A single mom decides to take life—and love—by the horns as she falls for a hunky minotaur in this steamy monster romance.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Mantras & Minotaurs By Ashley Bennett, which releases on September 1st 2026.
Pam Rollins is ready to date again after spending the last few years alone. Now that her kids have grown up and moved out, she’s committed to changing her life by starting yoga classes and, at her daughter’s urging, joining a dating app. She doesn’t expect much to come from her swiping, especially not a first date with buff, kind, and generous minotaur Alistair.
Alistair Reid is the kind of swoon-worthy monster that every woman dreams of. After one date, Pam is feeling hopeful in love for the first time ever—and Alistair has fallen head over hoof for her. The only problem: they live states apart and have thriving lives of their own.
However, as romance blooms, it becomes harder to envision a future without the other in it. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all….
EXCERPT
Tegan snorted, which brought a smile to my face. She was definitely my daughter. “Mom, you’re not old. I really think you should download it and make a profile. If you don’t like it, you can just delete the app, and it’ll be like it never happened.”
I did want to see who was out there . . .
“Fine. I’ll check it out. What’s it called?” I transferred her to speakerphone so I could search for it.
“It’s called Mate Match. It only allows profiles to message you if you’ve already marked them as a match you’d be interested in.” Huh. Well, it sounded like there was a certain level of safety and anti-harassment built into the app. “All right, I’m downloading it now.”
Tegan squealed and I jumped, almost spilling my wine.
“You have to tell me if you match with anyone. Promise me you’ll tell me?” she pleaded.
“I promise, but I doubt I’m going to match with anyone.” “Mom. Seriously? You’re a babe. Besides, some younger men are into older women.”
I tsked. “Oh, no, no, no. No younger men for me. They need to be my age or older—no exceptions.”
“Make sure you set your age preferences on the app, then. Let me know if I need to come over tomorrow and help you with it, okay?”
I knew she was trying to be helpful, but I wasn’t so old that I couldn’t figure out how to set up my own profile on a dating app. How hard could it be?
“Will do, honey. Give Atlas my love.”
“I will. And remember to text me if you match. I’m serious, Mom. I want to see pictures!”
“Pinky promise. Bye, sweetie.”
I hung up the phone before she could get another word in. Tegan seemed confident I’d find a match, but I wasn’t so sure.
I peered down at my phone through my bifocals, the blue light reflecting off my lenses as I scrolled through my photo gallery, searching for a profile pic.
There were limited options. Me with Remi. Me with Reece and Tegan. Me with Atlas.
I didn’t want to give the impression that I was already taken or that my kids were my entire personality. I mean, they were, but that wasn’t the sort of information I wanted to advertise right out of the gate.
Eventually, I stumbled upon a picture Tegan had snapped of me last Christmas. I was wearing a rust-colored sweater I’d knit myself, a tight black skirt, and a pair of pumps that matched my sweater. My ruby red hair was streaked with gray and piled high on top of my head in a messy bun, my freshly cut bangs just barely touching the rim of my glasses. Even though the photo was a year old, it was recent enough that I still looked the same. And in the words of my daughter, like a total babe.
“Let’s see here,” I mumbled to myself as I uploaded my profile picture and scanned the categories.
Employment.
Well, I was retired, which was fairly uncommon at my age, but I supposed it was best not to lie about it.
Education.
That one stung. I always wanted to go to pastry school and get some formal training, but between Don and the kids, it wasn’t in the cards for me. Let’s just go with “some college.” Surely, the pottery class I took at the local community college counted for something.
Location.
Briar Glenn, of course. For the most part, I was well aware of who was available to date here. At my age, there were slim pickings, but with the recent town revitalization initiative and all the growth Briar Glenn had experienced, maybe I’d be pleasantly surprised. To cast a wide net, I selected a radius that would include the three neighboring towns.
About me.
Hmm.
Do you include that you’re widowed in your profile? What kind of vibe does that give off? What if they think I’m some sort of black widow, meeting men on dating apps and murdering them once my name is listed as the beneficiary on their insurance policy?
Gods, I’d been listening to way too many true crime podcasts. I tapped a manicured nail against the glass of my phone, pondering what else to say about myself. This was always so difficult.
Ultimately, I decided to go with:
Widowed. Knitter. Avid reader of romance books. Film buff. Former wedding cake baker and pastry shop owner. Mom to two amazing adult children (and one hairless cat). Looking for companionship with the potential for something more.
Sweet and concise.
Just like me.
Remi popped his head out from under the blanket as I set the age range for acceptable matches.
“What do you think, Rem? Should I open it up to younger men? Is sixty too old? I mean forty is the new thirty, so fifty must be the new forty, making sixty the new fifty. I’m fifty-four, so it’s only a six-year age difference.”
The tiny wrinkled gremlin stared up at me, his wide eyes un-blinking.
“All right, forty-five to sixty it is.”
Was I really one of those people who stayed at home and asked their cat rhetorical questions?
The answer was yes, yes I was.
Once I’d set the parameters for appropriate matches, I watched eagerly as a loading bar flashed across the screen. This was the part I was most excited about. I’d heard about the swiping, and I was anxious to experience it for myself.
The first profile suggested for me was a human man in his late forties. He was cute. His black hair was in a tight crew cut that fit his chiseled features, and the beginnings of crow’s-feet formed in the corners of his deep brown eyes when he smiled. According to his bio, he was a mechanical engineer whose hobbies included reading and watching movies, but he was in an open relationship. I admired folks who could do open relationships, but it wasn’t my style. Even though I was looking for something casual, I wasn’t too keen on sharing a partner. Apparently, all those years of monogamy had really done a number on me.
Photo after photo passed on the screen as I swiped left on pretty much every profile. A guy in his fifties who worked as a Rod Stewart impersonator. A gargoyle who owned a cranberry bog. A sixty-year-old naga who performed with a traveling Shakespeare group. They were certainly interesting individuals, but nothing about them really drew me in.
Until a candid shot of a curly-haired minotaur caught my attention.
His hair was a light cream color, full of cowlicks that swirled in all different directions. A set of ridged deep brown horns curled over the top of his head, running across his fluffy eyebrows and connecting above his snout. His dusty pink nose was adorned with a shiny gold ring, the type you’d commonly see on a bull. A buffalo plaid shirt stretched across his barrel chest, with a tuft of hair sprinkled with grays sticking out from beneath the unbuttoned collar.
Gods, he was handsome.
Another photo showed him standing next to an elevation marker on a rocky mountainside. A backpack was slung over his broad shoulders, and a wide grin was plastered to his face as he gave the camera an enthusiastic thumbs-up. It appeared he was quite the outdoorsman.
The third photo showed him sipping from a tiny espresso cup with his pinky out in a display of civility.
So, he was a caffeine guy.
Now that I could get behind.
According to his profile, his name was Alistair.
Alistair.
How distinguished.
He was a fifty-five-year-old divorcé who worked in the agricultural industry. A suspicious maple-like leaf graced that portion of his profile . . . Did that mean he worked in the cannabis industry? Although I’d embraced the whole grunge aesthetic in the ’90s,
I’d never smoked pot before . . . How would that even work?
I mean, not everyone who worked in that industry smoked pot, right? There was no way the investors with their tailored suits were toking doobies in their high-rises.
I was being ridiculous. Weed was legal. I was making a stink about nothing.
His location was listed as . . . right here in Briar Glenn?
He must have moved here recently. I would have noticed him around town, I’m sure of it.
I scrolled to his “About Me” section.
I live in Colorado, but I’m visiting to help care for my daughter. I have a degree in agriculture and work in the cannabis industry. I enjoy the great outdoors, coffee, and good food with even better company. I’m looking for casual, no strings attached fun.
Well, it appeared I should edit my profile. His was much more professional.
My finger hovered over his photo.
He was visiting from another state, but I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself . . .
“Aw, what the hell?” I said to Remi, and swiped right. Now to wait and see if he’d respond.
