Page 3 of Bear and Book

Cassian, over by the sink, let out an audible groan and rolled his eyes so hard I was pretty sure he saw his past lives flash by.

Beau chuckled under his breath, that warm kind of laugh that meant he was trying not to smile too wide.

“Alright, alright. You’re on the list. You might be assigned to help some local shops if things get messy,” Beau said.

“Do I get to pick which ones?” I asked, only half-joking.

There were some places in town I liked more than others.

And I wouldn’t say no to being assigned to the little bookstore near Pine Street. I’d never been inside, but the front window always had the coziest-looking displays.

“Nope. Go where you’re needed,” Beau said firmly, slipping right back into Alpha mode.

Fair enough. I could do that.

Still, something flickered under my skin, like a buzz of excitement just beneath the surface. I liked helping. I liked being useful.

There was something deeply satisfying about putting your body to work and knowing it mattered. And a storm? That meant people would need warm hands and strong backs.

I had both. In spades, but it wasn’t just that.

My bear stirred, pacing. Not restless, exactly, but alert. Like it had heard a far-off sound I couldn’t. Like it could smell something on the wind that hadn’t quite arrived.

I paused, frowning slightly as I wiped my palms on my apron.

Maybe it was just nerves. Storms always made folks feel a little jittery. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe, maybe fate was on the move.

I couldn’t explain it, not even to myself, but something told me today wasn’t going to be just another storm. Something was coming. Or someone.

* * *

The storm rolled in fast.

One moment, the clouds were just hanging low and heavy over Sugarpaw Springs, and the next, the sky cracked open like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

Rain poured in sheets, thick and relentless, the kind that made you feel like you were underwater even when you were standing on the porch.

The wind howled through the trees like a living thing, and thunder shook the walls of Bear and Bun so hard that one of the cinnamon bun displays tipped over.

We fixed it, of course. We always fixed things. By the next morning, the worst had passed. The rain eased to a drizzle, but the damage had already been done.

Sugarpaw Springs looked like it had gotten into a wrestling match with Mother Nature and come out a little bruised.

Streets were lined with debris. Gutters overflowed. The little flower shop down the road had water all over its floor.

A few homes had roof leaks, and one of the old shops near the square had its front window cracked straight down the middle like a spiderweb. And still people came out.

Boots splashed through puddles. Kids with umbrellas too big for their heads helped haul sandbags.

Bears and wolves moved through the streets with practiced efficiency, checking in on residents and passing out dry blankets.

The whole town buzzed with energy, that special kind of electricity that only happened when everyone pulled together after something hard.

We bears were right in the middle of it. I was elbow-deep in hauling broken tree limbs off a sidewalk when I looked up and realized something.

People were watching me and not with suspicion or nervous glances like they had when we first opened up shop, but with open smiles.

A woman brought me a thermos of hot tea and thanked me for helping. A teenage boy asked if I could carry a box of canned food to his grandma’s store.