They’re outside near Lacewood, Jack looming behind her while she looks at nothing in particular. He reaches down and rests his hand at her waist, clumsy yet careful all at once. Layla stiffens for half a second, then relaxes.
Just beside her shoe, a closed bud pushes open through the soil.
Jack freezes.
He looks at the flower. Then at her. Then back at the flower.
His grin spreads slowly, it was bright, like he had just learned a fun secret of the world. He leans closer, voice lowered.
“…did you do that?”
Layla doesn’t answer. She only smiles, head facing down.
Jack makes a sharp and delighted laugh once, and keeps his hand right where it is, afraid to break whatever just happened.
Summery ܁ When Layla leaves Jack in charge of Clover for the afternoon, she expects him to follow the list and keep out of trouble. Jack does his best, though the sewing basket beside Layla’s chair proves difficult to ignore. What begins as a careful attempt to win over a rabbit becomes something gentler by the time Layla comes home!!!
Layla left Jack in the front parlor with a folded list in his hand, a small dish of parsley on the table, and Clover settled beneath the round table where she could watch him without coming any closer.
“She has fresh hay in the basket,” Layla said, tying the ribbon of her bonnet beneath her chin. “Her water is full. The little pink ball is her favorite today, though she may change her mind before I return.”
Jack looked down at the rabbit, then back at her. “She has a mood about toys?”
“She is a lady.”
He glanced at Clover again. Her nose moved once, unimpressed. Whatever answer he had been considering seemed to pass through his face and leave without being invited out.
Layla drew on one glove and smoothed the fabric over her wrist. “I will only be gone an hour. Please do not teach her anything strange.”
“Such little faith. I have excellent judgment around small animals.”
Layla came closer and touched his sleeve, light enough that it could have been affection or warning. With her, it was usually both. “No tricks unless she is comfortable. Please do not appear suddenly from anything near her. And if she goes beneath the sofa, let her come out on her own.”
His attention dropped to her hand. For once, the answer took a moment to arrive. “She will be treated as royalty.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” His voice lost some of its bounce there. “Go on. I’ll watch her.”
Layla remained beside him for another second before she bent toward Clover. The rabbit came forward right away, accepting a soft stroke between her ears. “Be sweet, darling.”
Jack made a small sound under his breath.
Layla lifted her head. “That includes both of you.”
He opened the door for her with a wide, bright smile that showed too much teeth, then watched from the threshold while she went down the porch steps with her basket over one arm. The waiting car pulled away a moment later, and the house fell back into its gentle afternoon quiet.
Jack shut the door behind him and found Clover already watching from beneath the table.
“Well,” he said, unfolding the list again, “it appears we have been entrusted with one another.”
Clover hopped toward the pink ball, nudged it with her nose, and immediately turned away.
Jack watched her abandon it. “Cruel. She spoke so highly of that ball.”
The rabbit sniffed along the edge of the rug.
He crouched, keeping a polite distance between them. “I understand. The heart changes. One day it is a ball. The next day it is some tempting little wire under the sofa, or a corner of wallpaper nobody asked you to taste.”
Clover sat back on her haunches.
Jack lowered his voice. “Forget I mentioned wallpaper.”
ㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ㅤ────﹒♡﹒────
For a while, he followed the list closely. He refreshed the hay, moved the water bowl after Clover nosed it too near the rug, and sat cross-legged on the floor while she inspected the cuff of his sleeve like it required her full attention. He had expected her to ignore him. He had also prepared, privately, for a bite. Clover gave him neither of those. She circled him once, sniffed his shoe, and eventually rested near his knee with her paws tucked beneath her.
Jack stayed where he was, one hand resting on the floor, the other holding the list against his knee. He glanced at Clover whenever she moved. She glanced back when she felt like it.
He managed several quiet minutes with the list before he noticed the sewing basket beside Layla’s chair. Clover’s ears lifted when his hand moved toward it.
“No tricks,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on the basket. “She gave no instruction regarding wardrobe.”
He waited another second, then reached for the lace.
By the time Layla returned, the house looked exactly as she had left it, which was always the first thing she checked when Jack had been alone with anything delicate. She came through the front door with grocery bags balanced neatly in both arms, cheeks faintly pink from the weather.
“Jack?”
“In here,” he called from the parlor, a little too quickly.
Layla stopped just inside the hall and set the grocery bags down carefully.
She walked to the parlor doorway and found Clover sitting in the middle of the rug, wearing the tiniest pink headdress Layla had ever seen. A band of soft lace rested between her ears, trimmed with a narrow white edge and finished with a small bow at the front. Clover chewed hay with a calm, important expression, fully at ease with whatever title had been placed upon her.
Jack stood behind the armchair with one hand on the carved wood, trying to look casual and doing a poor job of it.
“Oh,” Layla said, stopping in the doorway. “Clover.”
Clover hopped toward her with the little headdress still neatly in place, and Layla brought both hands to her mouth.
Jack’s shoulders rose slightly, pride leaking through despite his effort to look composed. “She accepted the fitting after some discussion.”
Layla knelt as Clover came close, and the smile she had been trying to hold back finally showed itself. She reached out carefully, waiting until Clover nudged into her hand before stroking between her ears. “My darling, look at you. How precious you are.”
Jack came around the chair, watching Layla’s face more than the rabbit. “It doesn’t pinch. I checked. Twice. She was paid in parsley.”
Layla looked up at him. Her smile had that helpless sweetness he liked too much to comment on wisely. “You made this?”
“I improved some lace that was lying defenseless in a basket.”
“It is beautiful.”
The little boast he had been preparing seemed to leave him. He looked down at Clover and rubbed his thumb against his palm. “She seemed like she needed something to match.”
Layla’s expression changed in a quieter way.
Clover hopped once, then turned just enough to show the side of the headdress. Layla made a delighted sound she clearly had not planned to let out. Jack’s mouth pulled into a satisfied smile before he managed to hide it.
“You like it,” he said.
“I adore it.” Layla reached toward Clover, then waited for the rabbit to come the rest of the way. “I leave you for one hour, and you open a fashion house in my parlor.”
Jack stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. “A difficult client, that one.”
“She looks very pleased with herself.”
“With reason. I did most of the work, and Clover received all the praise.”
Layla laughed before she could answer, and Clover took advantage of the moment by pushing her nose under Layla’s hand for more attention.
Jack watched from near the chair while Layla knelt there in her dress with Clover crowned in lace at her knee. The grocery bags still sat by the hall where she had forgotten them. He kept quiet for once, though his face gave him away badly enough.
Layla rose after another moment and came to him across the rug. Her hand found his sleeve in the same place as before, gentler now. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
Jack looked down at her hand. “She managed herself. I mostly did what I was told.”
“That is usually how rabbits prefer it.”
Clover thumped once from the rug.
Jack looked between them and gave in with a sigh through his nose, crouching to offer Clover a piece of parsley from the dish.
“Very well,” he said, while Clover took the parsley from him and began chewing. “Her Majesty may keep the lace.”
yay!!! you made it to the end of this post, which means you get to see the image that inspired me to write this ❤︎︎!
