Chapter 6
“Another round?”
Sara pushed her empty glass across the high top table, grinning at Posy. Her cheeks felt pleasantly warm, her limbs loose and relaxed in a way they hadn’t been since she’d moved to Fairhaven Falls.
“Absolutely,” Posy said, flagging down the bartender—a flirtatious werewolf with impressive muscles and a charming smile. “It’s Friday night, we’re celebrating, and you’ve earned it.”
“Celebrating what, exactly?”
“Surviving your first two weeks!” Posy clinked her glass against Sara’s fresh drink. “The kids haven’t eaten you alive, Principal Tricia hasn’t scared you off, and you haven’t frozen to death despite two winter storms. I’d say that calls for tequila.”
She laughed, the sound coming easier than it had in months.
The Moonlight Tavern was everything she’d hoped for and more—warm golden lighting, rustic wooden walls, mismatched furniture that somehow worked together, and a crowd that ranged from humans to Others of every variety.
A classic rock playlist she vaguely recognized from her college years played at a volume that allowed for conversation, and the air was filled with the delicious scents of fried food and beer.
“Besides,” Posy added, her eyes twinkling, “you need to get out. You’ve been holed up in that cottage every night, and I know you’re not just making lesson plans.”
“I have been making lesson plans.”
“And pining.”
“I don’t pine.”
“Honey.” Posy patted her hand with exaggerated sympathy. “You’ve asked me three times if I’ve seen Ben around town. You literally called me on Tuesday to ask if I knew what kind of cookies he liked.”
Her face heated. “That was research. For… neighborly purposes.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from beside them. Varek, Posy’s orc mate, had been largely silent since they’d arrived, content to nurse his ale and watch the room. Now his rugged green face split into a surprisingly wicked smile.
“Research,” he repeated, his voice like gravel sliding over stone. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“You’re not helping,” she told him.
“Wasn’t trying to.”
She liked Varek, despite his intimidating appearance.
He stood nearly seven feet tall, with tusks that jutted from his lower jaw and hands the size of dinner plates, but he looked at Posy like she hung the moon.
Every time his mate laughed, his whole face softened.
It was adorable in a way that made her heart ache with something she refused to call longing.
She hadn’t seen Ben since the night he sang.
Ten days of watching his windows for signs of movement and straining to hear music that never came.
Somehow he managed to clear her driveway every time it snowed without ever revealing himself.
Was he avoiding her? Maybe he’s just busy, she told herself hopefully. He did own a tavern after all.
The tavern she was currently sitting in.
Her eyes swept the room again, searching for tall ears and silver-grey fur among the Friday night crowd.
“He’s not here,” Posy said, reading her mind. “Well—he’s here. But he’s in the back.”
“I wasn’t looking for him.”
“Of course you weren’t.” Posy sipped her drink. “Ben mostly stays in the kitchen these days. Cooks, does the books, and yells at suppliers over the phone. Nina handles front of house.”
“He cooks?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. The male’s got hidden talents.” Posy’s expression turned thoughtful. “Lots of hidden talents, actually.”
Her gaze drifted to the walls, really taking them in for the first time.
Concert posters covered nearly every surface—vintage prints and modern designs, bands she recognized and names she’d never heard.
A small stage occupied one corner of the room, dusty and unused, a single spotlight hanging dark above it.
“Does anyone ever play here?” she asked. “The stage looks…”
“Abandoned?” Posy finished. “Yeah, that’s because it is. I heard he used to have the occasional band play here but it’s been a while. Kind of a mystery, honestly.”
A mystery. Like everything else about her grumpy neighbor.
She thought about the way he’d sung that night—raw and aching, his voice like velvet and smoke, his fingers moving over the guitar strings like they were an extension of his soul. The memory still made her chest tight, still brought tears to her eyes if she thought about it too long.
“Hi, Posy.” A slender woman with delicate features and calm grey eyes appeared beside them, clutching a notepad to her chest. “Is everything all right with your drinks? Can I get you anything?”
“We’re perfect, Nina,” Posy said warmly. “Sara, this is Nina—she manages this place and keeps Ben from scaring off all the customers.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled, recognizing something kindred in the woman’s gentle demeanor. “You must have your work cut out for you.”
Nina’s lips twitched. “He’s not so bad once you get used to him. All bark, really.”
“And occasionally bite,” Varek muttered into his ale.
“Only when suppliers try to cheat him.” Nina’s eyes darted towards the kitchen doors. “He’s very particular about quality.”
“Has he ever played?” She gestured towards the abandoned stage. “On that?”
An unreadable expression flickered across Nina’s face before she shook her head. “No. Never. Not since I’ve worked here, anyway. I don’t think music is really his… thing.”
Liar, she thought, but she didn’t push. Everyone had their secrets.
“Well!” A new voice cut through the conversation, bright and teasing. “If it isn’t the famous new teacher everyone’s been talking about.”
She turned to find a huge redheaded werewolf sliding onto the barstool beside her. He was all lean muscle and easy charm, with amber eyes that glinted with mischief and a smile that probably made hearts flutter across three counties despite the flash of fangs.
“Adrian,” he said, extending a hand. “And you must be Sara.”
“Guilty.”
His fingers were warm as they wrapped around hers, holding on just a beat too long. “I’ve heard so much about you. My nephew Peter can’t stop talking about the pretty new teacher with the magic brownies.”
“They’re not magic. Just chocolate and butter.”
“Same thing, in my experience.” He leaned closer, close enough that she caught his musky scent.
“Adrian,” Varek said, a note of warning in his gravelly voice.
“I’m just being friendly.”
“You’re being a nuisance.”
Adrian flashed that charming smile again. “Can’t I be both?”
She laughed despite herself. There was nothing serious in Adrian’s flirtation, nothing that made her stomach flutter or her palms sweat.
He was handsome, certainly, and charming in an obvious sort of way.
But when she thought about a velvet voice in the moonlight and strong arms shoveling snow, he didn’t even come close.
I’m in so much trouble.
“So tell me,” Adrian said, propping his chin on his hand and giving her his full attention, “what brings a lovely little female like you to our little corner of nowhere?”
“Fresh start. New job. The usual.”
“The usual is boring. Give me the good stuff.”
“Maybe I’m hiding from the law.”
“Are you?”
“No.” She grinned. “But wouldn’t it be more interesting if I was?”
Adrian threw back his head and laughed—a genuine, delighted sound that drew looks from nearby tables. “I like you. You should come around more often. God knows we need someone who can keep up.”
“She doesn’t need to keep up with anything.” The voice came from behind them, low and rough and achingly familiar. “And she’s had too much to drink.”
She spun on her barstool, her heart doing an absolutely ridiculous flip in her chest.
Ben stood just outside the kitchen doors, still wearing his apron, his arms crossed over a chest so broad it looked like it could bench press her car. His blue eyes were fixed on Adrian with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly charged.
“I’ve only had three drinks,” she said. “That’s not too much.”
“Four.” His gaze flicked to her, and something electric shot down her spine. “The bartender’s been keeping track.”
“Since when is that any of your business?”
“Since you’re sitting here letting this idiot—” he jerked his chin towards Adrian, who was watching the exchange with obvious glee, “—flirt with you in public.”
“Last I checked, flirting wasn’t illegal.”
“It should be when you’re in no condition to handle the consequences.”
She slid off her barstool, the room tilting only slightly, and glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of handling anything that comes my way. I’m a kindergarten teacher. I wrangle five-year-old’s for a living.”
“Five-year-old’s don’t have fangs.”
“Some of them do. But they also have tiny sticky fingers and absolutely no impulse control. Trust me, that’s worse.”
Someone—Posy, probably—made a muffled sound that might have been a laugh. Ben’s eyes narrowed.
“Go home, Sara.”
The command in his voice should have annoyed her. It did annoy her. But underneath the irritation, something warm and reckless was unfurling in her chest—some dangerous cocktail of tequila courage and attraction that made her step closer instead of backing away.
“Make me.”
His nostrils flared. The muscle in his jaw ticked.
“You don’t want to push me right now.”
“Maybe I do.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Maybe I want to know what happens when the grumpy bunny loses his temper.”
Behind her, Adrian choked on his drink and Varek made a low sound of warning.
But she was watching Ben’s face—the way his control visibly cracked, the way his hands clenched at his sides, the way his tall ears swiveled towards her like they couldn’t help themselves.
“Candy,” she said suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
“At school. I want to have a party for the kids.” The idea had been swimming around in her head for days. Now, buoyed by liquid courage, it came tumbling out. “You should come and give out candy. The kids would love it.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You want me to come to your school and hand out candy.”
“Yes, like the Easter Bunny.”
The look on his face was indescribable—some combination of outrage, disbelief, and something else. Something that might have been hurt.
“No,” he snapped.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a prop for your classroom entertainment.” His voice was dangerously quiet. “I’m not some cute mascot you can parade around for laughs.”
His anger finally penetrated her tequila-fueled courage.
“I wasn’t… That’s not what I…”
But he was already moving, closing the distance between them in two swift strides. Before she could finish her sentence, before she could apologize or explain or do anything at all, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground.
“What are you—Ben!”
“You’re drunk.” He was striding towards the door, carrying her like she weighed nothing, ignoring the stares of everyone in the bar. “You’re saying things you don’t mean. You need to go home.”
“I’m not drunk! Put me down!”
“No.”
The icy winter air slapped her face as he pushed through the tavern’s front door and she started to snuggle closer to his warmth before she remembered what he was doing. She squirmed in his arms, but his grip was strong and warm and absolutely inescapable.
“This is kidnapping!”
“This is damage control.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead. Do you think there’s anyone in town who isn’t aware of what I’m doing?”
He was right—she could see curtains twitching in windows as they passed. He carried her down the snowy street like it was the most normal thing in the world, like he carried tipsy women home every Friday night. That thought made her scowl.
“I hate you,” she informed him.
“No, you don’t.”
“I really, really do.”
“You bring me cookies.”
“That was before you went full caveman.”
He made a sound that might have been a laugh, quickly suppressed. She wanted to stay angry but his arms were so warm, and his chest was so solid, and she was suddenly, inexplicably exhausted.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she mumbled, her head drooping against his shoulder. “The Easter thing. I just thought… the kids would like you. You’re not a mascot.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, very softly, “I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“But I—”
“Sara.” Her name on his lips did something dangerous to her insides. “Just… rest. I’ll get you home.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to demand he put her down, to march back to the tavern and prove she was perfectly fine, to make him understand that she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings.
But his arms were strong and his heartbeat was steady against her ribs and the world was getting fuzzy around the edges.
“You have nice fur,” she said, nuzzling against his neck. “And you smell good.”
He stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Why? It’s true. You smell like… like snow and something else. Something woodsy. And a little bit like whiskey.”
“Of course I smell like whiskey. I work in a tavern.” But he didn’t push her away.
“Still nice.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I could just take a little nap. Right here.”
She wiggled a little, making herself more comfortable rather than trying to get away. He made another strangled sound but kept walking.
“Go to sleep, Sara.”
“Bossy rabbit.”
“Stubborn human.”
She drifted off somewhere between those words, warm and safe and held.