Chapter 11
OLLIE
The more I learned about Blake, the more I adored him. Like the fixer-uppers I most enjoyed restoring to their former glory, he had a rustic charm.
In some places, his patina was a little tarnished, like when he yelled at our flight attendant, but he'd been perfectly charming with everyone else since we'd arrived at the lodge.
Granted, I didn't see his original interaction with Branson, but the front desk clerk hadn't hung up on me the moment I called him about our shared cabin situation, and he met us both with the same open charm each time we passed the desk.
That was enough to assume Blake hadn't flipped out on him, yet.
It was wrong of me to feel a teensy bit satisfied whenever Blake seemed jealous of the way Branson looked at me, but I couldn't help it. Blake didn't know it yet, but he was already exhibiting signs of being my mate. My bear was overjoyed.
My bear didn't understand when I left the cabin, and he really didn't understand why I ran to the bedroom to step into a pair of boxers before saying hello when we returned.
"Hey," I said from the hallway.
Blake sat on the loveseat with his back to me. From the way his head bent toward his paper, he was writing.
"Oh, hey." He pointed to the seat next to him, where his legs were propped up. "I got you a little something for Christmas."
"You … what?" I hadn't expected a gift from a guy I just met, even if we were fated mates.
"You got me notebooks, so I thought it was only fair."
I frowned. "I bought the notebooks because I ruined the one you brought with you."
He held it up, so I could see he was still using the "ruined" notebook.
I was going to take a shower, since I smelled like a bear in the woods, but I noticed the flash of pain in his gaze before I stepped into the bathroom. After depositing my toiletry bag and clean clothes on the sink counter, I returned to the main room.
The look of pure joy on Blake's face was worth it. I scooped up the little roll of paper towel tied with red ribbon at both ends. "What is it?"
"Open it!"
I tugged off the ribbons, and Blake squealed. "Carefully!"
I tapped one end of the paper and cupped my hand beneath the opening at the bottom. A crystal figurine dropped onto my palm.
It was a bear. Probably a polar bear, but it had a shoulder hump more like mine than a grizzly's. "Thank you!"
"Thank you for the notebooks." He grinned. "I really like them."
"You haven't used them yet." He still held the one he'd taped back together in his hand.
"I have." He opened the cover of the small gray spiral notebook to show me the list of "Things to do when I get back to Chicago.
" He'd already filled the first page. Then, he flipped open the purple notebook.
The paper was still pristine white with thin blue lines, but the inside front cover had a stamped "Return to owner" box where Blake had jotted his name and address.
Beneath that, in the same neat handwriting, it said, "Christmas present from Ollie Beaman," above the year.
"I was hoping you'd sign it, so I have proof this vacation really happened when we return home."
"Give it here." I set the figurine on the loveseat cushion and held out my left hand. He dropped the open notebook into it and tucked the pen into my right hand.
I signed it above my name. Beneath the date, I wrote, "Merry Christmas, Mate!" I included a little drawing of a bear, which wasn't much more than a smiley face with a long nose and some hair sticking up between two rounded ears. I was no artist, but I wanted Blake to remember me, too.
I tried to inhale through the sharp pain in my chest, but my breath caught in my throat.
Blake was my mate, and I was already falling hard and fast for him.
If he needed space, I would give it to him, but it already hurt to give him a few miles of space.
What would happen when we returned to Chicago, and we had an entire city between us?
Trying my best to smile, I returned the notebook. I scooped up my figurine and cradled it to my chest. The ache subsided, if only a little. "Thanks for this."
"You're welcome." When he smiled, his eyes narrowed to slits, like an anime character's. I wanted to lean forward and kiss them both all the way closed, but I resisted. The shower was a much safer place for a horny bear to be while giving his human mate some space.
"Merry Christmas!"
I'd texted my mom first thing in the morning, before I succumbed to the delicious smells from the kitchen. Hours later, I stared at my phone screen, willing a text to pop up, but nothing happened.
It was possible she was too busy making cinnamon rolls, or too far gone on my eldest little brother's mimosas.
More likely, she was ignoring me. Instead of calling or face timing, I turned my phone off and tucked it back in my pocket.
That would keep me from constantly checking it and ruining Christmas with Blake.
Among the Christmas decorations in the general store, my human mate found a 500-piece puzzle of a cabin much like ours with a full-sized Christmas tree by the fireplace. When we spread it out on the countertop where we ate, it soon became obvious it would take up the entire space until we finished.
Blake was a wiz, while I kept trying to cram together pieces that didn't fit. He only laughed and took the pieces from me, fitting them into the right slots.
"You're really good at this," I said when I caught myself staring at him so long my eyes were dry.
"This was our Christmas Day activity every year.
" His lips thinned to a line. "My parents loved puzzles.
We'd spend the entire week between Christmas and New Year's completing all the ones we got each other.
" He sighed. "I should have sent my sister a puzzle.
I'm the worst big brother in the world. I got her a gift card instead. "
"Have you called her?"
He shook his head. "I texted her to ask if she wanted to talk, but I haven't heard back. Have you called your family?"
I shook my head. "Too scared."
He frowned. "Are they abusive?"
"No! Nothing like that. They'll be disappointed because I'm not there with them."
"You could tell them you met your mate." He smirked. "That might make the whole 'vacation away from your family holiday' worth it."
"You'd be okay with that?" I asked. "The moment I tell them, they'll want to meet you."
Instead of looking terrified, he grinned. "I'd love to meet them. I'll offer my delegation services to your mom."
"Your what now?"
"I'm really good at delegating tasks and assigning work. It's the reason I keep applying for the supervisor position. Everyone tells me I'd be great at it."
"Then why aren't you a supervisor?"
He folded his arms on top of the completed line of puzzle pieces and sighed into them. "Time management. I spend too long on my own tasks. It's happening here, too. I should have a completed five-year plan for overcoming my grief. Instead, I've filled six pages with entitled complaints."
"You're too hard on yourself." I patted his shoulder. "You work in a call center, right?"
He nodded, and his gelled hair rasped against his sleeves.
"Do you hang up on customers?"
"Never!"
"Fail to follow up with them?"
"No."
I didn't know much about service center work, but I remembered my biggest grievance with the cable company had been when I'd had to call three or four times to cancel when I moved. Each time, there was no record of my previous calls.
"Do you document the calls so the next person knows what you discussed?"
"Always." He laughed. "One of my new hire classmates is in quality control now, and she says, 'Doc it or die.
' She threatened me with a plastic knife in the break room after she heard me end a call and leave my desk to grab my lunch from the refrigerator.
" He looked up at me, resting his chin on his arms. "It was past my time to log out for lunch, so I sat at my desk and documented the call while I snacked on a handful of almonds.
It's not the most sanitary place to eat, but they don't give us enough time to meet our customers' needs.
Either I go over on the call or I take too long afterward. "
"Sounds stressful." I hated that for him.
"It's the worst. Being a supervisor isn't much better. We're supposed to listen to five calls a week for each of twenty team members and meet with them biweekly to review those calls and the ones our quality team reviewed."
"That seems excessive."
"Not to mention the daily huddles and monthly team meetings. It's a lot." He dropped his head back onto his arms.
"Do you even want a supervisor position?" I asked.
"No, but it's the next step up. It's what my parents would have wanted for me. 'Climb the corporate ladder, Son.' My dad was regional director at a tire company."
I leaned forward, scattering some puzzle pieces as I rested my elbows on the countertop. Gently, I pushed Blake's hair back from his forehead, still planted on his arms, and massaged his scalp with both hands.
"That feels so good," he mumbled.
"I have a new assignment for you in those notebooks of yours," I said.
"I'll do anything if you keep rubbing my head like that."
"Make a list of things you like to do. On the last day of our vacation, we'll review them together." I didn't want him to work his way up in a career he disliked, only to please two people who had already left this world.
"What do you think happens when we die?" I asked, hoping I wasn't overstepping. Grief was a slippery eel, sometimes sliding away into dark waters, and other times shocking the hell out of us with no warning.
"I'd like to think we can find our loved ones who are still alive," he said. "Look down on them and see if they're happy."
"What would your parents see right now?"
"They'd see a sexy bear shifter rubbing the back of my head, and me enjoying it."
I laughed. "Okay, besides that."
"They'd see I'm miserable without them." He lifted his head to meet my gaze. "They'd want me to be happy."
I nodded. "So do I."
"Same. Your list will be the first pages of my purple notebook. Seems fitting, since that's the one you signed for me."
I grinned. "I like that idea."
My bear didn't understand why Blake needed to make lists, and he would rather eat the notebook and pen than use them. He wanted Blake to be happy, though, and I reassured him this would help.