Chapter 5
FIVE
Lark
I spend way too long getting ready for dinner. I don’t know why I’m this nervous. It’s just dinner—my second in as many days with a ridiculously handsome, kind, wilderness barbecue dream of a man who makes my insides do somersaults. No big deal.
I don’t have many clothes to work with—I only brought one bag for my week-long escape. A few outfits. A pair of flats. Two dresses I packed at the last minute in case something spontaneous happened. I wore one of them last night, so I guess it’s the other dress tonight—a soft forest green wrap style that hits mid-thigh and hugs my curves just right. I tug my hair out of its braid and leave it loose around my shoulders, adding a little mascara and gloss before taking a breath and stepping out onto the porch.
Harris is already waiting by his truck.
He looks… edible.
Fitted jeans. A dark button-down that stretches slightly across his broad chest. His hair freshly tousled like he ran his fingers through it a hundred times while pacing.
He takes one look at me and freezes like he did last night, his golden eyes dragging down my body so slowly it makes my skin tingle. “You look”—his voice is hoarse—“incredible.”
My cheeks heat, but I smile. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He opens the truck door for me, and when our fingers brush, something sparks between us—hot and electric, like static and sunshine and a little bit of danger. My heart races, and I try to breathe past the way my body seems to come alive around him.
I enjoy the scenery as we make the short drive to his cabin. “It’s lovely here. I bet there’s never any traffic here,” I say, hearing the wistful note in my voice.
“Nope, never. You thinking about moving?” he asks with a hopeful smirk.
“I can’t. You know my job is back in New York.”
Harris nods. “That’s right. Marketing executive. Sounds fancy.”
“It’s not,” I assure him as he opens the front door and waves for me to go in ahead of him.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine. It pays the bills, and I’m good at it. I like being creative.”
His house is just as I remember: crisp white walls and dark hardwood floors. A comfy-looking sectional couch curves along the living room wall, and a large TV hangs above the fireplace.
I smile as I take in the wooden carved creatures and photos lining the mantle. “I love your place. It’s very inviting.”
“Thanks,” he says as he leads me into the kitchen. “What’s your place in New York like?”
“Small. Cramped. Bare.”
“Really? You haven’t decorated?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“No. I rent, and it seems like they raise the price every few years, so I move somewhere else. I painted the first apartment, but then it became a headache. I was so busy with work and climbing the corporate ladder. I don’t know; there just never seemed to be time.”
“I get that,” Harris says as he opens the oven door to check on our dinner.
“That smells so good,” I say, changing the subject.
“Thanks. I hope you like roast chicken and vegetables.”
“Love them. You’re spoiling me with these amazing meals.”
I watch him move around the kitchen. It’s obvious he’s used to cooking, and I briefly wonder if his parents taught him. I picture a younger Harris helping his mom make dinner in the kitchen.
“Who taught you to cook?” I ask as I sit on a barstool and kick off my shoes.
“The old chief at the station. Everyone at the firehouse takes turns cooking dinner or lunch, so I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“I bet. Did you cook with your parents?”
“Fuck, no,” he says, shaking his head. “No, my parents were… busy. Too busy to teach me things like that.”
“Oh.”
“They were under a lot of pressure. Made some bad choices. Got in a lot of debt so they were always working, struggling to pay it back.”
“Where are they now?” I ask softly.
“They passed away a few years ago. Heart attacks each, a few months apart.”
“Shit, Harris. I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He nods as he checks the temperature of the chicken and bustles around the kitchen. “S’okay. I have a new family here with the guys at the station.”
He sounds nonchalant about it, but I hear the tinge of pain in his voice. He misses his parents. I’m sure he wishes things had been different.
“My parents were workaholics. High achieving.”
He quirks a brow as he looks at me. “They must be proud of you.”
I shake my head. “They’re not.”
He blinks. “What? Why not?”
“I’m in marketing .” I repeat what they always say with disgust. They look down their noses at me and my job. No matter how hard I work or how many promotions I get. I’m still not what they want. I’m still not good enough.
“That’s bullshit. They should be proud of you. You’re so young, and you’re an executive. You must be amazing at your job,” Harris says as he arranges two place settings on the bar.
“Can I help?” I ask as he carves the chicken.
“I’ve got it. You relax.” He sets a glass of water in front of me.
I smile as I take a sip. “This is great. Do you roll out the welcome wagon like this for everyone who comes to town?”
“No, just you.”
“I feel so special.”
“You are,” he says, smiling at me. His golden eyes twinkle and then turn serious. “Lark, there’s something I have to tell you.”
I set down my glass. “Okay…”
“I—”
The beep of the oven timer cuts him off. Cursing, he hurries to turn it off. What was he going to say? My question is quickly forgotten as he sets my food in front of me.
“Wow! This looks like it should be on the cover of one of those food magazines.”
“Thanks,” he says with a bashful smile. “I have a lot of free time at the station. Not usually many fires around here.”
“Usually?” I grab my fork and pop a potato into my mouth.
“We’ve had a few lately,” he says as he sits next to me. “We’re having trouble with the neighboring pack.”
I chuckle. “Pack? You mean like a gang? I can’t imagine one around here. There’s nothing but forests.”
“No, I—” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Listen, Lark. I wanted to ease you into this, but we’re on a time crunch, and I know you’ll need a few days to wrap your head around things, so I’m just going to say it.”
“Um, okay. What’s going on?”
He leans forward slightly, his eyes glowing faintly in the low light. My stomach tightens.
“Okay…” He exhales like he’s been holding this in for years. “I’m a shifter. A bear shifter.”
I blink at him. “A… what?”
“I can shift into a bear. So can others in my pack. We’re born with it. We live among humans, but we’re not exactly like them.” He pauses again, searching my face for a reaction.
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. “You’re telling me you… turn into a bear?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him.
“I know how it sounds,” he rushes on. “But I’m not lying. I would never lie to you. We have something called a fated bond—it’s a deep connection between shifter and mate. When we find our mate, our other half, we know . Instantly. And you’re mine, Lark.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s sharp and disbelieving. I immediately feel bad when I see his expression shift—like I’ve gutted him.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s just… that’s a lot. You’re a firefighter and a werebear?”
“Shifter,” he corrects gently. “And I get it. I don’t expect you to believe me right away. But I can prove it.”
I narrow my eyes. “How?”
“Watch.”
“This is insane,” I mutter as he stands and heads into the living room where there’s more space.
I watch him warily. Until he starts to strip.
“Whoa!” My jaw drops. “Wait—what are you doing?”
“Not trying to scare you, I promise,” he says, half smiling. “But my clothes don’t shift with me. You’ll want to stand back.”
I turn away, averting my eyes until he clears his throat.
“Ready?”
I turn back around, keeping my eyes locked on his face, and watch him. It takes a minute, but then it happens. In the time it takes me to blink?—
He changes .
One moment, Harris is standing there—tall, solid, real—and the next, a massive bear is in his place. Thick gray-and-gold fur. Bright amber eyes. Muscular and majestic and utterly impossible .
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
My head spins, and I feel dizzy.
Nothing. I have nothing. No words, just…
My knees buckle.
The last thing I hear before everything fades to black is the soft, worried whine of a bear rushing toward me.