Chapter 7 Tolin #2
Her face falls. Not dramatically, not with tears or anger, but something worse. A quiet sadness that dims the light in her eyes. Her hand drops back to her side.
My bear snarls at me. Angry. Protective of her, which makes no sense at all.
I don’t like hurting her feelings. The realization lands hard. I’ve been cruel to every employee Derrick has sent me. I’ve made them cry, made them quit, made them flee down the mountain like I was chasing them with teeth and claws.
But this one. This woman.
I don’t want to see that look on her face again.
I push the bags into her hands. Then I kick off my boots, hang my coat on the hook by the door, and walk to the table.
The steak is a T-bone, thick and perfectly seared. The potatoes sit beside it, golden-skinned and steaming. I lower myself into the chair and pick up the meat with my bare hands, bringing it to my mouth.
The first bite tells me everything I need to know.
Rare. Bloody. Seasoned with nothing but salt and heat.
Perfect.
I tear off another chunk, barely chewing before I swallow. The potatoes are next. I pop a piece into my mouth and find more of the same. No seasoning. Just roasted, the skin crisp, the inside fluffy.
She did everything right. Everything exactly the way I like it.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
She returns from the kitchen and slides into the chair across from me, her own plate in front of her. Her steak is darker, cooked longer. Medium-well, probably. The human way.
“Not bad, right?” she asks.
I swallow my mouthful and stare at her. “How do you know how to cook for a bear shifter?”
She shrugs, cutting into her steak with a knife and fork like a civilized person. “I take pride in my job. I knew I’d be spending the weekend here, so I did some research. Bear shifters prefer rare meat, minimal seasoning. You want to taste the animal, not a bunch of herbs and spices.”
“You researched me?”
“I researched bear shifters.” She takes a bite, chews, swallows. “The rest I figured out from the pantry. You’ve got about fifteen different brown sugar products in there, by the way. That’s either a preference or an addiction.”
I don’t answer. I don’t know how to answer. This woman looked at a job everyone else runs from and decided to prepare. To study. To learn what I need before I even asked.
I take a long drink of water, buying time.
“What’s a woman like you doing with a job like this?” I ask finally.
She raises an eyebrow. “A woman like me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” But there’s a hint of amusement in her voice now, the wariness fading. “Shadow Suds pays well, the hours are flexible, and I don’t have to deal with office politics. It’s a good job.”
“You could do better.”
“Maybe.” She sets down her fork and meets my eyes. “But I’m not looking for better right now. I’m looking for stable. I moved to Shadow Wolf Creek a few months ago, and I’m still getting my feet under me. This job lets me save money while I figure out what comes next.”
“What made you move here?”
“Fresh start.” She picks her fork back up, pushing a potato around her plate. “I needed to get away from some things. Some people. This seemed like a good place to disappear for a while.”
“You came here to disappear?” I snort. “Shadow Wolf Creek is the worst place to disappear. Everyone knows everyone. Gossip spreads faster than wildfire.”
“I’ve noticed.” Her lips quirk. “I heard about you before I ever met you. The grumpy bear shifter who lives alone on the mountain and makes cleaning ladies cry.”
“And you came anyway.”
“I needed the money.” She shrugs. “Besides, I’m not looking for friends. Or a man. Or any of the things the other women in this town seem to want. I just want to work, save up, and build something for myself.”
“You’re not looking for a man.” I repeat it flatly.
“Nope.” She pops the word like a bubble. “I’ve had enough of men to last a lifetime. No offense.”
“None taken.”
I’m lying. The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. Which is ridiculous. I’m not looking for a woman either.
At least, I wasn’t. Not until she walked into my cabin with her curves and her fire and her perfectly cooked steak.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s almost peaceful, sitting here with her. Almost comfortable.
Almost.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
I grunt, which she apparently takes as permission.
“Why do you live alone up here? I thought bear shifters were clan animals. Isn’t it bad for you to be isolated like this?”
The question lands too close to the wound. I set down the bone I’ve been gnawing on and wipe my hands on my pants.
“I wanted time away from my clan,” I say shortly. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all you need to know.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I can see the questions stacking up behind her eyes. The curiosity she’s trying to suppress. She wants to push. Wants to dig deeper.
She doesn’t.
“Fair enough,” she says quietly.
I push back from the table. “I’m getting ready for bed.”
“Oh.” She blinks, glancing at the dishes. “I’ll clean up, then. See you in the morning.”
I’m halfway to the hallway when I stop.
What the fuck am I doing?
She cooked me dinner. A perfect dinner. She cleaned my cabin, organized my pantry, mopped up my mess. And now she’s going to wash my dishes while I stomp off to bed like the ungrateful asshole everyone says I am.
I turn back.
She’s already reaching for my plate. The good little employee, cleaning up after the difficult client.
“Leave it,” I say.
She freezes. “What?”
I cross the room in three strides and take the plates from her hands. “Leave it. I’ll do it.”
“That’s... that’s my job.”
“I said leave it.” I carry the dishes to the sink and turn on the water, not looking at her. “Let’s just call it a night. Clean up in the morning.”
I can feel her staring at me. Confused. Maybe a little scared.
Good. She should be scared. I don’t know what’s wrong with me either.
“Alright,” she says slowly. “I’ll just... go to my room, then.”
“Good.”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I hear her footsteps retreat down the hallway. The soft click of the guest room door closing.
And then I’m alone in my kitchen, hands braced on the edge of the sink, staring at the dishes like they’ve personally offended me.
What the hell just happened?
I grab the sponge and start scrubbing. The plate first, then the utensils, then the pots and pans she used to cook. The water is hot enough to sting, but I don’t care. I need something to do with my hands. Something to focus on besides the woman sleeping thirty feet away.
She cooked me dinner. She researched bear shifters so she could do it right.
She’s not looking for a man.
Good. I’m not looking for a woman.
Liar, my bear growls. Liar liar liar.
I ignore him and keep scrubbing.
When the dishes are done, I dry them and put them away. Then I wipe down the counters. Sweep the floor. Mop up a spot I missed earlier. I clean the kitchen until it’s spotless, until there’s nothing left to do, until I’ve run out of excuses to stay out here.
This is what I’m paying her for. This is literally her job.
And I’m doing it myself because the thought of her cleaning up after me creates an uncomfortable pressure. A feeling I don’t want to name.
I hang up the dish towel and stand in the middle of my pristine kitchen, listening to the storm rage outside.
Three days. Maybe more, if the snow keeps up.
Three days of her in my space. Her curves, her fire, her perfectly cooked steaks.
Three days of pretending I’m not attracted to her. Pretending my bear isn’t howling for her. Pretending I don’t want to break down her door and show her exactly what kind of man I am.
I turn off the lights and head for my bedroom.
This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.