Page 21 of Bear and Book

His eyes flicked to me. “Oh?”

“I left my clan,” I said slowly. “Left my mom and my sister, too. My bear was volatile. Too much for the clan to deal with. Too much for me to deal with sometimes, if I’m honest. I kept messing up, losing my temper, making things harder for everyone.”

“That doesn’t sound like the you I know,” he said, almost before he could stop himself.

I smiled faintly. “That’s because the me you know is different. Or at least the me I’ve worked hard to be. But back then? I was just angry. At everything. At myself most of all. Eventually, I figured they were better off without me.”

Elias didn’t say anything right away, but the way he watched me told me he was really listening.

“The guys from Bear and Bun they’re my family now,” I went on. “Cassian, Dorian, Beau, Rafael and Sean. We’ve all got our rough edges, but we make it work. They gave me a place to belong again. Gave me something good to build on.”

There was a long moment where neither of us spoke. Just the faint sounds of the street outside, the tick of the wall clock, and the smell of butter from the croissants lingering in the air.

“You seem like you’ve built something here, too,” I said finally, nodding toward the rows of books. “It’s not rare book auctions, but it’s yours.”

His expression softened, but only for a heartbeat. Then he looked away, as if it was dangerous to let me see too much. “Maybe.”

We worked in silence for a while after that, but it wasn’t heavy.

Every so often, I’d catch him glancing over, like he was checking to make sure I wasn’t about to knock over a stack of encyclopedias or drill through the wrong part of a shelf.

At one point, I pretended to study a particularly crooked bracket just so I could keep him in my peripheral vision.

He had this way of moving, a kind of quiet grace I didn’t think he was even aware of.

By the time we’d finished the coffee and most of the croissants, the shop looked a little less like a storm-damaged relic and a little more like a place people might actually browse without fear of a shelf collapse.

I wiped my hands on a rag, surveying our work.

“Not bad. I’d say we’re at least eighty percent less likely to get sued if a customer sneezes near the travel section,” I said.

That earned me the faintest huff of a laugh.

“High praise,” Elias said.

We didn’t talk about Jason again. We didn’t talk about my clan either. But it felt like we’d shared something that was going to stick .

Like the air between us had shifted, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.

I caught myself thinking about what it might be like to have more mornings like these and realized I wanted more of them.

* * *

ELIAS

The bell over the door gave its tired little jingle as I stepped inside the next morning.

The shop smelled faintly of butter and coffee, which was ridiculous because I’d taken the empty bag home yesterday and tossed it in the bin.

My mind was playing tricks, holding onto scraps of scent like a dog with a bone. I shook it off and went about my usual routine.

I opened the blinds, flipped the sign to closed until I finished the morning’s sorting, stacking a new pile of donations on the counter for later.

But my ears kept straining for a sound that wasn’t there.

No deep, easy baritone humming under his breath. No clatter of tools. No good-natured grumbling when he nicked his knuckle on a nail. Just silence.

Leo had done his good deed, and now he’d probably moved on to someone else who needed rescuing. I told myself this was a good thing.