Chapter 17
Sara’s phone buzzed against the nightstand, jolting her from the edge of sleep.
She blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, her body warm and heavy beneath the quilts.
The buzz came again—not her phone, she realized.
Someone was at the door. The old doorbell, temperamental as always, was vibrating rather than ringing.
Her first thought was Ben.
Her second thought was that it was nearly midnight and she should probably be more concerned about someone showing up unannounced.
But her heart was already racing, already knowing, and she was throwing back the covers before her brain could catch up with her instincts.
The cottage was dark. She’d fallen asleep on the couch watching a cooking show, then dragged herself to bed around eleven, disappointed that Ben hadn’t stopped by even though she knew Friday night was one of the busiest nights at the tavern.
After last night, his absence felt wrong. Like a missed note in a familiar song.
She’d been hoping he’d come.
She padded to the front door in bare feet, her sleep shorts and lacy cami not exactly company-appropriate. Through the frosted glass panel, she could see a tall shape. Broad shoulders. The silhouette of long pointed ears.
Ben.
She opened the door, her greeting dying in her throat.
He looked… wild. That was the only word for it. His silvery-grey fur was disheveled, his chest heaving like he’d been running, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes that usually watched her with careful control—were blazing with something raw and urgent.
“Ben? What’s—”
“I need to show you something.”
His voice was rough, scraped bare of its usual gruff composure. Her sleepiness evaporated, replaced by a sudden, thrilling awareness that something had shifted. Something more than what had happened the previous night.
“Now?” she asked. “It’s midnight.”
“Now.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Please, Sara. I need you to see.”
She should probably ask questions and demand to know what was so important it couldn’t wait until morning.
Instead, she nodded. “Okay.”
Relief flooded his features—just for a moment, quickly schooled—and then he was reaching for her. Strong hands closed around her waist, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. She squeaked in surprise, her arms flying around his neck for balance.
“Ben! I can walk—”
“I know.” He was already moving, carrying her down her porch steps and across the dark lawn towards his house. “But I need… I can’t…”
He couldn’t seem to find the words. His jaw was tight, his grip on her almost desperate, and something fluttered in her chest. This wasn’t the careful Ben who’d spent weeks keeping himself in check, or even the desperate Ben of the previous night. This was something else entirely.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
He made a sound, low and rough, and his arms tightened around her.
His house was dark except for a single lamp burning in the entryway.
He shouldered through the front door without breaking stride.
She had been inside before, but only in the living room and kitchen.
But headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time, his breathing still ragged.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She had a feeling, an instinct of her own, that she was about to see something important. Something he’d been hiding.
He stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway. His bedroom. His chest expanded with a deep breath, steadying, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter.
“I didn’t plan this. Any of it. I want you to know that.”
“Plan what?”
Instead of answering, he pushed open the door.
Her breath caught.
The room was beautiful. That was her first thought—a surprised, almost involuntary reaction to the unexpected softness of the space. She’d imagined Ben’s bedroom as sparse and practical, all clean lines and neutral colors. What she found was… different.
Candles. Dozens of them, flickering on every surface, casting warm golden light across the walls. The furniture was simple—a large bed, a dresser, a reading chair by the window—but the bed itself was a revelation.
It was piled high with blankets and pillows, arranged in careful layers to form a kind of cocoon.
Soft fabrics in warm colors—sage green, dusty rose, cream—created walls of comfort around the mattress.
And in the center, nestled among the pillows like it belonged there, was something that made her heart stutter.
Her blue cardigan. The one she’d thought she’d lost weeks ago.
“Oh,” she whispered.
He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist like he couldn’t quite bear to let go. He was watching her face, his expression stripped of all defenses, raw and vulnerable in a way she’d never seen.
“It’s a nest,” he said. “I built you a nest.”
The words hit her like sunlight after rain—warm and bright and world-changing.
“A nest,” she repeated.
“I didn’t realize I was doing it at first. The pillows, the blankets… I kept finding myself adding things, arranging them, making it…” He swallowed hard. “Making it right. For you.”
She turned back to the bed, really looking this time.
The attention to detail was staggering. Every pillow was positioned just so, every blanket layered for maximum softness.
He’d used the colors she loved and the textures she gravitated toward.
She could even pick up the faint scent of her vanilla lotion. He must have borrowed it somehow.
“This is a mating thing,” she said slowly. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The word was barely audible. “Rabbit Others nest when they’ve found…
When their instincts recognize—” He broke off, frustration and longing warring across his features.
“I’ve never done this before. All these years, and I never once felt the urge to prepare a space for anyone.
But you…” His voice cracked. “Everything about you makes me want to keep you.”
Her eyes were burning. She blinked rapidly, trying to process the enormity of what he was telling her.
“You built this for me.”
“Every blanket. Every pillow. That cardigan you thought you lost… I didn’t even remember taking it. I just found it here one day, and it smelled like you, and I couldn’t…” He laughed, the sound rough and self-deprecating. “I couldn’t put it anywhere else.”
She reached out and touched the edge of the nest—because that’s really what it was, she understood now—and felt the incredible softness of the layered fabrics. He’d put so much care into this. So much thought. So much…
Love.
The word popped into her mind, and she didn’t push it away.
“Ben.” She turned to face him fully. “Why are you showing me this tonight?”
“Because you deserve to know what you’re dealing with.” He stood rigid, like he was bracing for a blow. “What I am. What I feel. I’ve been trying to control it, trying to give you time and prove I could be careful, but tonight I realized that was just another way of hiding from you.”
“Hiding what?”
“How much I want you.” The words came out fierce and raw. “Not just physically, although god knows that’s true too. I want you here. In my house, in my bed, in my life. I want to wake up next to you and fall asleep holding you and spend every moment in between making sure you know you’re mine.”
Her breath caught. “Yours.”
“Mine.” He said it like a vow, like something that had been clawing its way out of him for weeks.
“Every instinct I have is screaming that you belong to me. That I should claim you, mark you, make sure everyone knows you’re taken.
” His claws flexed at his sides. “But that’s not fair to you.
You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask for some possessive rabbit Other to build you a nest and demand you stay in it. ”
“Ben—”
“So I’m giving you the choice.” His voice steadied. “I’m telling you about everything—the nesting, the instincts, the way I can’t stop thinking about you for even a single minute—and I’m asking if that’s something you want. If I’m someone you want.”
He looked terrified, utterly, devastatingly terrified.
She had never loved him more.
“You ridiculous man,” she said softly.
His ears flattened. “Sara—”
“Did you really think I didn’t know?” She stepped closer, reaching up to cup his face in her hands.
His fur was so soft against her palms. “Did you think I couldn’t feel what was happening between us?
Every time you touched me, every time you looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing—did you think I didn’t notice? ”
“I was trying to protect you—”
“From what? From being wanted?” She laughed, the sound catching on something that might have been tears.
“Ben, I’ve spent my whole life being temporary.
Being the person people enjoyed but didn’t keep.
Moving from place to place, starting over, watching everyone I cared about fade into the distance.
” Her thumbs stroked along his cheekbones.
“And then I came here, and there was this grumpy, beautiful man who shoveled my driveway and carried me home and built me a nest, and you think I’d want protection from that? ”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand.”
He was trembling. She could feel it under her hands—fine tremors running through his massive frame, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
“If we do this,” he said slowly, “if you choose this—it’s not casual for me. It can’t be. Rabbit Others mate for life. Once I claim you, once we’re bonded…” He shook his head. “There’s no going back. Not for me.”
“And why would I want to go back?”
His eyes searched her face, desperate and hopeful and so vulnerable it made her chest ache.
“You could have anyone,” he whispered. “Someone easier. Someone who doesn’t come with instincts that demand possession and a past full of mistakes and a bed that looks like it belongs in a fairytale because I couldn’t stop myself from making it perfect for you.”
“I don’t want anyone else.” She rose on her tiptoes, bringing her face closer to his. “I want you. The grumpy tavern owner who plays guitar when he thinks no one’s listening and built me a nest because his heart knew I was his before his head caught up.”
“Sara…”
“I choose you.” She said it clearly, firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “I choose the nest and the instincts and the possessiveness and every single terrifying, wonderful thing you’re offering. I choose you.”