Chapter 29 The Grumpy Bear is Back
The Grumpy Bear is Back
Max
I’ve been here long enough to start losing track of what day it is.
Not because I’m buried in work. Not because I’m swamped with investor calls or launch decks or legal reviews.
But because something about this place—the soft hush of the pines in the morning, the way the clouds seem to hang lower here like they’re trying to touch the trees—has made me forget the rush.
The constant forward motion I used to crave about being a boss ass bitch.
Timantha’s been blowing up my phone about missed meetings and project updates.
And while she did tell me to take this time off for myself, that I deserved it, I should technically be home by now.
Lexy is still getting the hang of the duties she was only meant to cover temporarily, and as a result, Reese is also taking on extra work.
Thankfully, though, Reese hasn't complained to me.
Yet, I’m here, getting quietly seduced by a kind of peace that doesn’t require a calendar invite.
And I swear this must be how it starts in all those small-town romcoms. The big-city girl goes home for a minute, falls for a ruggedly handsome lumberjack, and somehow just…
stays. Trades power suits and boardrooms for soft flannel and slow mornings with coffee on a porch swing.
And if I’m being honest? Eli is dangerously stay-worthy. Even though something in me senses he doesn’t quite believe that about himself. Not the way I do.
I want to tell him everything I see when I look at him. That he’s beautiful. That he’s cultured and rare and already more than enough. That he doesn’t have to tuck his vulnerability behind temporary arrangements or borrowed time. That he deserves all of it—the love, the choosing, the staying.
That he could have me.
As bold as I am—or can be—I get tongue-tied around him more than I care to admit.
There’s something about his silence, his discipline, the way he holds back, that makes me second-guess every move.
Maybe it’s his hard exterior. Maybe it’s just how he’s wired.
But I can never quite tell if he’s exercising restraint because he feels something too deep…
or if he’s just trying to keep enough distance to make sure I don’t.
And I hate that I like his mother. Hate that she seems to like me right back. She’s sister locs and hippy soul with a warm smile and an even warmer heart. Her house smells like serenity, and her voice always sounds like it’s been steeped in honey and peppermint tea.
Helping her bottle oils this morning—listening to her stories, laughing like we’ve done this a hundred times before—felt less like helping and more like being soothed.
Like a balm. Her house, the energy of it…
it felt like home. And for one dangerous second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to stay.
Then my blood pressure spikes and guilt floods my veins the moment I let the thought settle.
Mama. Timantha. Work. And I realize, there’s no escaping the truth of it.
I’ve crippled everyone in my life into needing me.
To lean on me. To expect me to be the one who holds everything together.
And walking away—staying here—would mean letting all of that fall out of my hands.
I make a mental note to remind my sister about Mama’s appointment tomorrow. One more thing filed away. One more responsibility I refuse to drop.
We pull up to the mall, and I laugh softly because malls in Canada look exactly like malls back home. A little nostalgia wrapped in a dying breed. A fading echo of when this was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon.
I used to beg my auntie to take me when I was little. All I wanted was an ice cream cone in one hand and a turn on the indoor Ferris wheel. Everything smelled like soft pretzels and brand-new shoes, like possibility and allowance money and a day with nowhere else you had to be.
This one’s the same with big glass atriums, neon signs, and stores selling everything from luxury handbags to beef jerky. There’s a pop-up artisan market tucked between an Apple store and a high-end athleisure boutique. Canada’s version of capitalism is cozy but efficient.
As we stroll past a row of mannequins in sequins and silk, Eli glances over at me.
“What kind of, I don’t know, dresses do you like?”
I grin, unable to help myself. “The kind every girl likes, Eli.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Expensive ones.”
He chuckles under his breath and nods. “Then I know just the place.”
The boutique screams luxury. All around is glass shelving, polished marble floors, velvet seating nooks, and racks of designer gowns lined up like art. Everything smells like fresh peonies and generational wealth. The women behind the counter light up when they see Eli walk in.
“Oh wow,” I whisper, nudging him. “You really are the most popular guy in town.”
He gives another soft chuckle, brushing it off. “Nah. Not me. My brother was the popular one.”
There’s something about the way he says it—light, like a joke, but tight around the edges. I clock it but decide not to press.
I raise an eyebrow. “And how do you even know about high-end boutiques like this?”
He shrugs. “A brother can’t keep his mom dressed well?”
“I’m really gonna need you to stop being so thoughtful and mindful toward your mom,” I say almost under my breath.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making my labia lunge at you.”
He bursts out laughing, low and deep in his chest. And yea, his laugh does things to my insides, too.
“Why are you like this, Max?”
I grin. “Why do you act like you can’t get enough of me?”
He doesn’t answer. Just smirks and leans over to give me a light shove as we approach the counter. And if his hand lingers just a second too long at the small of my back, I don’t mention it.
Eli turns to the attendants. “She gets the VIP treatment. Add anything she wants to my tab.”
Then he looks at me, that grin lurking at the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna see if the record shop has anything new in. Take your time.”
And just like that, I’m being swept into fashion heaven. One attendant takes my purse. Another hands me a glass of champagne. A third pulls out a silk gown that looks like it was stitched from lust itself.
Nearly an hour goes by but everything moves fast —zippers, soft lighting, more champagne. I’m being catered to like royalty. And damn it, I love it.
I’m admiring myself in the mirror in a gold dress when I hear a smooth voice behind me.
“You wear gold well.”
I turn, surprised.
He’s tall, broad, dressed in a fitted cashmere turtleneck and tailored slacks. Hazel eyes. Low fade. Smile built for sin.
I manage a polite chuckle. “Thank you.”
“You going somewhere special?”
I glance at my reflection, fingers toying with the necklace they brought out to match. Fidgeting, really. “A gala,” I say lightly. “With a friend. My boyfriend.”
He steps closer, like this is familiar territory. Like proximity has always worked in his favor.
Hiccup.
I watch him in the mirror as his gaze takes its time, lingering at the curve of my shoulder, tracing the dip of my waist, sliding unapologetically down the length of my bare legs. The look in his eyes is almost predatory. Practiced. Confident.
He doesn’t touch me, just stays there, close enough that the air shifts. His cologne is expensive, warm, faintly spicy. The kind meant to linger. To suggest.
And maybe, in another universe, it would’ve worked.
But I already have a man who can undo me with a single look. One who doesn’t need to crowd my space to claim it. My body decided the moment I laid eyes on him: my panties signed a lifetime contract with Eli.
They just haven’t had the opportunity to inform him yet.
I raise my champagne glass for another sip, buying time, about to open my mouth to politely excuse myself when…
CRACK.
The sharp, sickening sound of bone colliding with bone. The man crumples to the floor like a felled tree, clutching his jaw in stunned confusion.
And before I realize it, Eli is there. Chest heaving. Fists clenched. Eyes storm-dark as he towers over the guy like he’s ready to keep going if someone doesn’t stop him.
Hazel Eyes is on the floor. Eli is on top of him, holding him down, ready to let his fists fly. The boutique erupts into screams. Security pulls them apart, but not before Eli gets another good hit in.
“Eli!” I yell, grabbing his shirt. “What the hell is your problem?!”
Breathing hard, chest still heaving, Eli wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His jaw is locked down like steel.
He looks at me. Then at the man still clutching his face.
“Max,” he growls. “This is my brother. Elliot.”
And suddenly everything snaps into place. The familiarity I couldn’t name. This is Eli’s brother. There are two of them. Cut from the same mold, just finished differently. One all deep chocolate and restraint. The other caramel and chaos.
Eli’s chest is still rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, adrenaline rolling off him in waves. His brother, meanwhile, is already grinning and snickering through what must have been pretty painful.
And then she steps into view.
Vanessa.
She waltzes in, all smug and slow-moving, her designer heels clicking with every step.
She’s dressed in an immaculately tailored trench coat, her dark hair in perfect kinky waves, and the smallest bump just barely visible beneath her belt.
I see it before Eli does. Before his entire body stiffens like someone ran cold steel down his spine.
“Boys,” she says, tilting her head with a small, condescending smile. “What seems to be the problem?”
Her accent is even more obnoxious when she’s being insufferable. French. Polished. Passive-aggressive with a side of venom.
I really want to fight this lady.
“I’ve got your boy,” Eli snaps back.
Elliott steps forward, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to puff up and defend his territory.
“Watch your mouth,” he warns, his voice low and hard.
Eli snaps. “Or what?” he growls, lunging again like he’s ready for round two. I swear I see the fire in his eyes before he moves.
The security guard rushes in with perfect timing, wedging himself between them like a human wall. “Mr. Shaw,” he says calmly but firmly, “we’re gonna need you to take this elsewhere, alright? We like you around here. Don’t make us call the police.”
Eli stands down, barely. His hands unclench, but he doesn’t say another word to Elliott or Vanessa. Instead, he turns to me, his fingers finding mine. They’re warm and trembling just a little as they thread through mine and squeeze.
“Let’s go,” he says, voice tight.
I nod, still reeling from the commotion as he pulls me out of the store.
I stop, just as the anti-theft alarm starts blaring.
“I’m still wearing the fucking dress, you ape!”
I yank my arm away from him and run to the dressing room to change back into my clothes like the building is on fire.
I leave the beautiful gown hanging up and nearly wave goodbye to her. She’s a dream.
When I get to the exit, Eli is standing outside, security on standby. When he sees me, he still takes my hand and walks me to the parking lot.
No words. No explanation. Just this heavy, charged silence stretching between us as the door closes behind us and the sounds of the mall swallows the drama whole.
Great.
The grumpy Bear is back.