Page 30 of Bear and Book

Each version started with something neat and measured.

An apology with the rough edges smoothed off. Each version ended with my mouth going dry because I couldn’t quite picture his face when I said it.

I’d pulled out one of the shop’s battered wooden chairs and set it in the middle of the floor, away from the counter, away from the stacks of books waiting to be shelved.

A ridiculous attempt to make the conversation feel less cornered. When the bell over the door chimed, I looked up and my carefully rehearsed speech went straight out the window.

Leo filled the doorway like he was sunlight pretending to be a man. Hair messy from the wind, sweater hanging loose at the collar, eyes scanning the room until they locked on me.

When they did, something inside me, that careful fox part that always stayed three steps ahead, stumbled.

“Hey,” Leo said, voice warm. Not cautious yet.

I nodded once, trying for calm. “You came.”

“You asked,” he said simply.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? He always showed up when I asked.

I gestured to the chair. “Sit. Please.”

Leo dropped into it without question, stretching his long legs out in front of him like he owned the space. I stayed standing. Safer that way.

“I owe you an apology,” I began, and my voice was rougher than I’d meant it to be. “The other night, I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“Kissed me?”Leo asked.

His mouth curved slightly, but not in mockery. More like he was testing how far I’d go.

I hesitated. “No. That part wasn’t the mistake.”

Something flickered in his eyes. My fox noticed it first. A quick flare of hope, bright enough to warm the air between us.

“The mistake,” I said, “was pulling away like it didn’t mean anything. It did. I just…” I broke off, pressing my thumb against the edge of the table to keep my hands steady.

“I panicked. I’ve been here before. And last time, it ended in ways I don’t care to repeat,” I finally said.

His brow furrowed slightly, and I could feel him holding back questions. Not pushing. Just giving me room. That was new. That was dangerous.

“Elias,” Leo said quietly, “you don’t have to tell me everything.”

I let out a sharp and humourless laugh.

“Oh, I know. I’ve made a career out of not telling people everything. But you deserve more than me disappearing mid-kiss without an explanation,” I said.

I moved to the counter, needing distance, but my fox stayed keyed on him, ears up, tail twitching.

“The truth is,” I said, “I like you. Too much. And when I like someone, I start thinking about things. Like what happens if they leave, or worse, if they stay. What I’d have to give up to let them in. I’ve built this life so carefully, and I’m not sure it’s meant to hold anyone else.”

Leo didn’t move for a moment. Then, slow as a tide rolling in, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“So, let me get this straight,” Leo said. “You’re worried about letting me in because you like me too much.”

I glared at him, though it lacked heat.

“I’m worried because I know exactly what I stand to lose,” I said.

His gaze held mine. It was steady, warm, infuriatingly certain.