Chapter fourteen
RORY
The Christmas Fair unfolds exactly as Oakwood Christmas Fairs always do, somewhere between charming and barely controlled disaster, fairy lights blinking unevenly along the fence line, someone arguing about stall size near the mince pies, children sprinting past with faces already sticky from festive treats.
And right in the centre of it all is Freya.
Clipboard in hand. Hair tied back loosely, strands escaping as she pivots from one stall to another.
There is a quiet authority in the way she speaks, not loud, not bossy, just assured enough that people instinctively move when she gestures.
A dad with a ladder shifts two feet left because she tilts her head.
A teacher stops mid-complaint because she gives them a look that says trust me.
I should be focusing on the gazebo frame in my hands.
Instead, I am watching her. Her skirt is deep green, fitted in a way that is entirely respectable and yet deeply unhelpful to my concentration.
The cream blouse tucked into it shifts when she crosses her arms to review something on her clipboard.
Her outfit is not revealing. It’s not provocative.
It’s just… her. Competent and self-contained and somehow even more distracting because of it.
My body reacts before my brain has caught up, heat pooling low and sudden, forcing me to shift my stance and adjust myself in my trousers.
Get it together Bennett! There are kids around for Christ sake.
I force myself to concentrate on the task in front of me instead, hauling the gazebo upright, letting the strain burn through my shoulders, welcoming the physical distraction. A few teachers and parents glance over. Let them.
I hear Freya’s contagious laugh and it instantly makes me smile.
I look around and see her by the mulled wine stall.
And suddenly I’m no longer smiling. She’s laughing.
Properly laughing, head tipped slightly back, eyes bright.
But she’s laughing at Scott fucking Wheeler who is standing way too close to her.
Of all the Ravens players available to come today, one of them had to be Scott.
Fast, charming, entirely aware of it, and chronically incapable of leaving a woman more than six inches of breathing space when he’s in the mood to perform.
He’s also not a settle down kind of guy.
He’s openly admitted that he doesn’t do girlfriends and only ever wants something casual from a woman.
And let me tell you now, he won’t be getting that from Freya. Not on my watch, anyway.
He says something that makes her swat his arm playfully and something inside me goes sharp.
Bennett stop being a dick. She can talk to whoever she wants. She is not yours to monitor.
Scott shifts his stance and rests his arm along the back of the stall behind her, not touching her, but close enough that it frames her in a way I don’t like. I don’t think about moving. I’m already moving. By the time I reach them, my jaw is tight and my shoulders squared.
“Wheeler,” I say evenly, clapping a hand onto his shoulder with enough weight that he feels it.
He glances at me, grin still half in place. “All right, Bennett”
I look at her then, and soften automatically. “Gazebos are up,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Thought we could regroup.”
Scott reads the room faster than he lets on. I’ll give the man some credit, he’s obviously not an idiot. He drops his arm, straightens, and steps back with an easy shrug. “Yeah, I’ll go find Noah,” he mutters, retreating with a knowing look I don’t have the patience to unpack.
Freya turns to me slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t need rescuing,” she says.
The irritation in her voice lands harder than I expect.
“I wasn’t rescuing you,” I reply, though it sounds defensive even to my own ears.
Her eyebrow lifts slightly. “You were halfway through a territorial display. I wouldn’t be surprised if you cocked your leg and peed on me.”
I exhale, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “He can be a bit of a dick,” I say, keeping my tone measured. “I was just making sure you weren’t stuck. He’d have no problem hitting on a taken woman.”
She folds her arms, clipboard tucked against her side like armour. “I can handle myself, Rory.”
Of course she can. She’s been handling herself her entire life.
“I know,” I say, and I mean it. “Didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t.”
“Good,” she replies, and pivots away to direct someone about raffle tickets, leaving me standing there feeling faintly ridiculous.
Noah, our Ravens hooker, appears at my side not long after, amusement barely concealed.
“You nearly headbutted Wheeler,” he murmurs.
“I did not.”
“You had scrum-face, bud.”
I ignore him, but the truth lingers. The problem isn’t Scott.
The problem is how quickly I reacted. How instinctive it felt to get him away from her.
How little thought went into it. I don’t get to behave like that with her.
She’s not mine to protect. I don’t get to step in just because I don’t like the way another man stands too close.
She doesn’t look at me again for the rest of the morning. Which I probably deserve. And yet, even knowing I overstepped, even knowing she doesn’t need me hovering, I can’t quite shake the image of Scott leaning in too close and the way something primal flared up before I could stop it.
It would be easier if I didn’t care. It would be easier if she didn’t still get under my skin like this.