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play.”
    He scrabbled as Flossie stalked him and everyone offered advice he gave no sign of hearing.
    “Stand up, if you want her to keep off you.”
    “Give her that phone. That’s all she wants, and you’ll just get brain cancer from it. I read this article—”
    “—not supposed to be on the porch. That ranger will have a fit if he knows she’s been up here again, and he’ll give us all a lecture about—”
    “—throw your arms around her neck, she’ll give you a ride on her back.”
    “See if you can make the music again.” This from Don. “I bet she’ll smile for you.”
    Roman crab-crawled backward another few feet, launched himself to standing, and flung his phone at the alligator’s head.
    It hit her squarely between the eyes.
    She blinked.
    Ashley leaned over, grabbed a beach ball from beneath the porch, and waved it at the alligator. “Flossie?” she called. “You want to play, baby girl?”
    Flossie tracked the ball with her head. Ashley tossed it onto the lawn, where it rolled downhill and into the swamp.
    The alligator turned slowly and lumbered down the steps after it.
    Ashley dared a glance at Roman. He’d planted his hands on his hips, spreading his suit jacket and revealing his half-untucked shirt, more open than usual at the collar. A button must have lost traction.
    His color was high, his chest rapidly rising and falling.
    Their eyes locked, and everything he felt seemed to pound inside her. His fury. His humiliation. All the chemicals in his bloodstream wordlessly dumped into hers, and she thought he might do anything next—bellow, or kick the picnic table, or tell everyone on the porch off at once, inventing swearwords Ashley had never heard before. Poisonous, taboo words to match his eyes and the tattoo of his heart.
    He raised his hands, as though he were about to grab her and … and—she didn’t know what. She didn’t know, but the possibility was electrifying. Just to see Roman lose it so completely. To see him prove he was alive , as vulnerable and stupid and prone to emotional storm surges as she was.
    “A ball?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but he couldn’t control the rising pitch. The crack in it. “You threw the alligator a fucking ball ?”
    “She likes to play fetch.”
    Roman pointed across the porch at Kirk. “ He said Flossie was wild. That they’re not allowed to tame her because she lives in the refuge.”
    Ashley raised one shoulder, then let it drop. “They’re not supposed to. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t.”
    “So I was never in any danger.”
    “Of course not.”
    She watched the knowledge soak in. Watched him pull his dignity back on. Tuck in his shirt. “You were all laughing at me.” He said it quietly.
    “No, Roman—”
    “Did you enjoy that, Ashley? Was it as good as the drum circle, seeing the uptight Miami guy lose his shit over a pet alligator?”
    “God, Roman, no. I wouldn’t do that. Listen, the thing about Flossie is, we all kind of forget that she’s an alligator, because she’s—”
    He wasn’t listening. He’d blanked his face, turned his back, and as she spoke, he slid open the door and disappeared inside the dining hall.
    “Damn it,” Ashley said.
    “He really doesn’t like alligators,” Don said helplessly.
    “No one likes alligators, Don,” Ashley said. “They kill people.”
    “Not Flossie, though.”
    “No. Not Flossie.”
    Roman didn’t know Flossie—hadn’t grown up visiting the commune, seeing the animal gain length and weight but never fearing her because she was Flossie , the eight-inch-long baby who’d been stranded on the lawn after a bad storm, and who’d taken to the commune residents as much as they took to her.
    Roman saw her for what she was. Hundreds of pounds of teeth and muscle, born to stalk and kill.
    “Bet he has nightmares about gators for a year,” Mitzi said at her elbow.
    “Would you blame him?”
    Mitzi gripped Ashley’s biceps and gave her arm a shake.