Page 12 of Craving Carla

He stands upright, clearly agitated. “And it’s fucked up because you’ve gone out of your way to make sure the borders are protected, and this is the thanks you get for it.”

I stare at him, stunned. Someone is actually defending me. Someone sees the work I do, the sacrifices I make, and appreciates it. The feeling is so foreign I’m not sure how to respond.

“Sorry,” he mutters, grabbing my empty glass and tossing it into the bus bin. “I just get worked up about how I see the way people treat you here. Humans and supernaturals. It’s not fair.”

“Thanks, Ackley,” I manage to say. “Just when I feel like giving up and going back into the shadows, I know I’ve got a friend here who appreciates me and enjoys my company.”

He furrows his brow, giving me a playful narrow-eyed look. “Still calling me a friend, huh?”

There’s that teasing tone again, more pronounced now. My heart starts beating faster, though I’m not sure why. Ackley takes a nervous breath, running his hand over his shirt in a gesture I recognize as anxiety.

“I’m just going to come out and say it,” he says, his voice slightly shaky, “and if you turn me down, then at least I can say I tried.”

My eyes widen. This conversation has taken a turn I didn’t see coming.

“Look, Carla, I think you’re beautiful.” The words fall from his lips like he’s releasing a held breath. “And I know you somehow don’t have the fated scent. I’ve heard the rumors from supernaturals around town.”

I frown at the mention of gossip about my lack of a fated mate. It’s not exactly a secret, but hearing it discussed casually by other stings.

“But I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “And the only woman who doesn’t look at me like I’m insane because I love arachnids.”

I swallow hard, staring into his earnest brown eyes. Beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful. When was the last time anyone called me beautiful? When was the first time?

“I know we’ve just been friends for the past year, but I was hoping...” He pauses, losing some of his nerve. I can see the moment doubt creeps in, the way his confidence wavers.

“Yes!” I blurt out, surprising us both.

The word escapes before I’ve fully processed what he’s asking, but I don’t take it back. He’s showing me more romantic interest than anyone ever has. He doesn’t freak out about my children, doesn’t look at me like I’m some kind of walking nightmare. Maybe I’m not attracted to him in that earth-shattering, fated-mate way, but he’s kind, he accepts me, and right now, that feels like more than I ever dared hope for.

Ackley’s face transforms, his nervous smile becoming radiant. He holds up a finger, then practically sprints to the other end of the bar. I watch, bemused, as he ducks down and retrieves a bouquet of red roses from underneath the counter.

He runs back over, slightly out of breath, and presents them to me with a flourish. “I was going to give them to you even if you said no.”

The roses are perfect—deep red petals soft to the touch, with stems cut precisely to the same length. They’re fresh, recently picked, and the scent hits me as I bring them closer to my face. It’s a complex fragrance—sweet and floral with hints of honey and morning dew, undercut by the green smell of the stems and leaves. There’s something almost spicy about roses too, a warmth that complements the sweetness.

“They’re beautiful,” I tell him, and I mean it. No one has ever given me flowers before. This simple gesture feels monumentally significant.

“It could be somewhere here on the tourist island,” he says, his words speeding up with excitement. “Or we can go somewhere closer to the border. You don’t exactly scream supernatural—you look pretty human, so no one will really notice you unless—” he grins, “one of your kids decides to make an appearance. We could pick a spot far enough that the humans wouldn’t know you work here as a deputy.”

The mention of my children going on the date with us makes me wince internally. “I’ll keep them away,” I say quickly.

The last thing I want is Moria or any of the others deciding to investigate my first date. They’re protective to a fault, and they still don’t entirely trust humans. Ackley has won some approval by how well he treats his pet tarantulas, but a date? That’s uncharted territory.

“Awesome! I’ll plan the date. How does this Friday sound?”

Friday. In just five days, I’ll be going on my first date. The concept feels surreal.

“I’m supposed to work with someone this week to help make better security on the border,” I tell him, remembering Damon’s cryptic promise about introducing me to someone who could help. “But let me talk to Kade. I’m sure she can take over for one night. Can I meet you at the border?”

“Yes, whatever makes you comfortable,” he says, his grin widening. “Thank you, Carla. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

He’s thanking me. Me. The woman nobody wants around, whose very presence makes people uncomfortable. He’s grateful that I said yes to a date, when I should be the one thanking him for seeing something worthwhile in me.

I slide off the barstool, clutching the roses to my chest. The petals are soft against my jacket, and the thorns are carefully trimmed so they won’t catch on the fabric. He put thought into this—into me.

“I gotta go,” I say, burying my nose in the roses again. “They’re probably waiting on me. It was just supposed to be a quick patrol walk to get out of the station for a bit.”

“See you Friday,” he says, and there’s so much promise in those three words.