Page 46 of Meetings with the Minotaur
Back in the office, post-bathroom chaos and satisfied, Jamie opens the lunch bag with a triumphant flourish.
“Peanut butter and fluff?” I ask.
“Absolutely, Mr. Trainor.” He hands me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper with a warm, infectious grin, full of love.
I bite into mine, sweet and gooey, and glance at him across the small table in the corner of my office. He’simpossibly beautiful. Inside and out. My Jamie. My mate.
After a few bites, I feel it. A smear of fluff stuck to the corner of my mouth. Jamie notices instantly, of course. His eyes light up, and before I can stop him, he leans over and swipes it off with a finger then licks it, just like I did to him that first night in my kitchen.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, and I can feel the warmth in his gaze, the same warmth that made me ache for him every day before.
We eat together slowly, taking bites and laughing when we get fluff on our noses, arguing playfully over whose sandwich is better. My hand brushes his across the desk, and instead of pulling away, he entwines his fingers with mine. His thumb strokes the back of my hand, and I feel… home.
“This… this is perfect,” I say, letting the words linger. Not just the sandwich, or the quiet of the office, but him. Jamie. His energy. And the way he’s all mine.
He laughs, a soft, delighted sound, and the two of us finish eating in silence, the hum of the office around us fading into background music for a life we’ve built—warm, full, and unmistakably ours.
The End
