Chapter 2 Bunny
two
Bunny
He's in my shop and he looks like he wants to set it on fire.
John Hawkins is standing in the middle of Sweet Bunny's, hands in his pockets, glaring at my Valentine's display like the cupids personally wronged him. He's so big and dark and grumpy in my explosion of pink and red.
"You came!" I lock the door, flipping my sign to closed.
"Said I would."
"I made you something!" I run behind the counter, producing a black box. "Protein fudge! It's made with protein powder, almond butter, and stevia."
He actually takes a piece, chews thoughtfully. "Not terrible."
I’ll mark that down as a win.
"Come upstairs, we have work to do."
His eyebrows shoot up.
"To practice being a couple! Not... the other thing. Not that couples don't do the other thing. But we're not. Doing that. The thing."
Stop. Talking. Bunny.
I lead him up to my apartment, immediately regretting it. My place looks like Valentine's Day and a craft store had a baby. Pink couch, heart-shaped coffee table, string lights everywhere. There are stuffed animals on every surface.
John stands in the doorway like he's afraid to enter. "Did a unicorn explode in here?"
"Unicorns are on my bed. This is more of a general love explosion." Did I just say unicorns are on my bed to this man? "I mean, decoratively! Stuffed ones! Not real unicorns. Obviously."
He's looking at me like I'm insane. Fair.
"So!" I clap my hands together. "Couples touch casually. We should practice that. Like..." I reach for his hand. It's huge and warm and calloused. "Hand holding!"
He holds my hand like it might explode.
"Relax. Pretend you like me. You're crushing my fingers."
He loosens his grip. "I don't do this often. Touch people. In general."
That's oddly sad. I squeeze his hand gently. "When's the last time you dated someone?"
"2017. Eight years. Military deployment, then I moved here."
"Why agree to this then? You could have just ignored the app."
He shrugs. "My friends are assholes but they're my assholes. If I backed out, they'd never let me live it down. Plus, someone needs to make sure you don't get eaten alive by your sister-in-law."
"Patricia's not that bad." She's worse. "Okay, let's practice dancing. She loves making everyone dance."
I put on music from my phone. Something slow and romantic.
"Come here. Hand here." I place it on my waist. He has to reach down, and his hand spans from my hip to almost my back.
I'm very aware of how much smaller I am, how his hand covers so much of me, even with my curves.
"Other hand holds mine. And we just... sway. "
We're comically mismatched. I have to crane my neck to see his face. He has to hunch to reach me properly. But the way his hand feels on my waist, firm and warm through my dress...
"This is ridiculous," he mutters.
"It's romantic! Look into my eyes.”
“You’re too short. I could lift you.”
"You could lift me?"
"You're not exactly..." he stops.
"Not exactly what? Tiny? Lightweight?" I know what I look like. Size 20 isn't exactly pick-me-up-and-spin-me-around territory.
Instead of answering, he grabs my waist with both hands and lifts me like I weigh nothing. Suddenly I'm eye level with him, my feet dangling, his hands steady and strong around my middle.
"You were saying?" His voice is smug.
I can't breathe. Can't think. He's holding me up like I'm a pillow, not a plus-size woman who loves chocolate more than life.
"Put me down," I squeak.
He sets me down gently, but his hands stay on my waist. "You were wrong. You're exactly the right size for lifting."
My brain short-circuits. "I... you... that was..."
"We should practice conversation. Patricia will ask how I show affection. What would you say?"
"Right. Yes. Affection." I'm still dizzy from being manhandled.
He thinks for a moment. "I drive you to work. Make sure you eat real food, not just sugar. Keep you safe."
"Keep me safe from what?"
"Everything. You're tiny and trusting. You probably talk to strangers and pet random dogs."
"Dogs are all good boys!"
"My point exactly. You need someone looking out for you."
Why is that hot? Why is him being protective making my stomach flutter?
"What about me? How do I show affection?"
He looks at me for a long moment. "You bring me coffee exactly how I like it without asking. You put notes in my lunch. You wear my clothes even though they're too big because you like how they smell."
That's... really specific. "That's good. Really good."
"Had a girlfriend who did that. The clothes thing. Before deployment. What happened?"
"I came back different. She didn't like me anymore."
There's weight in those words. Pain. Without thinking, I hug him.
He goes rigid. "What are you doing?"
"Hugging you. It seemed like you needed it.”
“I don't need—"
"Shut up and let me hug you, John."
Slowly, carefully, his arms come around me. I'm completely engulfed. I melt into him, very aware of how my soft body fits against his hard one.
"This is nice," I mumble into his chest.
"It's adequate."
We stay like that longer than necessary. When we pull apart, something's shifted. He looks at me differently.
"Saturday. Pick you up at 1:30. Wear something you can dance in. Any other requests?"
"Whatever makes you happy, little bunny."
My stomach flips. "John? We're going to be okay, right? This will work?"
He cups my face with one massive hand. "I've got you. No one's going to make you feel bad. Not on my watch."
The irony is he's already making me feel small. In the best way. In a way I've been craving without admitting it.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He nods, heads for the door. Pauses. "Bunny? The unicorn pajamas on your bed. They suit you."
He's gone before I can respond, leaving me standing in my too-pink apartment, heart racing, wondering what I've gotten myself into.