Page 18 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

"This little troublemaker is Daisy — no relation to your coworker," he adds with a wink that makes something flutter in Marigold's chest. "She's the ringleader. Aren't you, girl?"

The bunny merely twitches her nose in response, looking utterly unrepentant.

"How do we get them all back?" Marigold asks, watching another rabbit hop boldly past her feet.

"With patience, treats, and a healthy sense of humor," Gus replies, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bag. "Care to help? Bunnies are suckers for dried apple pieces."

He holds out the bag to her, and Marigold notices the striking contrast of his pink hair against his tanned skin. It's a soft shade, like cherry blossoms, stylishly tousled in a way that should look affected but somehow just adds to his genuine charm.

"I've never herded rabbits before," she admits, taking a few dried apple pieces from the offered bag. "I might not be much help."

"Nonsense," Gus says with a laugh that sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. "You were a dancer, right? All about precision and patience. Trust me, that's half the battle with these little guys."

Marigold feels a bloom of warmth in her chest that he knows this about her, that someone has bothered to learn her past even at a smidge.

She used to feel embarrassed or frightened people would go diving into her past to learn all the drama that brought her to these parts, but it looks like everyone simply knew she danced once upon a time as a form of artistry and that’s all they cared about.

She was thankful for that.

She holds out an apple piece, and within seconds, a brown bunny approaches cautiously.

"There you go," Gus encourages his voice a soothing cadence that seems to calm both Marigold and the rabbits. "Low and slow. Let them come to you."

She follows his instructions and soon has two bunnies eating from her palm.

"Now what?" she asks, surprised by her own soft laughter.

"Now," Gus says, producing a small portable pen from where it had been leaning against a nearby fence, "we guide them home. One fluffy fugitive at a time."

Working together, they begin to corral the rabbits, Gus occasionally sharing ridiculous rabbit facts — "Did you know they can't vomit? Terrible party trick" — that had Marigold laughing more freely than she has in months if not years.

"You're a natural," he tells her after she successfully coaxes three bunnies into the pen. His smile is crooked and genuine, pink hair falling across his forehead as he leans down to secure the gate. "Most people get too excited and scare them off."

"Years of stage nerves," she explains, surprised by her willingness to reference her past. "You learn to look calm even when you're not."

"Well, it's working," Gus says, his eyes meeting hers with unexpected warmth. "On the bunnies, I mean. They sense that kind of thing."

There's something unspoken in his gaze that makes Marigold wonder if he's talking about more than just the rabbits — if he too can sense her carefully constructed calm, the tranquility she's been building over her still-healing heart.

The sound of boots crunching across gravel draws their attention, and Marigold looks up to see Meadow approaching, his silhouette backlit by the late afternoon sun.

His steps are measured and unhurried, yet there's an alertness to his posture that reminds her of the vigilant way he surveys his land.

"I see they made a break for it again," Meadow says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he takes in the scene — Flint holding the portable pen, Gus crouched beside a fluffy escapee, and Marigold with a small white rabbit nestled against her chest.

"Third time this month," Gus replies, straightening up with a black bunny secure in his hands. "I swear they're organizing these escapes. I found their tiny revolutionary manifesto written in carrot tops last week."

Flint snorts.

"Says the man who can't keep his own clinic filing system organized."

"Patient records and rabbit revolutions are entirely different domains of expertise," Gus retorts, depositing his captive into the pen with exaggerated ceremony.

Meadow steps closer, and Marigold feels a subtle shift in the air — not tension, but something more like an awareness that passes between the two Alphas.

There's history here. Years of friendship have weathered whatever challenges came their way.

"At least they didn't make it to my vegetable garden this time," Meadow says, reaching out to help secure the pen's gate.

His sleeve pulls back slightly, revealing the strong line of his forearm, and Marigold finds herself unexpectedly tracking the movement.

"Last time, they decimated an entire row of carrots. I think they were sending a message."

"The message being 'your fencing needs work' ?" Flint chimes in.

"The message being 'we prefer farmers who don't play country music to their crops,'" Gus counters with a grin.

Meadow's quiet laugh surprises Marigold, low and genuine.

"The tomatoes appreciate Johnny Cash," he says with conviction.

It strikes her how different this is from the hierarchical posturing she's witnessed among Alphas in the city. These men tease each other freely, their bond evident in every exchanged glance and casual touch.

It feels... safe.

A pack in the truest sense of the word.

"You've got a knack for this," Meadow says suddenly, and Marigold realizes he's addressing her. His eyes — steady and observant — rest briefly on the rabbit still cradled in her arms. "Most newcomers don't have the patience."

She feels a blush rise to her cheeks at the simple compliment.

"They remind me of my younger students," she says softly. "You have to be still to earn their trust."

"Speaking of trust," Gus says, brushing his hands off on his jeans, "I think we've earned ourselves a decent meal after this rescue operation." He turns to Marigold, his expression warm and inviting. "You should join us for dinner. It's pack night — everyone contributes something."

"Oh, I—" she begins, uncertainty momentarily overtaking her.

"Meadow's making his famous honey bread," Gus adds as if this is the most persuasive argument possible.

Meadow shakes his head, but Marigold catches the pleased look that crosses his face.

"It's just bread," he says, but there's pride beneath the modesty.

"It's not 'just' anything," Flint tells Marigold conspiratorially. "Worth staying for, trust me."

The invitation hangs in the air, and Marigold feels something unfurling inside her chest — a cautious opening, like a flower turning toward unexpected sunlight.

The ballet company had called themselves a family, but there had always been an undercurrent of competition, of calculated alliance. This feels different — genuine in a way that makes her throat tighten with emotion.

"I'd like that," she says finally, carefully passing the rabbit she's holding to Meadow. Their fingers brush in the exchange, and the brief contact sends a surprising warmth through her veins. "If you're sure I won't be intruding."

"Pack dinners are open territory," Gus says with an easy smile that somehow makes her believe him. "Besides, anyone who can charm both rabbits and horses in a single day belongs at our table."

"Do I..." Marigold hesitates, smoothing her hands over her work jeans, suddenly aware of hay dust and horse hair clinging to her clothes. "Should I change first?"

August laughs, gesturing to his own dirt-smudged attire.

"We're ranchers, not the Royal Ballet. Come as you are."

The casual reference to her former world doesn't sting as much as it might have even yesterday. Marigold finds herself smiling, a genuine expression that feels foreign but welcome on her face.

"I'll just wash up then," she says.

"Meet us in the main house in twenty?" Meadow suggests, his voice softer than the others, directed just at her. When she nods, he adds, "I can show you the way if you'd like."

"I know where it is," she answers, then hearing the abruptness of her words, adds, "but thank you." The gentleness of his offer makes her pulse quicken in a way she doesn't want to examine too closely.

As they gather the last of the rabbits into their enclosure, Marigold watches the three Alphas move around each other with the easy familiarity of people who truly know and trust one another.

There's none of the dominant posturing she's come to expect, just a simple harmony that makes something in her chest ache with longing.

"See you at dinner, Marigold," Flint calls as he departs with August, the two already engaged in animated conversation about proper rabbit-proofing techniques.

Left alone with Meadow, she feels a flutter of nervous energy.

"Their names — the rabbits —they're all flower names, aren't they?"

Meadow's eyes crinkle at the corners.

"August's idea. He said they matched you."

The comment sends heat rushing to her cheeks.

"I should go clean up," she murmurs, backing away before her scent can betray the confusing mix of emotions swirling inside her.

Walking toward her cabin, Marigold realizes she's looking forward to dinner in a way she hasn't anticipated anything in months.

The thought is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.