TOLIN
She’s gone back to her room, but I can still feel her presence in the kitchen. Still smell the faint trace of her scent—brown sugar and vanilla and that floral undertone that makes my bear want to roll around in it like a damn fool.
I stand at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes, replaying everything she told me.
Darnell.
Five years. Five years she gave that man. Helped him get his degree, his job, his car, his house. Built him up piece by piece while he was planning a future with someone else.
Married within a month.
I’m squeezing the plate so hard the ceramic groans. I force myself to loosen my grip before it shatters.
My bear wants blood. Wants to track this Darnell down and show him exactly what happens to men who treat women like stepping stones. I imagine the look on his face when a seven-foot bear shifter shows up at his door. Imagine the sound he’d make when I?—
I set the plate down carefully and grip the edge of the sink.
That’s not productive. And honestly, as much as I want to murder him, there’s another feeling underneath the rage.
Gratitude.
That piece of shit broke her heart. He made her think she wasn’t enough. He sent her running from whatever city she came from, looking for a fresh start.
And she ended up here. Shadow Wolf Creek. My cabin. My life.
His loss brought her to me.
I don’t know whether to thank him or kill him. Maybe both.
I finish the dishes and dry my hands, staring out the window at the snow still falling. My mind keeps circling back to everything she said.
The green velvet chair. Four hundred and forty-nine dollars. She’s been counting every shift, every tip, every penny toward that one piece of furniture.
She wants a home. A real home. Something that’s completely hers.
My bear chuffs with contentment. Our mate wants a home? We’ll give her one. We’ll give her ten if she wants them. We’ll fill every room with whatever she desires, buy her a hundred green velvet chairs, make sure she never has to count pennies again.
She thinks she gave up on love. But I heard what she really wants, underneath all that armor she’s built.
She wants the home. The family. The man who chooses her.
She’s going to get all of it. From me.
The grumpy bear shifter who made her cry. Themonster who crushed her phone and ripped off her car door.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life making that up to her. And she’s never going to feel like a stepping stone again.
Hours pass.
I chop wood until my arms ache. Stack it by the back door. Pace the cabin. Try to read a book and give up after the same paragraph three times.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop listening for the sound of her door opening.
Is she regretting what she told me? Is she in there right now, building those walls back up? Did I push too hard, ask too much, scare her back into hiding?
The afternoon light is starting to fade when I finally hear it.
Footsteps in the hallway.
