“Hey.”
Sara was suddenly in front of him, holding out a paper plate with a generous slice of chocolate cake with fluffy white frosting. His heart skipped a beat.
“You’re lurking,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I’m observing.”
“Is there a difference?” She offered him the plate, and he realized she’d forgotten what he’d told her. “Cake. It’s the rule.”
I shouldn’t take it.
He took it anyway and as he did their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through him, sharp and sweet. She smiled at him as if it were perfectly normal to accidentally electrocute someone, then hurried away to break up an escalating argument between two of the children. He couldn’t stop watching her.
She’d let her hair down today, chestnut waves spilling over her shoulders, and she was wearing a dress the color of spring leaves that swayed gently around her luscious ass and made her eyes glow.
Stop staring.
He couldn’t stop staring.
“Mr. Ben Bunny?” A tug at his hand. He looked down to find Maisie had returned for what appeared to be a second approach.
“I don’t have any more candy.”
“I know.” She smiled up at him, gap-toothed and devastating. “But you look sad. Do you need a hug?”
The question hit him somewhere between the ribs, in a soft place he’d thought long calcified. He opened his mouth to say no, he didn’t need hugs, he was a grown adult who had been perfectly fine without physical affection for six fucking years?—
“Yes,” he heard himself say as he bent down.
Maisie’s small arms wrapped around his neck with surprising strength. She squeezed once, fiercely, then released him and scampered away like nothing had happened.
He stood very still, something warm and terrifying unfurling in his chest.Get out. Get out now before you do something stupid.
He made it to the doors before Sara’s voice stopped him.
“Ben. Wait.”
He turned and found her right behind him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For doing this. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“It was fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar. Just not to you.”
Her smile widened, something mischievous sparking in those green eyes. She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her—vanilla and sugar and warm human female. His nose twitched. His whole body twitched.
“Good bunny,” she murmured.
The words hit him like a lightning bolt.
He moved before he could stop himself, closing the distance between them until her back was nearly against the doorframe, until his mouth was inches from her ear. He heard her breath catch, and saw the rapid flutter of her pulse.
“Sweetheart,” he said, low and rough and not quite steady, “you have no idea.”
Then he turned and walked away, because if he stayed one second longer, he was going to do something that would traumatize fourteen kindergarteners for life.
