Bear With Me (Un-bearably in Love #1)

1. Dennis

Dennis

Dennis sighed and looked around the cabin he’d rented for his vacation.

It was secluded - no neighbors within sight - and quiet, set among pines and oaks, and it was going to be just what he needed for the next two weeks.

No people, no work, no commuting. The only human he might need to see would be the grocery delivery guy who’d be coming later today with his order.

And that, only if the guy didn’t just deliver, knock, and run, like they usually did these days.

He moved deeper into the cabin, smoothing a palm over the soft coverlet on the bed and then poking his head into the bathroom to see a decadent-looking shower - it had side jets and three shower heads!

- next to a deep-set tub. Apparently the cabin’s owners expected him to do a lot of bathing?

Well, whatever, he didn’t need to use the tub.

He wasn’t much for stewing in his own juices.

He gave it even odds that this was an emergency - someone cut off a finger, what do we do? - or just an "emergency" - Marisol can’t find her glasses, have you seen them? Either was entirely possible. Finally, with a deep sigh, he pressed the “Call accept” button. “What’s up, Beau?”

“Oh, thank god!”

Ah, so it was going to be one of those dramatic calls. He really did love Beau, and he did good work, but the guy had no chill. “What’s up?” he said again, keeping his voice as calm and steady as he could in an attempt to set an example for the other man.

“We are out! Of order pads!” Beau almost shouted. “And nobody knows who the vendor is or who we contact to get more!” He paused to draw in a breath, then dropped his voice. “You know not everyone can do it by memory, Dennis!”

He was referring to Marisol, of course, their much-beloved but also scatterbrained-as-hell long-term waitress.

Not only was she continually losing her glasses, but the last time she’d tried to remember a customer’s order without writing it down, she’d brought him a Shirley Temple and a grilled cheese, when he’d ordered an IPA and fettuccine.

The customer had…not been pleased. So yes, a shortage of order pads did need to be fixed, but quite why this was a Dennis problem and not a Seb problem escaped him.

Dennis stifled the urge to sigh yet again.

“There might be some extras in the bottom of the file cabinet in my office,” he told Beau.

“And the info for the vendor is in the top drawer of the same cabinet, filed under ‘suppliers’.” As is every other supplier’s information, and as you well know, he thought but didn’t add out loud.

No use yelling at Beau. “Tell them to bill us.”

Beau blew out an audible breath. “Oh, thank god,” he said again, but this time his tone was relieved instead of panicked. “Marisol was going to be a mess I didn’t want to have to deal with. I mean, I love her to death but…”

Dennis snickered. “Yeah.” Even Marisol made fun of her brain’s shortcomings, so he didn’t feel too bad laughing along. “You good, then?”

“What?” He could hear the sounds of Beau moving through the back of the house toward Dennis’s office.

“Oh, yeah, we’re fine otherwise.” The click-rattle of a filing cabinet drawer being opened.

“Aha!” Beau crowed. “You were right, there’s three extras in here.

That should hold us for tonight; hopefully the supplier can get us more by tomorrow night. ”

“If they can’t, just order the damn things off with the corporate card. They’ll probably get them to you in two hours flat.”

“Oh, that’s a really good idea!” Beau said cheerfully. “I’ll keep that in the back of my mind. Let me let you go and deliver these pads up front. Enjoy your vacation!”

“Thanks,” Dennis said. “Oh, and Beau?” he added, dropping his voice to a growly register.

“Yeah?”

“Emergencies. Only. From now on.”

Beau gulped audibly. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Uh, sorry. I panicked.”

“Next time you panic, call Seb instead of me unless someone’s dying.

” Seb was his general manager and could have easily handled this.

In fact, Seb would probably be annoyed that Beau didn’t come straight to him.

Oh well. As far as he was concerned, for this week, the pub was not Dennis’s circus and these were not his monkeys.

“Right. Of course. So uh…have a good time away, Boss.”

Dennis grunted. He wasn’t looking so much for a good time - that implied a level of…

recreation he wasn’t signing up for - as a calm time.

Nobody shouting orders in his ear, nobody getting drunk and needing to be bounced out of the pub, and no needy staff who he adored but also wanted to strangle.

“Yeah. I will,” he finally said, because he knew it was what was expected.

“Talk to you later. In two weeks,” he quickly corrected himself.

They signed off, and Dennis sighed yet again as he hung up the phone and the room returned to silence. Ah, that was the stuff. Quiet. Solitude. He plopped down on the bed and considered his options.

Option #1: Take a nap. Very tempting, but likely to fuck with his internal clock.

Option #2: Read a book. Wouldn’t fuck with his brain clock, but also might not hold his attention in his current state of blah.

Option #3: Take a walk. Also very tempting, except he might run into other people, and ew.

Was there an option #4? He pondered. He supposed he could, like, unpack. Like a grown-up. But fuck that. He may be a forty year old man who owned a business and ran it with an iron hand, but that didn’t mean he had to be a grown-up. Yeah, napping it was.

***

Dennis woke up some time later, into that type of muddled wakefulness that meant he was unsure not only what day it was but also what century he was in or where he was.

He wasn’t in his own bed, that much was clear.

It was way too quiet for him to be in his bed in his apartment above the bar, and these sheets were scratchier than his.

Plus, the daylight outside the window looked muddy, as if it were late in the day.

Had he passed out after a hookup? Nah, there was no one else in bed with him and he didn't feel sticky at all.

Oh, right. He was in the woods, in his rented cabin, and he’d taken a nap.

Ok, cool, all was well. He stretched and yawned, then scratched his belly idly.

He supposed he should get out of bed rather than languishing in it for the rest of the day.

If he slept any more this afternoon, he’d never sleep tonight.

Still, it was worth grumbling about, and he did so as he climbed out of bed, listening to his knees and hips pop as he moved. Damned middle age.

Scratching his belly again, he wandered into the kitchen.

How long until the grocery delivery arrived?

He’d set it for between 3 and 4, and it was now…

He checked his watch. 2:45. So food should be there soon, thankfully.

He had it in his head that he was going to grill a steak for dinner, and woe betide the grocery delivery person who failed to deliver that steak.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and again surveyed the space that would be his for the next two weeks.

There was a television on one wall of the great room, with a couch and an armchair facing it, but he didn’t envision himself watching too much of that.

He’d rather read, most of the time. Other than that, there was only the bed nook, in one corner of the cabin, and the bathroom, separated from the rest of the cabin by its door.

Not a whole lot to it, but then again, there was only one of him, and he had been looking for simple. So he was pretty satisfied, actually.

With another yawn, he walked back to the bed nook and grabbed his shirt to put back on.

No use greeting the delivery half-naked.

Just then, he got a push notification from the grocery service informing him that his delivery would be arriving between 3:32 and 3:41.

Oddly specific, but okay. That meant he had nearly forty-five minutes to kill before they arrived.

Sigh, he was back to trying to decide what to do with himself.

What was wrong with him? For ages, he’d been dying for a simple, solitary vacation where he could do very little.

Now he had it and he was suddenly stir crazy.

Snorting at himself, he crossed to the cabin’s front door, shoved his feet into his shoes, and pulled the door open.

He’d explore his land for a few minutes before settling in to await the groceries.

He knew there was supposed to be a creek behind the cabin, so he shut the cabin door and circled the building.

He heard splashing as he walked and wondered if maybe the creek was stocked with fish.

Maybe he could acquire some fishing tackle this week and see if he could catch some?

He was considering that (Pro: another activity.

Con: fish guts) as he came around the corner to the back of the house.

And froze.

The most attractive man he’d ever seen in his life was standing, butt-naked, beside the creek, inexplicably holding - with the utmost delicacy - a dying trout between his full and luscious lips.

What…and he could not stress this enough…the fuck?