Chapter 5
Elliott builds a futon.
“Would you like to come in?” Stepping back from the door, Fern tossed her arm out and spun to face a mess of boxes and deconstructed furniture.
Her ass jiggled when she completed the move, and Elliott lifted his gaze to her hair, which he found was pure white in the back. He hadn’t noticed it yesterday. “Is that natural?”
“My face? My tits? My ass?”
Heat rushed his face. “The white part underneath your hair.”
“Oh, no. That’s bleached and toned. I’ll probably dye it in a few days when I get bored.
It’s my test strip. When I was younger, I used to do my whole head.
Pink, purple, blue. One time I did this neon calico thing.
I fried my hair off and had to get a pixie cut.
I’ll never do that again because there’s this awkward phase when it’s growing out where you can’t do anything but look like the Heat Miser.
You know what I mean? Maybe the Cold Miser— No, I think his hair is different.
Anyway, my hair was orange then, so yeah, I looked like the evil guy.
Wait, was he the good guy? I don’t remember. What’re you here for anyway?”
Dear god, she talked too much. “Brought you this.” Sticking an arm into her apartment, he held out the paper bag.
Cautiously, Fern took it and peeked inside. “Salmon and rice?”
“Trout and risotto. That’s not the present.”
Her brows pulled in. “You want it back?”
“What? No. It’s for you, too. Look under it.”
Cautiously, she lifted the Tupperware and peeked beneath. “Oh! OhmygodElliott! For me?” Side-stepping to her kitchen table, Fern dropped the food and pulled out the rest of the goods.
“Yeah.”
She flapped the sandwich baggie of bud in the air. “This is a lot. What do I owe you?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Where did you find this?!” Holding the pipe up to her eye, she peered down the hole in the stem. “It’s so clean. This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. A little mushroom! I love it.”
“I made it.”
“Really? Oh, of course. It’s gorgeous. How’d you make it? This is ceramic, right? Do you use a mold or something? It’s perfection.”
She did talk a lot, but damn, she was cute. Flailing her arms around and bouncing with excitement while she praised his work—it did funny things to a man’s chest.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“I do.”
She scoffed. “Aren’t you going to come in?”
Fuck. He was still standing in the doorway. “Uh, I need to get groceries,” Elliott said, already inside and pushing the door shut. His bear was riding him so hard, it hadn’t even been a conscious choice.
“Don’t you want to christen this with me?” Unzipping the baggie, she plucked out a bud and started packing her bowl. “I could use help with my futon. Could your groceries wait a bit?”
“A little bit. I guess.” He fidgeted.
“Does that mean you’ll help with the futon? Don’t make me ask Liv to come over, she’s pregnant!”
Chuckling, he nodded, his bun wobbling with each dip of his chin.
“Good. And you let me know if I’m talking too much for you, yeah, Elliott?” Flashing him a grin and a wink, she opened an already-full junk drawer and dug around.
He never should’ve said she was too chatty. It was true, obviously, but mean of him. Luckily—hopefully—she seemed to be taking it as a joke. Which it was. Just a bad one. “Oh, I’ll tell you when it happens.”
“Found it.” Pulling out a yellow lighter, she lifted the pipe to her mouth and took a slow hit.
When her lips curled around the mushroom cap mouthpiece, his mind swerved right into the gutter. He shouldn’t have given her such a phallic gift—should’ve gone with the vase-bong.
Exhaling a smooth stream of smoke up and to her right, she handed the pipe to him, then swished over to her phone, cranking her music. “Candyman” was on. It wasn’t one of his top tunes, but the Grateful Dead was his all-time favorite band, the group he’d choose if he was stuck on a desert island.
“Are you going to take that hit?”
“Mhm,” he replied, forcing his eyes to roam the room rather than her body while he inhaled. Too much of a good thing was dangerous, after all.
Fern had done minimal unpacking from the looks of the place: Her bed was made up in a colorful comforter and pink sheets, and her bookshelf stood along the wall near its foot, full to bursting and organized like a rainbow with a stack of extra books on top.
Setting the bowl down on the counter, he swung his gaze back to her and found her pinching the sides of her pants, watching him.
It was safe to consume a little Fern, as a treat.
“Can I get you anything? Ready to rebuild some furniture? Is this music okay with you? Should I put on something else? I can do that, if you want.”
Damn, she asked a lot of questions. He’d missed more than he’d answered. Was she nervous? Fern Walsh seemed too cool to be nervous. Was she just super nice? “It’s perfect. Do you like the Dead, then?”
She dropped her head back and swayed to the music. “They’re only my favorite band.”
“Mine too.”
“Then come dance with me.”
Static fizzed beneath his skin. “I don’t dance.”
“Yes, you do. Come here.” She reached for his hands, and in a panic, Elliott stepped back, bumping the table.
“I can’t,” he rumbled, heart thundering and bear grumbling. “Let me help you with the futon. I’ve got to get to the store.”
With an elaborate eye roll, she swung her gaze back to her phone. “All right, I’m skipping this song, though. I hope it’s not your favorite. It’s too long, and who cares about it when this is next.”
He chuckled, watching the wobble of her butt in those pants as the first notes of “Ripple” filled the air and she crossed the room, humming.
“What do you need me to do?” Elliott asked, following along. He had an hour, tops.
“Take that piece”—she gestured to the back panel of the futon at the foot of her bed, then pointed at the far corner of the room—“over there?”
“Yes ma’am.”
It turned out she only needed him to stabilize the big parts while she slotted on an arm. He was so focused on her delicious scent and her soft humming that he almost missed her stomach growl as she leaned down to click the second arm into place.
“Have you eaten today?” Standing behind the futon, he shimmied between it and the wall to escape.
“All done!” She hopped up on the far side, breasts jiggling behind her faded yellow tee.
“Fern, I asked you a question.” His bear rumbled, but he covered it with a cough.
“I had a croissant for breakfast.”
Sighing, Elliott went to clear the haphazard stack of towels and boxes off her futon mattress.
“I can do that,” she offered as he scooped up a box that weighed next to nothing. Her hand landed on his, then slid away, leaving a trail of heat in her wake.
“No,” he growled.
Startled, she pulled back and blinked up at him.
Despite his heart racing a million miles an hour, Elliott managed to stare her down with a raised brow.
It wouldn’t kill him to stick around a while longer.
Then he could zip over to the store and still be home before his dough was ready to bake.
Fern needed to take a break and eat, and she clearly wasn’t going to do it without a nudge.
He could handle her futon mattress and fold a few towels if it gave her a few minutes. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Her blue eyes darkened under his scrutiny, and she planted her hands on her hips.
Words. He should probably use those. “You go eat something. I’ll finish this for you.”
Her angry elbows fell away, and her lips quirked up. “Fine.”
He busied himself with her linens until a Tupperware lid cracked open and he stole a glance her way.
“You need to heat that up,” he said, grabbing a turquoise towel.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t.” Shoving a forkful of cold trout into her mouth, she moaned appreciatively.
Elliott huffed, and his bear snorted, wriggling his big brown butt, loving every minute of the exchange he'd never comment on. Fitz talked to his bear quite a lot, but the scoundrel never talked back. None of their animals did.
While Fern ate, he folded up her rainbow array of towels and stacked them on her bed since he had no clue where she wanted them to live. Elliott was sliding the futon mattress into place and giving the whole thing a jiggle-test when a pillow hit him in the back.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. I have terrible aim.”
He turned and scooped up a hot pink puffy thing with dangly gold tassels on the ends. “What even is this?”
“I got that one on a trip to Canada when I was sixteen.”
“Canada? It looks... Moroccan or something.”
She shrugged and plucked a red and orange floral pillow from one of the lightweight boxes.
“I got it at a craft fair. Now, this one is from Florida. My mom and I went down to visit my grandma, and she gave it to me. I think it’s from a Costco or something, but it’s sentimental.
She passed away a few years ago. Don’t spill anything on it, okay?
Put it down. Thank you. Ooh, this one is from the city, but I got it the weekend I got my hairdressing license, and I was so proud of myself, but I was still hiding that I dropped out from my mom. ”
She tossed the flower-shaped pillow his way, and he caught it, adding it to the others on the futon.
He was ready to ask her to shut up and stop overloading him with superfluous information when the next one hit him on the leg. It was blue with spots, soft and downy, and it didn’t hurt one bit.
She yammered on, “Olivia found that one for me. Renata was with us—you know Ren, right? We were thrifting one day, I actually think it was like two weeks after my birthday…” She carried on, scritching her long purple nails over the pillow’s pattern.
He lost track of her story, for understandable reasons, caught in a trance as her hands and lips moved this way and that, animated and beguiling.
“…Liv’s hair looks great. I bet she’d love a mani-pedi, maybe just a manicure, she doesn’t love having her feet touched. ”
“You’re doing it, Fern.” His voice came out a low rumble as he warred with the desire to have her mouth, those nails, and her focus, on him in every way.
Her eyes swung to his and stayed there while she reached into the box and pulled out another fucking pillow. “Doing what?” she asked coyly, stepping toward him. “This one’s from Arizona. Look at the weave, isn’t it amazing? It’s Diné-made.”
“Fern.” Unable to stop himself, he stepped closer to her, plucking the pillow from her hands and tossing it behind him.
“What?”
“You know what.”
Caught in her gaze, he didn’t notice she’d grabbed another pillow until she held it up, a smirk stealing across her features. “This one’s from Wisconsin. I—”
He hooked a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face up. The pillow thumped to the floor. “I don’t care about your goddamn collection.”
“No? What do you care about?” There was a lethal gleam in her eyes. Before he could stop her, she reached back and grabbed another one, shoving it between them, her gaze flicking down to it. “This one's from TJ Maxx in the plaza near—”
In one smooth motion, he ripped it from her hands, slid a palm around her back, and pulled her to him.
He had to bend to reach her, but when he did, when his mouth found hers, stars exploded behind his eyelids and his bear began to purr. He hoped she couldn’t hear it.
Mother fucker, she was perfect. Her warm hands snaked beneath his arms to wrap around his torso, nails scratching gently up and down his back.
He wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
Soft lips still touching his, she murmured, “I—”
“Shh,” he whispered, to his thoughts as much as to her, and she nodded, her nose rubbing the side of his. Tentatively, their mouths explored new territory until her hot tongue ran over his lips, urging him to open up for her.
Their kiss deepened, and Elliott's hands dropped from her lower back to her ass. He squeezed, and she tried to pull him closer with her arms around his waist. It wasn’t a great angle; he had too much height on her.
So he cupped her cheeks and broke their kiss, just long enough to move her to the futon.
Laughing, she flailed, kicking pillows onto the floor as he dropped over her and resumed what they’d started, one foot planted on the ground to keep from crushing her.
Her small sounds intoxicated him. She gasped when he nuzzled into her neck to inhale every morsel of her scent. Fern’s nails dug into his shoulder while her other hand slid down his back. Unable to properly grope his ass due to his size, she planted her palm on his outer cheek.
A buzz in Elliott’s pocket pulled a groan up his throat.
There were thirty minutes left on his proofing dough.
Fuck. He needed to get to the store and back home, stat.
Before he lost his chance, before his mind started functioning properly again—because he knew he was in a daze—he slipped a hand between them and rasped his thumb over her nipple, earning a sharp inhale that had his cock straining to break free.
Not right now. Not ever. This was a god-awful idea. She was too cute, too kind, and she liked his music.
He broke their kiss abruptly and flung himself off the futon.
With rosy cheeks and mussed hair, Fern blinked, looking lost.
“Sorry. I, uh— Groceries.”
Swinging herself up to a sitting position, she pulled the blue spotted pillow onto her lap and laughed. “No, I get it. I’ve kept you long enough. I need to unpack before tonight, as you can see. But thank you—for the help and the food and the weed. Will you be at Liv and Ben’s?”
He nodded while fighting his bear to turn and walk toward the door. The beast had no interest in leaving and didn’t care about bread or bruschetta. But he cared, quite a lot. He didn’t want his damn routine changed, and see how easily she got him to do that?
“I’ll see you then?”
“Yeah. See you tonight.” He couldn’t think of anything better to say, his mind spiraling as he berated himself for following through on such a stupid idea.
The door clicked behind him, and her music surged louder. “Sugar Magnolia” was on again, the album having looped around to where they began.
His lips tingled in the aftermath of their poorly thought-out kiss, and Elliott swiped a hand across his mouth, trying to wipe the sensation away before it wormed itself permanently into his memory.
He didn’t want this right now. Things with Fern could not go further.
He was supposed to be ignoring their potential bond.
Sure, they had music in common, but what was one band in a sea of terrible tunes?
She might be into death metal or experimental jazz, too.
He couldn’t have that. Plus, she was a human, for fuck’s sake, and he was a solitary bear.