Stale.
I tossed the mess into the trash, including the cookies and the expired chips. Then I fished everything out of the cupboard—all the canned goods and pantry staples, organizing them by category and then expiration.
The layout Sloan used for the pantry and kitchen didn't make a bit of sense.
His glasses weren't anywhere near the sink, so I remedied that. The pots and pans were all the way on the other side of the kitchen from the stove, so I fixed that, too.
I didn't mean to sing as I worked, it just happened. There in the kitchen, with the massive vaulted ceilings, the acoustics were spot on. My voice bounced off the walls and filled the kitchen. The high ceilings were incredible, turning my simple song into a sound that wrapped around me like an embrace.
As I sang one of the cover songs for the artist headlining my last tour, I got lost in the music. I swayed to the rhythm, letting it carry me away. The music lifted something inside me, untangling knots that even an organized pantry couldn't fix.
On the lingering echoes of my song, I checked to see if the table might fit against the wall with the window so we could look outside while we ate breakfast instead of into the living room—that would save us from having to stand and drink coffee to look outside.
It took a bit of maneuvering. But, good news, the table fit.
I lifted the binoculars he'd left there by the window. Oh, these had a night vision setting. How bananas was that? Pressing them against my eyelids, it took a moment to adjust to the greenish-black haze of figures.
But then something moved, and my heart rate ticked up as the bushes rustled. I squinted. Whatever creature this was, it wasn't a bug.
I seriously hoped they didn't have bugs that big here, anyway.
I scanned the yard, stopping at trash cans near where the rustling had happened, and there was movement. Holy crap, too big to be a deer. Here's the thing: Even though I was a city girl, I was pretty sure that was a bear.
I screeched a sound that wasn't quite a scream, but also not nothing either.
And the bear was outside.
I was inside.
But with the binoculars, it felt like we were both inside. This was the only reason I backed up and hit my hip on the edge of the table. This wouldn't have happened if I'd left it where it'd been.
When I took out my hip on the edge of the table, I swear the bear looked up. If it weren't so dark, we would've made eye contact.
This time, I did scream. I wasn't proud of it, but it happened.
The bear seemed to freeze in place. I dropped the binoculars to the table—thank goodness it was right there?—
"Sloan!" I yelled. "Sloan!"
He didn't come immediately, so I started up the stairs to find him, still calling for him the entire way. He met me at the top of the stairs in nothing but a pair of boxers and socks.
The guy either wore socks after sex, or he put them on to come save me—either way, I wasn't so sure about that.
"There is a bear. There is a bear." I pointed in the general direction of the backyard. "There i-i-i-s a bear. I think it was a black bear, but it's night, so maybe it's brown. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a polar bear since we're not in the Arctic."
The blinking thing he did was kinda cute if there hadn’t been a bear ready to come at us through the kitchen window.
"Is it in the house?" He looked behind me, apparently not too concerned about Mr. Bear.
"No." I shook my head. "Why would it be in the house?"
"Then he's where he's supposed to be," he said, still groggy. "The guys probably didn't tie down the trash can lids. It happens."
"Are you kidding me right now?" I asked. "There's a bear, Sloan. It's a bear."
"Let me look." He scratched at his jaw as he moved past me to the kitchen.
I should've explained what had happened in there, since I was still mid-rearranging and at the part where everything looked worse than it was, with the contents of the cabinets spread over the counters and such.
