“Okay.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I hear her footsteps retreat down the hallway. The soft click of the guest room door closing.
And then I’m alone in my kitchen, hands braced on the edge of the sink, staring at the dishes like they’ve personally offended me.
What the hell just happened?
I grab the sponge and start scrubbing. The plate first, then the utensils, then the pots and pans she used to cook. The water is hot enough to sting, but I don’t care. I need something to do with my hands. Something to focus on besides the woman sleeping thirty feet away.
She cooked me dinner. She researched bear shifters so she could do it right.
She’s not looking for a man.
Good. I’m not looking for a woman.
Liar, my bear growls.Liar liar liar.
I ignore him and keep scrubbing.
When the dishes are done, I dry them and put them away. Then I wipe down the counters. Sweep the floor. Mop up a spot I missed earlier. I clean the kitchen until it’s spotless, until there’s nothing left to do, until I’ve run out of excuses to stay out here.
This is what I’m paying her for. This is literally her job.
And I’m doing it myself because the thought of her cleaning up after me creates an uncomfortable pressure. A feeling I don’t want to name.
I hang up the dish towel and stand in the middle of my pristine kitchen, listening to the storm rage outside.
Three days. Maybe more, if the snow keeps up.
Three days of her in my space. Her curves, her fire, her perfectly cooked steaks.
Three days of pretending I’m not attracted to her. Pretending my bear isn’t howling for her. Pretending I don’t want to break down her door and show her exactly what kind of man I am.
I turn off the lights and head for my bedroom.
This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.
8
IMANI
Iwake up to silence.
The storm must have calmed down overnight, because the wind isn’t rattling the windows anymore. The room is filled with pale gray light from the frost-covered windows, and for a moment I just lie there, wrapped in blankets, trying to remember where I am.
Tolin’s cabin. Right.
The grumpy bear shifter who did my dishes.
I sit up slowly, pushing hair out of my face. My curls have gone completely wild overnight, springing in every direction like they’re trying to escape my head. I grab an elastic from my toiletry bag and wrestle them into a bun that I know won’t last more than an hour.
The cabin is quiet as I tiptoe down the hallway in my socks. No sound of movement. No sign of Tolin.
But when I step into the kitchen, I freeze.
