Beefcakes: Culinary Creatures, #2

By L Eveland

Falling for a minotaur is no piece of cake.

 

Wedding planner Ezra Higgins is having a bad day. He's lost his phone, he's got six weeks to plan the biggest wedding of his career, and now the minotaur baker won't stop flirting with him.

It's enough to make anyone's anxiety spike.

But the minotaur owner of Beefcakes bakery, Matteo Reyes, has an oddly calming effect on Ezra, and he can't stop thinking about him, no matter how hard he tries.

Matteo is sweet as salted caramel and twice as hot, but he's off limits, especially since they have to work together.
Pulling off a televised celebrity wedding in less than ninety days? Doable. Resisting Matteo's candy-coated charm in the process? Ezra can't have his cake and eat it too…or can he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grim Cat Press LLC
• Release date: Feb 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223370130

Book preview

Beefcakes

A Culinary Creatures Novella

L Eveland

Copyright © 2023 by L Eveland

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [e-mail].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

NO GENERATIVE AI TRAINING USE. L Eveland expressly forbids using Beefcakes in any manner for purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies to generate text, including without limitation, technologies that are capable of generating works in the same style or genre as Beefcakes. L Eveland reserves all rights to license uses of Beefcakes for generative AI training and development of machine language learning models.

Author's note: No AI was used in the creation of this book or its cover. This author supports living human artists.

Book cover by Delaney Rain

1st edition 2023

Please use this form to report any typos found.

Contents

1.Dear Monsterfuckers,

2.Content Warning

3.One

4.Two

5.Three

6.Four

7.Five

8.Six

9.Seven

10.Eight

11.Nine

12.Ten

13.Eleven

14.Twelve

15.Thirteen

16.Fourteen

17.Fifteen

18.Sixteen

19.Seventeen

20.Eighteen

21.Nineteen

22.Twenty

23.Twenty-One

24.Epilogue

25.An Invitation

26.From the Author

27.Matteo’s Lavender Lemon Cupcakes

Also By L Eveland

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The Culinary Creatures series takes place in an alternate earth universe in which monsters evolved alongside humans. Humans make up only a small subset of Earth’s population and have since the beginning of time.

Other than small differences, such as the founding fathers being mostly minotaurs, werewolves, and tentacle monsters, and a brief disaster involving that time NASA experimented with sending werewolves to the moon, their world history is relatively similar to our own, albeit slightly more idealized.

The grooms Ezra and Mateo work for are characters from a previous book. You don’t have to read Brimstone to follow the events of Beefcakes, but in case you want to, you can find their story here.

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Please be advised that one of the main characters struggles with anxiety and agoraphobia. Reader discretion is advised.

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Of course it has to be mauve, I spat into the phone as I exited the car, a plethora of shopping bags hanging from my arms. "I’ve told you a thousand times if I’ve told you once. Not magenta, mauve!"

They discontinued the mauve. Keys clattered in the background as my assistant’s tentacles raced across the keyboard.

I lowered my sunglasses with a finger and frowned. The muppet of a Lyft driver had dropped me off on the wrong side of La Brea Avenue, which meant I’d have to fight mid-morning traffic to get to the bakery.

Feckin’ useless. I pushed my sunglasses up. "What do you mean they’re discontinued? They can’t be discontinued!"

I’m just telling you what they tell me, boss.

I huffed and shifted the phone between my ear and my shoulder, eying a gap in the traffic. If I legged it, I could probably make it, but I might also scuff my brand-new designer dress shoes, and that wouldn’t do. They were, after all, Italian leather. A glance down at my watch told me I didn’t have time. My meeting with the baker was in three minutes and I absolutely, positively, could not be late. It wasn’t professional.

Listen Gary, I don’t give a nun’s arse if we have to order them white and dye the roses ourselves. Chef Northstar asked for mauve, so he’s bloody getting mauve! Make it happen or—

A candy apple red sports car came careening down the street well above the speed limit just as I made it to the center of the road. The driver—a minotaur—blared his horn when he came close, startling me. I flinched and the phone practically jumped out of my grip. I tried desperately to recover, but it was a pointless endeavor. My phone crashed to the pavement and bounced right into more oncoming traffic.

I would have rather the whitewall tires run over me than my phone, but I stood frozen in horror as my life—contained in pixels and fragile glass—shattered beneath the crushing weight of the American automobile.

To add insult to injury, the driver leaned out his window and flashed a rather rude gesture. Watch where you’re going, human!

I reached the opposite curb and fought the urge to curl up and cry. The sight of my phone on the pavement made my chest tighten uncontrollably. My entire life was on that phone! My business, my livelihood! How was I ever supposed to plan the Amoretti-Northstar wedding without my phone?

Deep breaths, Ezra. Remember what Doctor Federi said. Close your eyes and take ten deep breaths. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on taking slower, deeper breaths, but the heavy stink of exhaust in the air didn’t make it easy. That’s it. Now open your eyes and count everything blue you see. One, two…

By the time I made it to five, I could almost think clearly again. Another deep breath and I let myself check my watch, silently wondering what else could go wrong. At least I’d made it to my next appointment in time.

I shifted the bags on my wrist, turned, and pushed my way through the door into the bakery.

Beefcakes was a quaint little downtown bakery. It wasn’t one of my normal vendors. I liked to work with human providers whenever I could. There were too few of us, and I’d made it my mission to support minority-owned businesses wherever possible. My clients, however, had insisted I use the monster-owned bakery and since said clients were world famous billionaire chefs, they got what they wanted.

The first thing that hit me was an assault of Latin dance music playing far too loud on the speakers. I paused just inside the door, wondering if I’d walked into the wrong place. As I turned a full circle, taking in all the tacky neon lighting the displays of baked goods for sale, I realized the music was just a symptom of a larger problem. Whoever was in charge of this place had absolutely no taste.

With a frown, I removed my sunglasses, hooking them on the collar of my shirt. I hope his cakes are better than the décor.

What’s wrong with the décor? came a booming voice from behind me.

The voice was so deep, so sensual, that I fought an involuntary shudder. What the hell, Ezra? Get it together!

I turned around and my eyes settled on a beefy forearm as big around as my head resting on the counter. Slowly, my eyes traced up the arm, over broad shoulders, a thick neck covered in equally thick brown fur… And up to the face of a minotaur sporting spiked lavender tipped hair and a nose ring. More rings hung from one of his big ears and he’d wrapped a lilac-colored ribbon around his curved horns. Even leaning on the counter, he was tall enough I had to tilt my head back to take in all of him at once.

My heart pounded, threatening to jump up through my throat. My, he’s a big one. I wonder if he’s proportional?

What the fuck? Where did that come from?

I took a brave step forward. Nothing if this was a late nineties rave and not a bakery. I stepped forward and extended my hand. Ezra Higgins, Enchanted Moments Inc. Is Mr. Reyes available? I have an appointment with the owner.

The minotaur scanned me from head to toe but didn’t move to take my hand. His ear flicked in irritation. He’s around.

Rude, I thought, lowering my hand. Well, could you tell him I’m here? I have another appointment across town and I can’t afford to be late.

Oh, of course. I’ll hurry and get him for you.

Finally, I thought as the minotaur pushed away from the counter. I glanced around impatiently as he slid into the back room.

The bakery wasn’t large, but it was decent looking, I supposed, if they meant to cater to the younger, hipper demographic of monster, especially a more internationally conscious crowd. Aside from the usual offerings of cookies, cakes, and pies any bakery would have on display, they offered several sweet breads, some rustic Italian breads, and a few more exotic items. In a display case near the counter, there was a delicious looking tres leches cake alongside a perfect pumpkin spice sopapilla. I suppose I could excuse the gaudy neon if the cakes were as good as they looked.

The beaded curtain separating the front of the store from the back jingled, and I looked up to see the same minotaur coming back out, this time fiddling with a plastic nametag he was working to attach to his God-awful Hawaiian shirt. I stood back up straight, frowning. How rude! I’d shown up on time and here the bakery owner was sending out his cashier minion to…

My thoughts trailed off, brain short circuiting as I scanned the nametag once…twice… On the third read, it finally hit me. "You’re Matteo Reyes?" I sputtered.

The minotaur’s mouth spread into a wide smile, amusement sparkling in his caramel eyes. I know, right? Imagine my surprise when I went back to find the owner and then I remembered it’s me. How embarrassing.

My ears grew hot, and I shifted to touch them, but the weight of the bags on my arms stopped me. Oh, I see. Havin’ a laugh, are you? You could’ve just said so, you know.

That wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining, he said with a wink.

An entirely new feeling fluttered low in my chest and I gave him a second look, trying to decide if I should just turn around and walk out. Maybe Chefs Amoretti and Northstar would be open to a change in plans.

Not six weeks before the big day, I thought. It’s your fault for not meeting him sooner, Ezra. You’d know if you’d actually go places in person instead of living on your phone. If not for the lovely little blue pills Doctor Federi had prescribed, I might still be sitting in my living room, pissing myself at the idea of speaking to someone new.

Step into my office, Sugar, and we’ll get it all sorted, he said, pulling back the beaded curtain.

I bit my lip, enjoying that nickname far too much.

I stepped behind the counter and into another world. Gone were the gaudy neon lights, replaced by flour coated surfaces, piles of icing-slicked metal mixing bowls, plastic cake stands, and rolling pins. I pulled my shopping bags in tight against my body to keep from getting flour all over the samples I’d bought to take to my clients later in the day.

You can just put those anywhere, Matteo said, following me through the door and gesturing vaguely to the flour-coated kitchen.

I didn’t want to put them down, but my arms really could use the break, so I walked over to a mostly flour free section near a metal folding chair and carefully set them down. Behind me, metal bowls clanged as Matteo cleared a space.

I cleared my throat. So, I’m here about the Amoretti-Northstar cake. As I said on the phone—

Is that Irish? he cut in so suddenly I almost flinched.

I stood, adjusting the cuffs on my jacket. Pardon?

Your accent, he said, dumping the bowls into a huge double sink and rolling up his sleeves. Is it Irish? I couldn’t tell on the phone. It’s sexier in person.

My jaw fell open, and I froze in place, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t the first time some American had commented on my accent. In fact, I got it all the damn time, but they were usually polite about it. The really annoying ones would ask me to repeat words or phrases like some sort of trained dog. Of all the comments I’d gotten about it, no one had ever said exactly that to me.

I…I…About the cake. I cleared my throat again.

I used to watch this Irish TV show on the BBC, he continued as if he hadn’t heard me, bending over the sink to start the water.

I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing over his ample backside. Looking didn’t hurt, right?

Didn’t understand half of what they were saying, but I liked the aesthetic, Mateo continued. Plus, the guy playing the priest was, like, super hot.

Sweat formed on