Chapter 10
The margarita was doing absolutely nothing to dull the memory of Ben’s mouth on her throat.
Sara took another sip anyway, letting the salt dissolve on her tongue while Posy waved down the bartender for a second round.
The Moonlight Tavern hummed with Friday night energy, people talking and laughing.
Someone kept feeding quarters into the vintage jukebox in the corner, but her gaze kept returning to the small stage sitting dark and empty against the wall.
Three days. It had been three days since Ben had kissed her senseless against Mrs. Pemberton’s fence post, called it a mistake, and promptly vanished into the ether.
Not the ether, she reminded herself. Just his house. Right next door. Where I can hear him playing guitar at two in the morning.
She’d lain awake listening to him play every night since. The songs were different now—rougher, more urgent. Sometimes he stopped mid-chord and the silence that followed felt louder than the music.
“You’re brooding.”
She blinked. Elara was watching her from across the table, blue eyes knowing in a way that made Sara want to squirm.
The pretty blonde who owned Java Joy with her orc mate had appeared at Posy’s shop that afternoon while Sara was venting her frustrations.
Elara had immediately declared that Sara needed a girls’ night. She hadn’t argued.
“I’m not brooding. I’m contemplating.”
“Same thing.” Elara grinned at her. “You’ve been contemplating that margarita for twenty minutes. At this rate, the ice will melt before you finish it.”
“Leave her alone,” Posy said, sliding back into the booth with four fresh drinks balanced precariously in her arms. “She’s had a week.”
“A week involving the owner of this establishment, if the rumor mill is accurate.”
She groaned. “How do people know these things? We were on a back street. There was literally no one around.”
“It’s Fairhaven Falls, honey. Nothing stays secret for long,” Posy said as she passed the drinks around.
She dropped her head to the table with a solid thunk. The wood was cool against her forehead and slightly sticky with old beer. She didn’t care.
“So everyone knows that Ben kissed me and then ran away.”
“Everyone knows Ben kissed you,” Posy corrected gently. “The running away part is more… implied.”
“Fantastic,” she groaned.
A new voice cut through her despair—bright and cheerful and entirely too energetic for her current mood.
“Did someone say Ben kissed someone? Finally! I’ve been waiting for that male to wake up for years.”
She lifted her head to find a strange female sliding into the booth beside Elara. She was tall and athletic, with pale blue skin and the kind of smile that suggested she found everything in life mildly hilarious.
“Sara, this is Nichola,” Posy said. “She’s a troll and works at her family’s mechanic shop.”
“Nice to meet you.” Nichola’s handshake was strong enough to make Sara wince. “So someone finally cracked the bunny’s shell? It’s about time. That male has been wound tighter than a barnacle on a hull.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, honey.” Nichola exchanged a look with the other women that Sara couldn’t quite decipher. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“About mating season.”
Her stomach fluttered. “I know it exists. Something about spring—”
“Spring is when rabbit Others have their mating season.” Nichola grabbed one of the extra margaritas and took a long sip.
“It’s biological. It makes them absolutely feral for finding a mate.
Most of them spend the whole season either locked in their houses or locked in someone else’s house, if you catch my meaning. ”
She caught her meaning. The memory of that kiss sent a wave of heat flooding through her.
“You mean he can’t control himself?”
“Exactly. Mating season for Others isn’t like human horniness.
It’s deeper than that. More primal.” Nichola leaned forward, eyes bright with the particular enthusiasm of someone who loved sharing gossip.
“The urge to find a mate, to claim them, to keep them—it’s overwhelming.
Some Others get aggressive. Some get obsessive.
And rabbit Others?” She whistled low. “They’re the worst. All that fertility energy has to go somewhere. ”
Her mind raced back to the way Ben had pinned her against the fence post. The scrape of his teeth on her throat. The growl that had rumbled through his chest when she’d gasped his name.
I’ll want all of you. Every part. Forever.
“Oh God,” she breathed.
“It gets more interesting.” Nichola was clearly enjoying herself now.
“Because here’s the thing—mating season doesn’t make you want someone.
It just amplifies what’s already there. If a rabbit Other isn’t interested in someone, they could be standing right next to them in the middle of spring and feel nothing.
” She paused for dramatic effect. “But if they are interested…”
“The amplification makes it unbearable,” Elara finished quietly. “I’ve seen it break Others who weren’t prepared. The intensity of wanting someone that much, fighting it that hard… it takes a toll.”
Her heart clenched. Three sleepless nights of guitar music. Songs that stopped mid-chord. The shadows under Ben’s eyes when she’d glimpsed him through his kitchen window that morning.
He’s fighting it. I think he’s been fighting it for weeks.
“But here’s the really interesting part.” Nichola had the gleam of someone saving their best piece of gossip for last. “Ben has been in Fairhaven Falls for six years. Six mating seasons. And in all that time, he’s never pursued anyone.”
She blinked. “What?”
“No one. Not once. I should know—I offered myself the second spring he was here.” Nichola shrugged, unbothered. “He turned me down flat. Polite about it, but firm. Said he wasn’t interested in casual anything.”
“Maybe he was just… not attracted to you specifically?”
“Honey, I’m hot.” Nichola gestured at herself with cheerful confidence. “I’ve had plenty of takers. But Ben?” She shook her head. “The man’s been celibate as a monk for six years. Even during mating season. Even when his whole biology was screaming at him to find a mate.”
The information settled into her chest like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through everything she thought she knew. Six years. Ben had been alone—truly, deliberately alone—for six years. Not because he couldn’t find anyone, but because he chose not to.
And then she moved in next door, and brought him cookies. And something in him had changed.
He wants me.
The realization was dizzying. She’d known he was attracted to her, but this was deeper than just attraction. This was a male who had spent half a decade building walls and refusing to let anyone close. And she had somehow gotten under his skin without even trying.
“Actually,” Nichola continued, oblivious to Sara’s internal crisis, “I was thinking about offering again this year. I heard he carried some woman home from the tavern last week, and I thought maybe he was finally loosening up.”
Posy choked on her margarita.
“What?” Nichola looked confused. “It’s just a rumor, but—”
“Nichola.” Posy’s voice was strangled. “The woman he carried home was Sara.”
A beat of silence.
Then Nichola’s face went through a fascinating journey—confusion to realization to mortification to something that looked almost like awe.
“Oh my God.” She stared at Sara, her eyes wide.
“Oh my God. You’re the one. You’re the one who finally—” She cut herself off, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I would never have…
I mean, obviously I wouldn’t actually offer if he’s already…
Not that you two are… But clearly there’s—”
“Breathe,” she said, finding herself oddly calm despite everything. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine! I basically just said I wanted to bone your… whatever he is—”
“My grumpy, emotionally constipated neighbor who keeps shoveling my driveway and then running away from his feelings? Who kisses me like the world is ending and then calls it a mistake?”
Nichola blinked. Then she laughed, a bright, delighted sound that drew looks from nearby tables.
“Oh, I like you.” She reached across the table to squeeze Sara’s hand. “And for what it’s worth? That male has been a locked box since he rolled into town. If you’re the one with the key…” She shook her head, still grinning. “Don’t let him run. He’s been alone long enough.”
She looked down at her margarita, now mostly water. The ice had melted just like Elara predicted. But something warm had kindled in her chest—something that felt like hope.
Ben had spent six years denying himself. Six years of control, of walls, of keeping everyone at arm’s length. And in three weeks, she had somehow made him lose control so completely that he’d kissed her against a fence post in broad daylight.
He’s scared, she realized. Not of me, but of how much he wants me.
And yes, he’d called it a mistake. Yes, he’d pulled away. But he’d also said something else, something that had almost gotten lost in the hurt of his rejection.
I care too much to hurt you.
He wasn’t running because he didn’t want her. He was running because he wanted her so much it terrified him.
Well. Sara wasn’t about to let a good male get away just because he was scared.
“You’re smiling,” Posy observed. “That’s either a good sign or a very bad one.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Contemplating again?”
“No.” She drained the last of her watery margarita and set the glass down with a decisive clink. “Planning.”
Nichola leaned forward, eyes wide with interest. “Planning what?”
Her smile widened. “How to convince a certain grumpy rabbit that running away isn’t an option anymore.”
Elara’s laugh was like wind chimes. “Oh, this is going to be entertaining.”
“For you, maybe. I’m the one who has to figure out how to corner an emotionally repressed Other who’s terrified of his own feelings.”
“Yes, but you have advantages.” Posy’s eyes twinkled. “You know his weakness now.”
“His weakness?”
“You.” Posy raised her glass in a toast. “You’re his weakness, Sara. And it’s almost spring.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine—not fear, but anticipation. Somewhere across the tavern, she could feel Ben’s presence like a magnet, pulling at something deep in her chest.
He was probably hiding in his office, convincing himself that distance was the answer.
Not for long, she thought.
She was done letting him run. Done waiting for him to figure out what she already knew—that they belonged together, that his control could shatter against her and it would be okay because she wasn’t afraid of his intensity.
She was counting on it.
“To spring,” she said, raising her water-logged margarita glass.
“To spring,” the others echoed.
The bead curtain that led to the back of the tavern clicked gently. She didn’t turn to look, but she felt the weight of Ben’s gaze on her like a physical touch.
That’s right, she thought. Keep watching. I’m not going anywhere.
The hunt was on.