Page 9 of Bear and Book

Didn’t even protest when I dragged in the big fan from my truck and set it up in the back room to start drying things out.

By the time we finished clearing the worst of the water, I was still bouncing on my feet, ready to do more. He looked like he was one sigh away from throwing a first edition at my head.

“You don’t have to stay,” Elias said, tone like gravel dragged over asphalt. “You’ve done enough.”

I looked around the shop. The books were still stacked in uneven towers on every surface.

The front counter smelled faintly like damp coffee grounds, and the duct tape I’d used to patch the window was doing its best impression of a real repair job.

Everything was wet, worn, a little rough around the edges. Kind of like him.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of cozy now,” I said, smiling. “Like a soggy Hobbit hole.”

Elias gave me a flat look. “Flattering.”

I shrugged, unfazed. “What can I say? I like helping. Makes me feel useful.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just crossed his arms over his chest and looked me over like I was a puzzle he didn’t ask for and wasn’t in the mood to solve.

I probably didn’t help, standing there dripping, still smiling, still tracking in a little mud even though I’d wiped my boots three times.

“You ever not smile?” he asked, brow arching.

“Sure,” I said. “When someone eats the last cinnamon roll. Or I stub my toe. Or when a book gets ruined.”

I nodded toward the drying stack of paperbacks by the window. My smile dipped, just for a second. “I hate seeing books hurt,” I added.

That last bit landed. His eyes narrowed slightly, like I’d said something he wasn’t expecting. Like maybe, for a moment, I’d turned from noise into something worth listening to.

“You really love books?” Elias asked, his voice a little softer now, a little rougher too. Like the question cost him something to ask.

I nodded. “Yeah. My sister used to read to me when I was little, when I couldn’t sleep. Stuff like The Hobbit, Winnie the Pooh, those old werebear fairy tales about mountains and moonlight and brave cubs finding their way home. I wasn’t the smartest kid growing up. Loud, awkward, always had too much energy. But stories made me feel like I could be something else. Like the world was bigger than I was. And somehow, there was still a place in it for me.”

Silence. Just the faint drip of water somewhere behind the shelves and the hush of wind pressing against the windowpanes.

Elias stared at me. Really stared. Like he was trying to memorize the lines of my face and still couldn’t make sense of them.

“I—” Elias started, then stopped.

I tilted my head. “Yeah?”

He shook it off. “You’re grinning again,” he muttered instead.

I grinned wider. “I know. It’s kind of my thing.”

Elias huffed out a sigh and turned away, but not before I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Not a smile. Not quite. But close enough.

“Stop grinning. And mind the first editions,” he added over his shoulder.

I gave him a two-finger salute. “Yes, boss.”

That got a real eye roll. Maybe even a small smirk. Progress.

I bent to adjust one of the boxes we’d moved earlier, making sure it was away from the draft near the door, and peeked over at him.

Elias was wiping down a shelf that didn’t need cleaning anymore, movements a little too brisk, like he was trying not to think too hard. I could feel it. The potential bond.

It didn’t hit me like lightning. It was more like warmth blooming in my chest, something familiar and ancient clicking into place. Fate.