Chapter 2
Ben stood in the darkness of his living room, the only light coming from the moon reflecting off the new snow in his backyard.
He was holding a glass of whiskey, the ice melting into amber despair, and he was trying very hard not to think about his new neighbor.
The house next door was dark except for a golden glow from the small lamp on the table in front of the uncovered window.
Is she afraid of the dark, he wondered, the protective instincts he did his best to hide immediately flaring at the idea. Fuck. I don’t care if she’s afraid of the dark.
Except that he did. He cared about the way her chestnut hair had caught the light when she turned to face him.
He cared about the way her cheeks had flushed when she realized what she’d done.
And he cared, way too much, about the faint, sweet scent of vanilla and sugar that had clung to her like a promise.
Even inside his own house, with all the doors and windows shut tight against the cold, her scent haunted him, rich and complex and so unexpectedly appealing that his nose twitched just thinking about it.
He’d smelled a lot of humans over the years.
None of them had ever made his blood heat the way hers had.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, turning away from the window. He drained the last of the whiskey but it did nothing to relieve that
He stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator, grabbing a beer he didn’t actually want.
The cold bottle felt good against his palm, grounding.
He’d spent the entire evening at the Moonlight Tavern trying to work off his frustration, and all he’d managed to do was snap at his staff until Molly, his senior server, had threatened to dump a pitcher of ice water over his head.
“You’re being an ass,” she’d told him bluntly.
“I’m always an ass.”
“More than usual.” She studied him a little too closely. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” But she’d let it drop, because Molly was smart enough to know when to push and when to retreat.
He took a long pull of beer and turned back to the window.
The house next door was still dark but the lamp cast enough lights for him to pick out a few details.
Bright yellow walls and colorful pillows on soft-looking furniture, the complete opposite of his own living room with its white walls and black leather furniture. Nothing soft or welcoming or… warm.
The word stuck in his mind like a burr. Warm. That’s what she was. Everything about her radiated warmth—her smile, her laugh, the way she’d offered him her hand like they were old friends meeting again instead of strangers. He could still feel those small fingers cupped in his palm.
This was insane. He hadn’t wanted anyone in six years. Not since he’d walked away from his band and everything that came with it—the fame, the chaos, the females who just wanted to fuck a rock star and didn’t care about the male underneath the image. He’d sworn off all of it.
And now some curvy human with green eyes and a nervous laugh had scattered bunny food by his fence, and his body was acting like spring had come three months early.
Maybe it has, he thought darkly. Maybe the seasons are shifting.
But even as the excuse formed, he knew it was bullshit.
Spring fever was a real thing for rabbit Others—a restless, hungry mating drive that came with the warming weather—but it had never hit him like this.
Never made him want to memorize the exact shade of someone’s eyes or wonder what sounds she’d make if he buried his nose against her throat and just breathed.
Fuck! He grabbed the beer again and drained half of it in one go. This is ridiculous. She’s my neighbor, she’s human, and she thinks rabbits are fluffy little woodland creatures.
The memory of her face when she’d realized what she’d done—the horror, the mortification, the way her cheeks had flushed pink—almost made him smile.
Almost. It would have been funny if it hadn’t also been infuriating.
If it hadn’t reminded him, yet again, that humans saw Others as novelties at best and monsters at worst.
She’d seemed genuine, though. Her apology had been sincere, stumbling over itself in her haste to make things right. And she’d looked at him without fear, even when he’d loomed over her. Most humans would have backed away, but she’d stuck out her hand and asked to start over.
Welcome to Fairhaven Falls. Stay off my lawn.
The memory of his words made him groan again. He finished the beer and set the empty bottle on the counter, but made no move towards his bedroom. Sleep felt impossible right now. His body was too wound up, too aware of the woman sleeping less than fifty feet away.
She’s in bed now, his brain supplied helpfully. Probably all soft and sleep-warm, her hair spread across the pillow, her scent soaking into the sheets—
“Fuck!”
The curse echoed through the silent kitchen before he forced himself through his usual evening routine.
He rinsed out the bottle and placed it in the recycling bin, carried out the trash, and wiped down the counters.
Once the kitchen was pristine, he set the coffeemaker and headed towards his bedroom.
But as soon as he laid down and closed his eyes, he saw green eyes and pink cheeks and curves that his hands ached to map.
Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with the kind of erotic dreams he hadn’t had since he was a teenager in the grip of his first mating season. And all of them featured his neighbor.
The knock came at eight-fifteen.
He’d been awake since dawn, burning off his restless energy with a punishing workout in his basement gym. Push-ups until his arms trembled. Squats until his thighs burned. Anything to quiet the noise in his head.
It hadn’t worked.
He was standing in his kitchen, shirtless and sweating, when someone rapped on his front door with cheerful determination. His ears swiveled towards the sound, picking up the soft shuffle of feet.
Sara.
He knew it was her before he opened the door, her scent drifting through the wood. Part of him wanted to ignore the knock and avoid whatever uncomfortable interaction was about to happen.
The rest of him was already walking towards the door.
She stood on his doorstep in a soft lavender cardigan and a floral skirt that swirled around her knees.
Her chestnut hair was piled in a messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face.
And she was smiling at him—actually smiling—like he hadn’t been a complete ass to her less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Good morning!” Her voice was bright and warm and completely inappropriate for eight in the morning. “I come bearing a peace offering.”
She held up a plate covered in plastic wrap. Through the clear covering, he could see squares of chocolate something, dense and dark and glistening.
“Brownies,” she announced. “My apology for the whole…” She gestured vaguely. “Bunny food incident.”
He stared at the plate. Then at her. Then at the plate again.
“I don’t—” eat sweets, he started to say. He’d given up sugar years ago, along with everything else that reminded him of his old life. Band parties and tour buses and green rooms stocked with every indulgence imaginable.
But the words died in his throat.
She was watching him with those big green eyes, hope and nervousness warring in her expression. Her smile started to waver at the edges, uncertainty creeping in, and something in his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of dimming that light.
“Thank you,” he heard himself say, reaching out and taking the plate before his brain could object. The brownies were still warm. He could feel the heat through the ceramic.
Her smile blazed back to full strength, and this time something in his chest twisted. Dangerous, his instincts whispered. She’s dangerous.
“I hope you like chocolate,” she said. “Some people are allergic, and I probably should have asked first, but—”
“I’m not allergic,” he said gruffly, then cleared his throat. “I can eat chocolate.”
“Oh good.” She gave a happy little bounce, her breasts bouncing beneath the soft sweater, and his mouth went dry. “They’re made with a hint of espresso and a dash of chili powder. It gives them a little kick.”
Of course they did, because nothing about this female was simple. A kindergarten teacher who baked brownies with chili powder.
“I’ll let you get back to your morning,” she said, taking a small step back. “I just wanted to properly apologize. Again.”
“You don’t need to—” He stopped. Started again. “The brownies weren’t necessary.”
“Maybe not.” Her smile turned impish. “But I like to bake when I’m stressed, and unpacking is very stressful, so really you’re doing me a favor by taking them off my hands.”
“I am?”
“Absolutely. Otherwise I’d eat the whole batch myself, and then I’d have to go for a run, and I really hate running.” She wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust. “So really, you’re saving me from cardio. Which makes you a hero in my eyes.”
Despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “That’s quite a logical leap.”
“I’m very good at mental gymnastics.” She took a step back, her smile softening into something warmer. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. I can see you were in the middle of… something.”
Her eyes dropped briefly to his bare chest, then snapped back up to his face so fast he might have imagined it. But the faint flush climbing her cheeks told him proved that he hadn’t.
“I was working out,” he said stupidly.
“Right. Yes. I can see that.” She was backing away now, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. “I’ll just—go. Unpack more boxes. So many boxes.”
“Sara.”
She stopped, eyes wide. “Yes?”
He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Stay? Don’t look at me like that? Why do you smell like everything I’ve ever wanted?
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For the brownies.”
Her smile could have powered the whole town. “You’re welcome, Ben.”
And then she was gone, hurrying back across the snow-covered grass towards her cottage, her skirt swirling around her luscious ass and her scent lingering in the cold air like a promise.
He stood in his doorway for a long moment, holding a plate of brownies he definitely shouldn’t eat and watching a woman he definitely shouldn’t want disappear into her cozy little house.
“Well.” Flora’s voice came from approximately three feet to his left. “That was painful to watch.”
He didn’t jump. He refused to give her the satisfaction. Instead, he turned his head slowly, unsurprised to find the tiny orc female standing on his porch like she’d materialized from thin air.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“I’ve been standing here for five minutes.” Her tracksuit today was electric blue, with the words “OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER, YOUNG ENOUGH TO DO IT ANYWAY” emblazoned across the front. “You were too busy making moon eyes at your new neighbor to notice.”
“I was not making moon eyes.”
“You were absolutely making moon eyes.” Flora skipped past him into his house without invitation, heading straight for his kitchen. “Put a shirt on, Benjamin. We need to talk.”
“Don’t call me that.” He followed her into the house, setting the brownies on the counter and grabbing a t-shirt from the back of a chair. “And I don’t recall inviting you in.”
“You never do. I come anyway.” She hoisted herself onto one of his bar stools, her short legs swinging. “Now. Let’s discuss why you’re being an idiot.”
“I’m not—”
“She brought you brownies.” Flora jabbed a finger at the plate. “Homemade brownies. Award-winning brownies. And you stood there like a constipated gargoyle and said ‘thank you’ like the words were being pulled out of you with pliers.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were being a coward.” Her black eyes glittered. “Six years, Benjamin. Six years you’ve been hiding in this town, running your tavern, keeping everyone at arm’s length. And now a perfectly lovely female moves in next door—a female I specifically selected for this house, I might add—”
“You what?”
“—and you’re going to mess it up because you’re too scared to let anyone close.” She pointed at the brownies again. “Eat one.”
“I don’t need your matchmaking efforts, and I don’t eat sweets.”
“Eat. One.”
Since Flora was even more stubborn than he was, he scowled and peeled back the plastic wrap. The scent hit him first—rich, dark chocolate with hints of vanilla and brown sugar. His mouth watered, and he took a bite.
Oh, fuck.
The brownie was perfect. Dense and fudgy and just the right amount of sweet, with a depth of chocolate flavor that bordered on sinful. It tasted like comfort and home and everything he’d been denying himself.
It tasted like Sara.
“See?” Flora’s smug voice broke through his momentary chocolate-induced stupor. “Delicious, isn’t she?”
“The brownie,” he corrected automatically. “The brownie is delicious.”
“Mm-hmm.” Flora hopped down from the stool, looking far too pleased with herself. “A word of advice, Benjamin. That girl is special. She’s warm and kind and looking for somewhere to belong. Don’t be the reason she doesn’t find it.”
“I’m not looking for—”
“I know what you’re not looking for.” Her voice softened, losing some of its usual mischief. “But sometimes the things we need find us anyway. Try not to bite her head off when they do.”
She was at the door before he could formulate a response.
“Oh, and Benjamin?” She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Spring is coming early this year. Even for those of us who think we’re immune.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
He stood alone in his kitchen, holding a half-eaten brownie and staring at the space where Flora had been. Through the window, he could see Sara’s cottage. She was in her kitchen, visible through the curtainless window, moving as if she were dancing to an unheard tune.
Spring is coming early this year.
His ears flicked irritably and his jaw tightened. But despite every wall he’d built, every rule he’d made, and every promise he’d sworn to himself—he reached for another brownie.