Bearly Icy (Glacier Pass #4)

1. Gabe

Chapter 1

Gabe

I shuffle out of bed, feeling like I wrestled with a mad momma seal all goddamn night long. Glancing in the mirror, I see my hair standing up on end. Fuck. I need to shift a few times to help get rid of the run-over-by-a-truck look I’m rocking right now. I scratch at my stubble, wondering if it’s worth the effort today. Coffee first, grooming decisions later.

The kitchen is quiet except for the goddamn loud ass birds chirping outside the large window. I walk into my large, stainless steel kitchen and glance around. I’ve spent the last few years making sure this house is perfect, but lately, as I stand in this spacious, two-story log cabin, I’m starting to feel a little lonely.

With my siblings all mated and happy, I’m starting to fucking feel left out. I keep asking myself who needs all that mushy stuff anyway. Not me. My life is perfect the way it is. I answer myself.

“No, it isn’t. You’re fucking lonely and grouchy, and I’m tired of dealing with your stubborn ass,” my inner polar bear argues.

“Shut up .” I mentally flip him off before pouring myself a mug of the dark, strong coffee. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I already know who’s calling. Twin intuition tells me it’s Grant interrupting my peaceful morning ritual. Of course, he'd call now. He probably sensed my unease and decided to stick his nose in my business. I consider letting it ring out, but I know he’ll just call back.

“What the fuck do you want?” My voice comes out gravelly, even to my own ears.

“Morning, Sunshine!” Grant's annoyingly chipper voice ruffles my feathers.

“Bite my hairy ass,” I grunt into my mug, inhaling the rich aroma.

“No, thank you. I have a much prettier ass to bite here at home,” Grant teases, and I can practically hear his smirk through the phone.

“Not in the mood to listen to your shit. I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” I growl and take a sip of the black gold in my mug.

“You’re a goddamn polar bear shifter.” I can picture my twin rolling his eyes. “Coffee isn’t going to do shit for you.”

It’s true. Human stimulants don’t really have much effect on shifters, but I’ve learned to make my coffee strong enough to give me just a little kick. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Plus, I fucking love the taste. “Just let me enjoy my coffee without your goddamn input. Now, why the fuck did you call?”

“I felt your unease,” he expresses his worry like only a twin can.

The thing is, he's right. I have been feeling off. Restless. Like there's an itch in my bear skin I just can't seem to scratch. But I’m not sure what to do about it.

“I just need to spend a day in my bear form hunting,” I counter, trying to sound convincing. “Enjoying my peace and quiet now that you lot are all off playing house.”

Grant snorts. “If playing house means being exhausted as hell from nightly?—”

“Stop right there,” I interrupt him before I’m forced to listen to his bragging. “I don’t need you to go into play-by-play detail.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he practically sings.

“If that’s all you need, I’m gonna hang up.”

“Grumpy fucker,” he growls under his breath. “I have another reason for calling. I thought you might want to check out the new ice cream parlor in town with me. I’ll buy you a banana split.” Oh . My inner polar bear perks up and nudges me hard. Grant knows how much my inner bear fucking loves banana splits.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process why he thinks I’d want to eat ice cream right now. “Seriously?”

Grant laughs, completely ignoring my point. “I’ve heard it’s the best ice cream on earth.”

I sigh, feeling the weight of perpetual eldest brother obligation pressing down on me. Ignoring Grant is like ignoring a persistent rash: easier said than done. Besides, maybe getting out of this too-quiet cabin will help lift the funk that's been eating at me for days. “Fine. Noon it is. But you’re buying me my banana split.”

“Deal. And try not to look like a mountain man who just crawled out of hibernation, okay?” He hangs up before I can respond with a growly retort. Typical Grant.

A shower and a hastily thrown-together outfit later, I’m almost ready. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if this whole going-out thing is worth it. My reflection looks back, unimpressed. Hair tamed, beard in a semi-respectable state, I figure I clean up well enough for a mid-winter ice cream outing.

Glacier Pass is doing its usual white winter thing outside. I don’t bother with a coat since my inner polar bear keeps me warm and toasty no matter how cold it is outside. I groan, seeing all the white crud built up on my black truck. Fuck. I hope the weather warms up a little so I can wash it before the salt and sludge eat through my paint.

The drive into town is uneventful, the familiar twists and turns of the icy roads more comforting than I’d admit out loud. The new ice cream parlor sits snugly between the bakery and the post office, its front window aglow with soft pastel lights spelling out “Polar Scoops.”

I park next to Grant’s SUV and hop out of the warm truck, instantly feeling the arctic air slap me in the face.

As I walk up to the ice cream parlor, I can’t help but chuckle under my breath. It’s seriously ballsy to open an ice cream shop in the middle of the winter. Even in a town chock-full of polar bear shifters.

From the looks of the line, it seems like the ice cream parlor is the hottest new thing since someone thought to put marshmallows in cocoa. There’s an undeniable irony in the image of burly polar bear shifters spooning their way through scoops of frozen cream and sugar.

I push through the door, a little bell jingling annoyingly above me. Stepping into Polar Scoops, I feel like I’ve been teleported into a different era. The air is thick with the scent of creamy sweetness, a mix of freshly churned ice cream and baked waffle cones, that tickles my nose and instantly perks up my inner polar bear.

The walls are painted in pastel colors. The main color is a cozy mint green complemented by accents of pale pink and creamy yellow. There’s a playful array of vintage posters adorning the walls, promoting ice cream specials from who knows how many years ago. The one featuring a cartoon polar bear tipping his top hat catches my eye. “Polar Treats to Warm up Your Inner Beast!” it reads in a fancy script. I can't help but snort. As if this place could be any more on-the-nose.

The flooring is classic checkered black-and-white tile. There’s a long, polished wooden counter running down one side, and a shiny glass display case is filled to the brim with every flavor you can dream of.

Behind the counter, a gleaming old-fashioned ice cream machine churns away, the sound of its whirring blending harmoniously with the laughter and chatter of the customers. A chalkboard hangs above the cash register, scribbled with the day’s specials, almost begging customers to dare to choose something a little outrageous. “Today’s Flavor: Honey Maple Berry Bliss” reads one line, while another boasts “Maple Bourbon Bon-Bon made with our famous Maple Bourbon sauce.”

Grant’s already there, waving from a booth like some excited kid. The place is filled with brightly colored chairs and whimsical dancing ice cream cone decorations.

“About time you got here,” Grant cheers, gesturing wildly. I make my way over, nodding at all the folks I recognize. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, which has its own charm if you're in the mood for it.

“What flavors do you want in your banana split?” Grant asks once I’m settled in. “They’ve got some wild flavors, man. Bacon maple swirl, sea salt caramel, you name it.”

“I’ll stick to something straightforward,” I say, eyeing the menu like it’s a complicated puzzle. “One scoop of chocolate and two scoops of vanilla with a shot of their maple bourbon sauce.” Grant rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, clearly just glad to have gotten me out of the cabin.

“Come up to the counter with me to order. I’m not asking for bourbon sauce on a goddamn banana split.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow him up to the counter. He orders a double scoop of chocolate sugar coma in a cone while I go for my unusual choice. The older lady behind the counter raises an eyebrow at my specific request but obliges with a wry smile. Apparently, I’m not the first bear in town to need a touch of bourbon sauce on their dessert. As a shifter, there’s no way the small amount of alcohol will affect me, but one can always hope something crazy happens.

With our treats in hand, we settle back into our booth, Grant diving into his mountain of ice cream with enthusiasm. “So,” he starts around a mouthful of chocolate sprinkles, “what’s up with you lately? You’ve been more growly than usual.”

I shrug, taking a spoonful of my concoction. It’s damn good, better than I expected. The smooth bourbon gives the ice cream a little kick. “Just a phase, I guess. Things get quiet at the cabin, gives a guy too much time to think.”

Grant gives me a hard look that only a twin can manage without it being outright judgmental. “It’s time to find your own mate.”

After I finish choking on my ice cream, I open my mouth, ready to sputter my outrage at his suggestion, but the words evaporate when I see her.

The back door swings open, and time stops as a stunning human walks in carrying a large tub of ice cream. My pulse accelerates as she glides through the doorway like she’s some fairytale princess. Tall and curvy, with a confidence radiating in her every step, the stunning human commands attention. Sunlight spills through the large windows, adding a halo effect that surrounds her golden blonde hair. My stomach flips, and I can almost feel the ground shake beneath me as a primal vibration rolls through me.

Her hazel eyes sparkle with mischief and warmth as they scan the room. She’s wearing a fitted emerald-green sweater dress that hugs her figure just right, with a silky scarf tied around her graceful neck. Damn it, I’m not sure whether to be intimidated or completely in awe. My inner bear stirs, awakening with a low growl as the word “ mine ” echoes in my brain.

I manage to swallow the rest of the ice cream in my mouth, nearly suffocating myself with the effort. “Uh,” I mumble, my voice slightly strangled, still feeling the warmth of embarrassment flooding my cheeks as I try to compose myself. “I just found her.”

Grant’s eyes pop open wide. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, disbelief etching every feature on his face. He turns to where I’m staring, and I can see the exact moment his gaze falls on the stunning blonde, all poise and confidence. “Oh fuck. You are in so much trouble. That gorgeous woman is going to give your ugly ass a run for your money.”

“Fuck off,” I insist, feeling heat fill my cheeks. I can’t believe this is fucking happening, but there’s something different about this stunning woman. Something powerful binding us together for all eternity.

I can't take my eyes off her as she walks closer to the counter, her movements fluid and graceful. I forget about the ice cream melting in front of me as she draws me in deeper. Why does she feel like home?

“I need popcorn for this show.” Grant smirks and sits back with his arm thrown over the seat back. I shoot him a death glare, silently begging him to just leave me alone while I try to figure this shit out. My goddamn cock already has things figured out—it’s hard as a rock. A sure fucking sign the stunning human is my eternal mate since no one but my soulmate will cause my body to react.

I watch as she sets the tub of ice cream on the counter before she turns to smile brightly at a couple sitting in a booth across from us. The way her lips curve, the way she throws back her head to laugh, I feel my heart racing ten thousand miles per hour. My bear urges me to storm over and claim her in front of everyone, but suddenly the gravity of it all sinks in like a heavy weight.

My human mate might not take kindly to her polar bear mate causing a disturbance.

Needing to cool off my inner bear a little bit, I take another bite of the banana split. But the universe conspires against me, and I end up aspirating the bourbon glaze-covered ice cream. Fucking great.