He didn’t answer. He just stood there, looking at the spot where Maisie had stood. His shoulders, which had been so tense, were now slumped.
“I have to go,” he said abruptly, turning towards the door. “But I’ll think about the party.”
Her heart leapt. “Really?”
“I said I’ll think about it.” But there was a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t push it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Liar.”
He was gone before she could respond, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, and she sank into her chair, her knees suddenly giving way.
My instincts want to take what you’re offering.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound beneath her palm.
Oh, she was in so much trouble.
CHAPTER 8
The bag of candy slung over Ben’s shoulder barely weighed anything but it felt heavier than any piece of equipment he’d ever carried. He stood just inside the entrance to the school gym, half-hidden by a rack of sports equipment, and wondered what the hell he was doing.
Why wasn’t he safely behind his tavern’s kitchen doors, chopping vegetables and growling at suppliers and existing in the comfortable solitude he’d built for himself? Why was he holding a bag full of individually wrapped chocolates, about to walk into a room full of five-year-old’s, just because a curvy kindergarten teacher with green eyes and a smile like sunrise had somehow gotten under his skin?
It’s not too late to change my mind. I only said I’d think about it.
But he had thought about it. He’d thought about nothing else. He’d thought about her face when he snapped at her in the tavern. About the way she’d felt in his arms—soft and warm and fitting against him like she was made to be there. About the way she’d buried her face in his neck and told him he smelled good.
He’d thought about the way she’d looked at him yesterday in her classroom, like he was something worth looking at. Like she actually sawhim—not the grumpy tavern owner, not the former rock star, not the Other who made people cross the street. Just Ben.
Fuck.
He’d spent the last two days trying to talk himself out of coming. He’d almost called Sara a dozen times to make an excuse, but every time he’d remembered the look on Maisie’s face.
And the look on Sara’s.
So here he was. The Easter Bunny. Or at least, the Easter Bunny’s grumpy, socially awkward cousin.
“You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.”
He turned to find Adrian leaning against the wall next to him, all lazy grace and infuriating amusement.
“What are you doing here?”
“Peter invited me.” Adrian’s smile widened. “He was very insistent that I see the famous candy-giving bunny in his natural habitat. And since I am a loving and devoted uncle, I came. I told him I knew the bunny personally, but he didn’t believe me. Frankly, I wasn’t sure you would show up.”
“Sara invited me.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And the small one asked.”
“You mean Maisie. Peter said she hasn’t stopped talking about ‘the big fluffy bunny’ since she met you. I’m pretty sure she’s planning to adopt you.”
The idea was both terrifying and oddly sweet.
Adrian’s smile faded as he studied Ben’s face. “I’m still surprised you’re actually doing it.”
“I am known to occasionally fulfill social obligations.”
“No, you’re not,” Adrian countered. “You’re known for actively avoiding them. Especially anything that puts you in a room full of… well, people.”
