But he’s already tearing them down, a small voice whispered.He built me a nest. He claimed me as his mate. He’s been singing to me.
Maybe the walls weren’t protecting him anymore. Maybe they’d just become a prison.
The tavern loomed ahead, its rough wooden walls and wide porch achingly familiar now. She had spent countless hours here over the past few weeks—eating dinner at the bar, chatting with Nina, watching Ben move through his domain like he owned every inch of it.
Which he did, she supposed. But lately, he’d seemed less like a king surveying his territory and more like a male finally allowing himself to enjoy what he’d built.
She pushed through the front door and was immediately enveloped in the tavern’s warm, comfortable atmosphere. The lunch crowd was light—a few regulars scattered at tables, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by the clink of glasses and the sizzle from the kitchen.
George spotted her from behind the bar and grinned knowingly. “He’s in his office. Door’s open.”
“How did you?—”
“You’ve got that look. The ‘I need to have a serious conversation’ look.” George nodded towards the hallway that led to the back. “Go on. He’s been in a weirdly good mood today. Might as well take advantage of it.”
Her feet carried her down the hallway before she could second-guess herself. The door to his office stood ajar, and through the gap she could see him seated behind his desk, frowning at a stack of invoices.
He looked up the moment she appeared in the doorway, just as he always did, as if some part of him was always tracking her location. His frown softened into something warmer, his ears perking forward with interest.
“Sweetheart.” The word was a rumble of pleasure. “I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”
“The meeting ended early.” She stepped into the office and closed the door behind her, suddenly nervous. “Do you have a minute?”
“For you? Always.” He pushed back from the desk, his chair scraping against the wooden floor, and held out his hand. “Come here.”
She went, because how could she not? His fingers closed around hers, tugging her closer until she was standing between his knees, his hands settling on her hips with that possessive grip that made her stomach flutter.
“You smell like the community center,” he murmured, nosing at her collar. “And…” His grip tightened. “Curiosity. Nervousness. What’s going on?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Ask.”
She took a deep breath. “The band for the festival cancelled. Laryngitis. And we can’t find a replacement on such short notice, so I thought…” She faltered, her courage suddenly deserting her. “Never mind. It’s a stupid idea.”
“Sara,” he said patiently. “What did you think?”
She met those beautiful, impossibly blue eyes that saw through every wall she tried to build. “I thought maybe you could play.”
He went very still.
“Just a set or two,” she continued in a rush. “You don’t have to do the whole thing. But I’ve heard you play, Ben, and you’reincredible, and I know you miss it. I see it in your face when you sing. And I thought maybe… maybe this could be a chance to…”
“To what?”
“To stop hiding.”
The words hung between them, heavy with implication. His expression had gone carefully blank, the mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to see what he was feeling.
“I don’t hide,” he said finally.
“You do. You hide behind this grumpy tavern-owner persona because it’s easier than admitting you’re a gifted musician who walked away from everything he loved.” She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not asking you to go back to what you were before. I’m asking if you might want to try being something new. Something that includes the music.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand what performing does to me. The adrenaline, the attention, the way it feels to stand in front of a crowd and pour your soul out for their entertainment. It’s addictive. And I spent years destroying myself with that addiction.”
