Page 37 of Late Harvest

“Who’da thunk it?” he whispered. “Hi, bunny. What’s your name? I bet you’re a good bunny, yes you are.” The floppy-eared bunny disappeared from the window, emerging to descend a ramp. Fanciest fucking bunny house ever. Of course, Arabella struck him as the type of person who would want the best for a pet. Her exacting nature wouldn’t allow otherwise. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he did. Reading people was one of his specialties.

Spying a container on a nearby small table, he reached over and shook out some pellets. They smelled of fresh hay. “Who wants a treat? Does my new buddy want a snackie?”

He placed a few in his palm before opening the latch and carefully easing his hand through the small opening he’d created. It wouldn’t do to have a runaway bunny—aww, great book. He’d gotten a copy for Judie-patootie and had enjoyed reading it to him these past few days, even if his nephew was far too young to understand what he was saying. But Jude surely could sense the warmth in his tone. The comfort of his body.

Distracted again, Bash. Back to bunny love…

The bunny moved forward, his large ears flopping endearingly. “Oh, you’re a good-looking bunny. Your fur is almost as pretty as your mommy’s. Her hair, not her fur.” The bunny moved closer and Bash gently petted his head. Silky soft. Like he’d bet Arabella’s was.

He sensed, rather than heard, when she moved behind him.

“Looks like you have the touch.” Arabella’s tone wasn’t cold. It just wasn’t warm either.

He looked up and over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Bash Wheatley, friend to animals, small children, and”—he winked—“hopefully distrusting chiefs of orthopedics.”

She shook her head, but Bash was gratified to see the corners of her mouth tip up. “You are something else, Sebastian Wheatley.”

“I’m something, Arabella Remington.” He turned back to the bunny. “What kind is he?”

“He’s a Holland lop. His name is Chicane.”

“I have no idea what that means.” He smiled at her and shrugged, continuing to gently pet the bunny, equally focused on getting both Chicane and Arabella accustomed to him.

“I named him after the series of quick, alternating sharp turns on a Formula 1 race circuit.”

“Clever. I’d heard you were a Formula 1 fan when I did my due diligence.” Bash smiled, still stroking the bunny with the back of his forefinger. “Hey, there, Chicane. I can’t wait to watch some races with you.”

“Due—? Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.” Arabella shifted so she was beside him, looking down at his bunny wooing. Her arms were folded, but he got the sense it was simply a natural stance for her. “Do you like F1?”

“I do now,” he offered with a shrug and another smile. “But I sure could use a tutorial or two while snuggled on that comfy-looking couch. Although nothing beats my brother-in-law’s couch. That thing was clearly made by benevolent fairies who just want us to be happy.”

Now Arabella smiled. Truly smiled. It was the first time he’d seen it and, in that moment, he knew his life was forever altered.

His heart stuttered as the realization slammed into him that he was in the room with his future wife. And, more inexplicably, he possibly wanted her to be in his longer-term future, not just the next year.

“You ok?” Arabella cocked her head.

“I’m fan-fucking-tastic.” And he’d never meant anything more.

Placing a finger on each side of the precious long ears, he pretend grimaced. “Ooops, mustn’t say bad words in front of the children, dear.”

Now Arabella laughed.

It was the most perfect sound. He wanted to hear it over and over for the rest of his life. He decided on the spot that he wanted it to be the last thing he heard on his deathbed as an old man, right after ‘I love you and I’ll see you soon.’

And it had to be that way, because he absolutely couldn’t allow her to predecease him. It had only been forty-eight hours, and he knew with powerful certainty that he didn’t want to live in a world without Arabella Remington in it.

It was true. He, Sebastian Judah Wheatley, had a massive crush on his future wife.

His phone chimed, breaking the moment. But that was ok, because Bash was certain there’d be many more just like it. He’d make damn sure of it.

“That’s the calendar reminder for our lunch reservations.” Bash gave one last gentle pet to the lop and reluctantly closed the hatch. “Back soon, bunny. Be good.”

As he stood, his knees popped and he groaned softly. “Those are some sexy sounds, right? Something probably needs to be fixed in there. Any chance you know a good ortho doc?” he teased, laughing when she only shook her head, something between a smirk and a true smile playing on her lips. “Ready for lunch, my queen?”

“Where are we headed?”

“A place Brinder and Honor recommended called La Capaninna.”