29
EVAN
Goldie’s a terrible cook. We find out after she’s been staying for a week, and Hunter suggests she take a turn at making dinner. The pasta is hard, and the sauce is watery. She grimaces when she tastes it, apologizes, and we all laugh.
“What a disappointment I must be,” she says, taking our full plates. “You’ve been waiting your whole life for a mate, and she can’t even feed you.”
“We don’t want you for your culinary skills,” Hunter says, arching a dark brow and staring at her pertinently. His heated gaze sweeps over her body, and a flush creeps up her chest.
“Down, boy,” Robert warns. Is it too soon for Goldie? We’ve tried to keep flirtation to a minimum, but we’re all desperate for progression.
“I can make good sandwiches,” Goldie offers. “How about I rustle us up some grilled cheese? ”
“Make it grilled cheese and ham, and you’ve got a deal,” I say.
When we’ve finished eating, we take Goldie through to the den. It used to be our playroom, the only informal space in the entire house. We converted it into a kind of man cave or bear den when Dad passed away. Comfortable couches and a huge flat-screen TV dominate the room. Painted in dark blue, with light wood parquet flooring and a shaggy cream rug, it has a warm and comfortable feel that’s missing from the other traditionally furnished rooms in the house. We flop down onto the large sectional. I toss Goldie her blanket and dig out the candy basket from under the side table, offering it to her and then snatching it away before she can make her selection.
She rolls her eyes at my antics, then, out of the blue, launches herself at me, swiping for the basket. We end up in a tangle of limbs, laughing so much we can barely breathe. There’s a moment between us, when we’re breathing hard and smiling, our eyes connected, that I feel like she wants me to kiss her.
Hunter flops next to Goldie and rests his arm along the back of the sofa, manspreading. She settles back into her seat, comfortable with Hunter’s easy proximity, as Robert searches for a movie.
“Nothing violent,” Goldie says.
“So, the Revenant is out?”
She scowls at me. “Bear mauling isn’t at the top of my list of entertaining subject matter just now.”
“Shame,” Hunter says dryly. “It sure is fun.”
She swats his thigh, but it’s good-natured.
“How about The Gladiator?” Robert asks .
“Doesn’t that involve a lion mauling?” I ask.
“Oh shit, yeah,” he laughs.
“Just to be clear, we’re looking for something without mauling.” Goldie sighs with exaggerated exasperation.
“Shit, I was going to suggest Jaws, Open Water, The Grey, Snakes on a Plane…” Robert counts the films off on his fingers.
“Are you guys fixated on movies where humans are prey to animals?” Goldie asks. “Because I might need to call for a psych consult and make a swift exit.”
“You’ve made her worry that we have some kind of weird fetish,” Hunter laughs.
I throw my arm around Goldie and tug her close to my chest. “You’ve scared her.”
Robert holds up his hands. “I’m just a film buff, Goldie. Not a sicko.”
“Although I’m pretty sure he’d like to devour you right now.” Hunter uses that hungry expression he’s mastered to lick over Goldie languidly. She shudders in my arms.
“Let’s just pick a movie,” Robert interrupts. “Goldie. It’s ladies’ choice?”
“What about Bridget Jones’s Diary? I’ve never gotten around to watching it.”
Hunter groans, and Goldie laughs. “It’s supposed to be funny, dude. You know that thing you do when your diaphragm contracts, and your mouth pulls up at both corners and you huff out breath with a rumbling happy sound… that thing you probably did as a kid but forgot how to do when you became all serious and alpha ?” She says the last part in an exaggerated man-voice that sounds a lot like Hunter.
He grabs her around the waist, tickling her side until she’s squealing. “You mean this? Is this laughing?”
“Stop!” she squeals. “Stop.”
“Bridget Jones it is.”
Robert starts the movie, and Hunter releases an out-of-breath Goldie so he can fix us all a drink. Goldie opts for gin and tonic, moaning with pleasure when she takes the first sip. It’s a moan so close to the ones she made when I was licking between her legs that I’m instantly hard.
I’m too distracted by her presence, and Hunter keeps interrupting the film to comment on the love interests' British accents and sub-par physiques. We’re talking so much that Robert is forced to pause the movie and we all end up gathering on the rug, reviewing the film. Goldie’s at the center with her head resting on a pillow. We flank her, creating a triangle around her with our big bodies.
“This house is so quiet,” she whispers.
“It wasn’t always,” Hunter reminisces. “When we were kids, it was full of laughter.”
“My house was quiet.” Goldie fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “It was only me, and my mom never wanted to hear me play.”
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It used to annoy her. Said it gave her a headache. I used to lock myself in the cupboard beneath the staircase.”
“Shit, Goldie.”
Surprisingly, Hunter reaches out and takes her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
“Me, too. You guys are lucky. You’ve always had each other. I bet you were never lonely.”
“Not lonely,” I muse. “But there has always felt like a part of us was missing. A part of us was waiting.”
“Do you feel like that now?” she asks.
“No,” we all say in unison. It’s true. Since we saw her for the first time, it’s like a hole has been plugged. She’s slotted into the empty space, but not entirely. There’s still an uncomfortable gap that the claiming would resolve.
“Are there other bears? Did you have friends growing up?”
“There are other bears,” Robert tells her. “Our clan is big, but they moved away, and we stayed. We didn’t want to leave the house behind.”
“We can make our own clan,” Hunter says, forgetting that we made a pact not to say anything to Goldie that might scare her into retreat. Enlarging the clan through procreation would fit into that category.
“I want a big family,” she says softly. “I don’t want any child of mine to grow up alone.”
“They’d never be alone with you.” I turn to face her, smiling as her eyes find mine.
“You’ll be a great momma,” Robert says.
“A great momma who’s going to poison her kids with her terrible cooking,” she huffs.
“It’s nothing that can’t be learned, and anyway, we can’t all be good at everything.”
“I’ll always be around to make breakfast,” Robert says.
“And I can grill meat like a pro,” Hunter boasts.
“Meat you’ve mauled?” That earns Goldie another round of tickling from Hunter.
“What about you, Evan?” she asks. “What culinary delights are you bringing to the table?”
I scrunch my nose. “How about ramen? Does that count? ”
She rolls her eyes. “When the universe was doling out the gifts for this family, she overlooked the importance of sustenance.”
I’m not the only one to stop dead at her words. Did she just call us a family? Maybe she meant me and my brothers, or could she have intended to include herself? With every new day that passes, she seems to gain confidence and relax into spending time with us. She’s still sleeping in the spare room, but when we all decide to go to bed at night, her gaze lingers on us as we disappear into our rooms.
We’re doing the right thing. This will work out how it’s supposed to. Patience is a virtue, after all. At least, that’s what our mom tried to drum into us. Maybe she knew something.
“So, what would be your ideal date, Goldie?” Hunter asks out of nowhere.
“Escape Room,” I guess, earning a swat to my pec from a scowling Goldie.
“Something that’ll get her arrested,” Robert says, “For the cuffs.”
“We thought you meant for the prison food,” Hunter jokes.
“A picnic near a lake or on a beach,” Goldie says, ignoring our quips. “Around an hour before the sun’s going to set. I just love the light at the time… how it seems to smooth everything out and make it sharper at the same time. I love the stillness that comes with the arrival of the moon and the lingering warmth left over from the day.”
“That sounds like bliss.” Hunter rolls onto his side, propping his head on his elbow. “What kind of food? ”
“Porridge, grilled meat, and ramen, of course,” she laughs. Then we’re all tickling her, and she’s flailing and laughing until happy tears stream down her face, and we’re all sweating and out of breath.
The rest of the evening continues in the same way, with stories and laughter, and in the days after, we take tentative steps closer to our fated mate, hopeful that she’ll decide to let us claim her soon.