I mean, I had to turn them down.
Of course, I did.
I could absolutely see that kind of setup working for my two young daughters, who deserved triple the love.
But I hadn’t lied about being a mess. I was obviously not in the place to date—much less pretend to be whatever version of a woman three different guys would want.
A huge sense of relief washed over me when they didn’t follow me into the house.
Though I do have to admit to feeling more than a bit like Goldilocks when I found a plate of food waiting on top of a warming pad on the kitchen counter.
It was just right.
I ate the shockingly tasty breakfast standing up. Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and these flat, round bread circles that turned out to be nothing short of heaven when I spread butter and Canadian Best raspberry jam over them.
I’d visited Holly in Vancouver enough times to know that Barrington’s was Canada’s version of Cal-Mart. And that Canada Best was the brand name they used for all their generic versions of common staples. But the jar of jam appeared to be freshly purchased, room temp with only a little of its contents scooped out.
And when I opened the fridge to put it in there, I found it nearly full, with a clear carton of brown eggs, a brick of butter, fresh vegetables, yogurt cups, hummus, sandwich fixings, milk—basically, all the staples someone would need to stay for a while.
Which I guessed I was doing. A strange panic gripped my heart at just the thought of going to see my daughters, even though I loved them more than anything.
Still, the guilty feelings around someone—probably that Ravik guy—having made a Barrington’s run while I was sleeping twisted around in my chest.
I didn’t deserve it.
I closed the refrigerator door, regrets banging in my head louder than the angle grinder I’d used while roughing out the form of that never-finished Prince statue.
But for the first time in months, I didn’t feel tired or broken down. So, I used the energy to explore the rest of the house, even though it was freezing cold upstairs away from the warm fire someone—again, probably that Ravik guy—had left burning in the fireplace.
At the top of the steps, I found a hallway with two doors on either side of it.
Behind the first door I opened, a canvas duffel bag with the name BOONE written across it in huge reflective yellow letters sat unzipped on top of a large unmade bed. The arms and legs of various pieces of clothing hung out. Like he’d rooted through it for the sweats he… ah… was wearing before he transformed into a polar bear.
My cheeks heated at the memory of him stripping naked outside, those Herculean muscles glistening underneath the bright morning sun.
Was his being a polar bear—not steroids—why he was in such great shape at his age?
“Don’t be alarmed… I’m real strong for reasons I’ll tell you about later.”
The earlier memory of what he’d said before freeing me from those handcuffs floated through my mind—but then I cleared it away with a shake of my head and a reminder that this trip upstairs was only supposed to be a quick peek around, not an invitation to get curious about the three bears who had deluded themselves into thinking I was any kind of potential mate for them.
I quickly closed Boone’s door to move on to the second of the four doors.
It led into another sloped-ceiling bedroom. This one featured a built-in desk positioned beneath a large window that overlooked pine trees beyond. Natural light spilled across the workspace where an old, bulky laptop sat open. It was grayish white with COMPAQ written beneath its black screen—a company I was pretty sure had gone defunct decades ago. Next to it sat a neat stack of essays marked up in red pen.
The room also had a large bed. But this one had a supple leather overnight bag sitting on a bench at its foot. Zipped up. Like a secret.
I guessed this was Zion’s room, and that he must have some kind of job. Maybe teaching? I could imagine him sitting there grading papers with that view. I stopped short of actually stepping a foot inside the room to look through the paper stack or unzip his bag. But him being a teacher would explain his handsome professor-without-glasses vibe.
The first door I opened on the other side of the hallway revealed the third bedroom. By this point, I wasn’t surprised to find that Ravik had taken up residence there.
But I was a little shocked to see a bunk set—and how neat it was. Both twin beds were made with tucked-in hospital corners, and unlike the first two bedrooms, every surface was dust-free. If not for that obvious cleaning job and the zipped duffel with RCMP stamped across it tucked under the bottom bunk, I wouldn’t have even known someone was actually living in this room.
I closed the door with that strange Goldilocks feeling and chewed on my bottom lip before opening the fourth door.
This one revealed a bathroom that they all must have had to share this morning. I spotted three sets of toiletries. Boone’splastic freezer bag with only a stick of deodorant, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a jar of lip ointment in it.
On the opposite side of the sink, a wooden soap dish, razor, electric toothbrush, and mouthwash were lined up in a neat row.
