5. Sakura #2
“There’s very much about the bear.” Grandmother Peach sets down her fork, fixing me with those too-bright eyes. “You’ve been circling each other for weeks. The mist is getting impatient. So am I.”
“The mist is impatient?”
“The mist has been waiting for this particular match for quite some time.” She rises, gathering her things with surprising grace. “Don’t fight it too hard, dear. Some things are meant to be weathered in company.”
She picks up her cobbler dish, gives a pleasant nod, and simply walks to the door. Just like anyone else would leave. Remarkably, impossibly ordinary.
“How does she always do that?” I stare at her abandoned cobbler plate. “The exit timing. It’s impeccable.”
“Practice.” Anouk finishes her beer. “Centuries of it, apparently.”
Zeph arrives with more glowing purple beverages, distributing glasses with manic enthusiasm. “Right. The crone has departed. Now we can discuss important matters.”
“The investigation?” I sip cautiously. The beer tastes like hops, honey, and faint electricity. Not unpleasant.
“No, no. The investigation is boring.” Zeph drops into the booth with zero grace. “I want to hear about the bear.”
My face heats. “There’s nothing to hear about the bear.”
“Bullshit.” Leire’s grin is wicked. “He built you new shelving. That’s basically a marriage proposal in bear culture.”
“It’s really not—”
“Actually, it kind of is.” Anouk’s voice is dry as autumn leaves. “Bears court through practical assistance. Building, repairing, providing. It’s their love language. If he’s fixing your furniture, he’s announcing intentions.”
“He’s not announcing anything. He’s assigned to monitor me.”
Silence. The women exchange that look again.
Anouk steeples her fingers like she’s delivering a legal briefing. “You’re special.”
“What? How?”
“He volunteered to monitor you within minutes of hearing about your situation.” Leire counts on her fingers with theatrical precision. “He brings coffee every morning. He held you through a storm that could have killed him. He built you furniture.”
Zeph refills everyone’s glasses. “I’ve seen the way he watches you. Like a bear with a honeycomb. Focused. Patient. Waiting for the right moment to strike.”
“That’s... not a comforting metaphor.”
“Bears aren’t comfortable. They’re persistent.” Zeph grins. “Also large. And furry. And really good at cuddling, apparently. Leire, does Aslan cuddle?”
“He’s a tiger, not a bear.”
“Tigers are cats. Cats are excellent cuddlers. It’s basically the same thing.”
“It’s absolutely not the same thing.” But Leire is laughing, her claiming mark catching the firelight. “Tigers are... intense. About everything. Cuddling included.”
“See? Same energy.” Zeph turns back to me. “The bear is pursuing you. Accept it. Embrace it. Let him fix your furniture and bring you coffee and eventually pin you against a wall and—”
“Zeph.”
“What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
“No one is thinking that.”
“Everyone is thinking that.” Zeph gestures at the brewery around us. “Why do you think the mist keeps turning gold near your studio? We haven’t had a good claiming in months. Leire and Aslan were excellent, but we need more.”
I bury my face in my hands. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”
“You’re not going to die.” Leire pats my shoulder sympathetically. “You’re just going to accept that an enormous, poetry-writing, furniture-building bear shifter is courting you with the patience of a saint and the determination of a predator.”
“Does he really write poetry?” I ask.
Leire’s expression softens. “He hides notebooks all over his cabin. It’s an open secret among the shifters.”
“How is it an open secret?”
“Elio found one once. Read it aloud at The Den. Torin didn’t speak to him for a month.” Leire sips her wine. “The poems were about mountains and patience and waiting for someone who’d see past the steady exterior.”
“Aslan says he’s been writing more lately.” Zeph waggles her eyebrows. “About storms and lightning and a certain silver-streaked witch.”
“He barely knows me.”
“He knows enough.” Anouk’s voice cuts through the teasing with unexpected gravity. “He knows you’re powerful. He knows you’re struggling. He knows that when most people would have run from your chaos, he walked toward it. That tells you everything you need to know about his intentions.”
“He’s not chasing me.” My voice sounds weak. “There’s a difference between monitoring and chasing.”
“Is there?” Zeph raises her glass. “Because from where I’m sitting, the only difference is how loudly you’re willing to admit what’s happening.”
I don’t have an answer.
“He’s not terrible.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “Torin. He’s... not terrible.”
“Progress!” Zeph slaps the table. “She admits he’s not terrible. Next step: admitting he’s actually quite wonderful. Final step: letting him pin her against a wall and—”
“Zeph.”
“I’m just being efficient with the progression!”
Leire is laughing so hard she can’t breathe. Even Anouk’s lips twitch with suppressed amusement. And I’m sitting here, face burning, while my new friends cheerfully dissect my nonexistent love life.
“That’s not sturdiness.” Zeph’s eyes gleam as she recalls yesterday’s events. “He held you through an elemental surge. That’s commitment. Also foreplay.”
I choke on my beer.