“Many have tried.” Eric took another sip of his beer. “None have succeeded.”
Before he could fully process the horror of Flora’s matchmaking newsletter, she appeared at the back door like some kind of inevitable force of nature. She was wearing a bright red tracksuit tonight, the words “HOT TO TROT” bedazzled across the back, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Oh good,” she said brightly. “Everyone’s here.”
He briefly considered diving into the river to escape. Sam would probably hide him, but then again Sam hadn’t been able to avoid Flora’s efforts either.
“Flora,” he said flatly. “What are you doing here?”
“Supporting a local business.” She elbowed past Eric and settled into the single porch chair like she owned it. “Also, I heard you were having some sort of emotional crisis and I didn’t want to miss it.”
“I’m not having a crisis.”
“You’re building a nest for a woman you haven’t officially courted, you nearly exploded when she mentioned leaving, and you’re about to rip a hole in your railing,” she retorted. “That, my boy, is a crisis.”
He glared at her. She gave him a wide innocent smile that fooled no one.
“The fact that I’m nesting doesn’t mean?—”
“It means exactly what you think it means.” Flora’s voice lost some of its playfulness, turning unusually serious. “Rabbit Others don’t nest casually. You know that better than anyone. When your instincts decide to build a home for someone, it’s because your body recognizes what your mind is too stubborn to admit.”
“And what’s that?”
“That she’s yours.” Flora’s dark eyes pinned him in place. “That she was always going to be yours. And that all your careful control was just you waiting until she came along.”
The words resonated through his chest, settling into the space where his heart was pounding too fast.
“It’s not that simple,” he managed.
“Why not?”
“Because—” He gestured helplessly. “Because I spent six years rebuilding myself. Because I walked away from everything I was before. Because I don’t know if I can be what she needs without losing myself in the process.”
“Oh, honey.” Flora’s voice softened. “You didn’t rebuild yourself. You just… put yourself on a shelf for a while. All those instincts, all that intensity—it didn’t go anywhere. It was just waiting.”
“For what?”
“For someone worth taking it down for.”
Silence fell over the porch. Even the river seemed to still, Sam’s tentacles frozen mid-motion. Eric was watching Ben with something like understanding, and Garrick—who Ben had never seen express any emotion more complex than mild annoyance—looked almost thoughtful.
“She trusts me,” he said finally. “Sara. She trusts me completely.”
“And?”
“And I’m terrified of proving her wrong.”
Flora hopped up from her chair like a woman half her age and crossed to where he stood. She reached up to pat his cheek with one weathered green hand, her touch surprisingly gentle.
“The fact that you’re worried about that,” she said quietly, “is exactly why you won’t. The Others who hurt people, the ones who let their instincts control them, they never stop to ask if they should. They take without thinking. But you, Benjamin Holloway… you’ve done nothing but think for six years.”
“Thinking hasn’t stopped me from building her a nest.”
“No. But it’ll stop you from claiming her before she’s ready. It’ll stop you from overwhelming her with what you need before you’ve shown her what you can give.” Flora’s eyes were serious now, all traces of mischief gone. “Your instincts chose her. But she gets to decide if she chooses you back. She needs to understand what she’d be getting into.”
“And if she decides she doesn’t want it?”
“Then you let her go.” The words were gentle but firm. “That’s the difference between mating and taking. She has to choose, Benjamin. Freely and completely. And if she doesn’t…” Flora shook her head. “Well. Then you’ll survive. You’ve survived worse.”
