you to interrupt me without apologizing.”

His smile is small and rueful.

Though I manage to sink back into my reading, I hear the front door open an hour later.

Still, I pretend to be entirely absorbed in my work.

Just to test him.

“Food’s here,” Bo announces.

I grin. “Good job. Let’s eat on the porch.”

The autumn day is lovely, sunny with only the slightest chill.

Georgia falls are wonderful.

An easing between seasons rather than an abrupt shift, like up in Maine, where I spent my childhood.

Here, I get to enjoy the change of leaves for longer.

Bo got us bagels, and the delicious scent of poppy seeds and cream cheese rising from the bag makes my mouth water.

Living in small-town Georgia means food options are limited, but I think the residents of Folk Haven have a few more options than most. Mythics from all over have relocated here and brought a variety of offerings with them.

“One-week performance review,” I say in an official tone.

Bo jerks his attention to me, his eyes wide, his cheeks puffed with the massive bite he just took.

“You’re doing spectacular. I give myself all the credit because I hired you.” I smirk, and his shoulders relax.

After he swallows, Bo offers me a quiet, “Thank you.”

This mythic is fascinating to me.

Terrifying in his monster form.

Frantic and fierce when first freed.

Lost and loud when drunk on margaritas.

Quiet, hardworking, and overly respectful since the day I hired him.

Does Bo even know what version of himself is the natural one?

More than anything, I want him to feel comfortable.

“You’ve been navigating the modern world for a couple of weeks now. Any questions?”

I bite my bagel, humming in appreciation of the rich flavor.

Bo stares at the wooden boards between his boots, a look of indecision on his face.

“Ask me anything.” I lean over to nudge his arm with my elbow.

“I swear I won’t make fun of you. This is a safe porch.”

“Hmm. A safe porch, huh?”

“Yep. All questions are valid, and no secrets will pass beyond those steps.” I point to the three that lead down to the yard.

The freshly mowed yard, thanks to Bo.

“If you say so.” He takes another bite, but this time, I can tell he’s contemplating what to ask.

“What is a zaddy?”

I jerk, out of surprise rather than offense.

“A zaddy?”

“I heard Sonya say it,” he explains, naming the siren who co-owns Coffee & Claws.

“I think she was talking about Levi. But I thought you said he was a leviathan.”

“It’s … well, it’s slang.” Good thing we don’t have an HR department because this is definitely not normal boss-employee talk.

Still, I did say all questions were valid.

“Usually referring to a hot man who is maybe middle-aged. Like”— wow, my face is hot now —“a guy who dresses well and you want to call him Daddy in the bedroom.”

“In the?—”

“While having sex,” I clarify, not sure how popular Daddy was as a sexy term seventeen years ago.

“So, when she said Levi had zaddy energy, she was saying …”

“That he’s a hot guy with good style who’d probably have an alpha personality if you slept with him.”

Bo contemplates this as he consumes the rest of his bagel.

Then he stares down at the flannel and worn jeans he’s sporting.

“I do not have zaddy energy,” he says on a sigh.

My heart squeezes. Is he attracted to Sonya?

“No,” I admit because I’m not going to lie to the man.

“But that’s not a bad thing. There’re other sexy energies to have.”

“What …” He shakes his head.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t ask you about this, should I? You’re my boss.”

“Yeah. HR will have my ass,” I joke.

But silently, I answer.

Cinnamon roll.

When he’s not coming out of a yearslong imprisonment, the guy is quiet and kind.

Bo is a sweet on the outside, sweet on the inside cinnamon roll that someone will devour one day.