“To an extent. I mean he’ll always be protective. And in some ways he was right to be careful. Minotaurs are strong and territorial. He could cause a tremendous amount of harm if he wasn’t careful.”
Her chest tightened. “So maybe he was right. Maybe he was too dangerous.”
“No,” Ginger said firmly. “Being capable of harm and being dangerous to someone are completely different things. Houston would throw himself in front of a truck before he’d hurt me.”
“What if…” She hesitated, then pushed forward. “What if it’s more complicated than just strength and possessiveness? What if there’s something else involved?”
“You mean like with Dr. Jackson?” Ginger gave her a knowing smile. “Flora may have mentioned you’ve been spending time with Dr. Jackson. And that he’s been even more wound up than usual.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Flora talks too much.”
“Flora talks exactly the right amount to ensure everyone in town knows exactly what they need to know.” Ginger leaned forward conspiratorially. “So. Dr. Jackson. Want to talk about it?”
And somehow, she did.
The words spilled out—the immediate attraction, the ultrasound appointment, the way he seemed to be fighting himself every time they were in the same room. The kiss in the snow that had felt like something breaking open and the apology afterward that had felt like doors slamming shut.
“He’s terrified,” she finished. “I can see it. But I don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting me or if he’s just using that as an excuse to avoid… whatever this is.”
Ginger was quiet for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “Have you met his Hyde?”
“Not really. I’ve seen his eyes flash green and when we kissed, his hands were different—bigger and stronger. But he was so gentle with me. He didn’t scare me. Neither of them scare me.”
“Then you’ve seen more than most people have.” Ginger refilled their tea. “He keeps that part of himself locked down tight. There are rumors about his father, about something that went wrong, but nobody really knows the details. The doctor has been alone for a long time.”
The other woman’s words only confirmed what she already knew, but it didn’t help. “That’s so sad.”
“It is. And it’s also a choice he’s making.” Ginger’s tone was kind but honest. “You can’t fix that for him, Chloe. He has to decide he’s worth the risk.”
“I know.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the baby shift. “But I keep thinking—what if I could show him he doesn’t have to be afraid? What if there’s something I could do or say that would help him see himself differently?”
“Did you have something in mind?”
“I found a journal by one of his ancestors, his great-grandfather I think, and it talks about finding balance.”
Ginger stood, collecting the empty cups. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do. But if it were me, and I’d found something that might help someone I cared about understand themselves better, I’d probably share it.”
“He might not want to see it.”
“He might not.” Ginger shrugged. “Or he might be grateful that someone cares enough to try. Either way, you’ll know where you stand.”
That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? Right now she existed in this awful limbo of not-knowing. Not knowing if Victor’s apology meantI don’t want youorI want you too much. Not knowing if his distance was protection or rejection. She was tired of not knowing.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the tea and the talk and the advice.”
“Anytime.” Ginger headed for the door, then paused. “Fair warning—if this works out, Flora will take complete credit and probably expect you to name your firstborn after her.”
“Noted.”
After Ginger left, she tried to focus on work. She really did. But her eyes kept drifting to the desk drawer where Thaddeus Jackson’s journal waited. She’d told herself she was keeping it to better understand the historical context of the town, but it was a lie. She’d kept it because it felt important, and because reading Thaddeus’s words had made her understand Victor better.
A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts and made her jump.
“I know you’re brooding in there!” Flora’s voice carried through the door. “I can feel the emotional turmoil from the hallway!”
She couldn’t help but smile as she called, “Come in, Flora.”
The tiny orc female bustled through the door wearing a bright yellow tracksuit with “Cougar” written across the chest in glittery letters. Her white curls bounced as she moved, and her black eyes sparkled with mischief.
