Page 6 of Enemies in Paradise

She’s short, but she’s fierce, and she stares Bear down. The tension between them is thick as the foggy marine layer on a June morning at the beach, and my immediate reaction is to cut it by helping Georgia.

“Look, Bjorn, I’d love to buy the car too,” I blurt. “If you don’t have anywhere else to keep it.”

The Mustang looks like it hasn’t been touched in years, but my effort has the exact opposite intended effect. Instead of being grateful, Bear’s scowl deepens.

“The car isn’t for sale. Neither is this building.” His voice is as low as the earth shifting during an earthquake. Quiet and dangerous at the same time.

“Bear, don’t freak out. We’re just throwing around ideas. You know Grandpa wants to buy a place in Arizona, right?” Georgia walks to him—Molly close at her heels.

She doesn’t come close to matching him in size but, as Georgia gets close, Bear takes the same obedient stance Molly did a few minutes ago, his eyes almost as gentle.

Face-to-face—or, rather, face-to-chest—the contrast in size between the two of them is stark. Bear is more than a foot tallerand wider than short, curvy Georgia, every inch of him muscle and chiseled features.

Too bad his personality is even harder to crack than his rock-hard body. He reminds me of the Greek statues at the Getty villa in Malibu; the embodiment of physical perfection and just as warm and friendly.

Georgia is the first to speak. “Nothing’s been decided for sure, but Grandpa’s getting antsy waiting for the city council to make their decision,” she says matter-of-factly. “This might be the best solution for him.”

His eyes change from gentle to glaring as they move from Georgia to me. “The Mustang isn’t for sale.”

“I heard you the first time.” When I cross my arms, I’m very much aggressive about it. “That’s fine. Let me know if you change your mind.”

I haven’t decided for sure whether to buy, but Bear doesn’t need to know that. I’ll let him squirm for a while.

He presses his lips tight, then turns his attention back to Georgia. “Are you going to be here for a while? Or can I get to work onmycar?”

Without waiting for an answer, he goes to the shop door and opens it before looking back at her.

She cocks her head and gives him a look that makes him drop his eyes to the ground and shift uncomfortably. “We’re leaving, but you need to clean up that studio. The team’s made a huge mess.”

“They’ll have nowhere to suit up if Grandpa sells this place.” There’s more than a hint of irritation in his voice when he meets her eyes again.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Georgia says kindly, but firmly, before turning to me. “You’re probably starving. Should we go?”

I nod and follow her through the door, squeezing past Bear, who refuses to move from the doorway. Or maybe it’s just that he takes up a lot of space. And there’s no way not to notice that I have to look up to meet his frown.

This is new for me. I’m used to gazing down, not up, to look people in the eye, including most men. Maybe that’s why I feel anxious around Bear in a way I don’t usually. He’s taller than I am and matches Captain Markham in size.

But once I’m past him, my pulse goes back to normal and my confidence returns. I guarantee Bear doesn’t outsize me in stubbornness. If I decide I want this shop—and his Mustang—he’d better be ready for a fight. Bear Thomsen has met his match in me.

Chapter 2

Bear

The sun is down,and my fingertips are black with grease when Molly and I pull up to my house. She needs a bath as much as I need a shower, but Grandpa’s truck is in the driveway. He’s inside, so I have the perfect opportunity to talk to him about the shop.

The only problem with my plan to ask him what he’s thinking selling the shop out from under me is that the old man scares me. I know he thinks I’m lazy and unmotivated. He’s implied it multiple times, saying things to Dad such as, “Send that boy to my house, so I can teach him how to really work instead of playing with dogs.”

Dogs are my hobby, not my job. I’ve bred Molly and trained a few dogs for a little extra cash, but mostly I do it because dogs are awesome. So much better than people, mostly.

Grandpa has the opinion I’m treating my actual job as a licensed plumber like a hobby and it doesn’t help that he always seems to drop in when I’m not working. Which, granted, has been a lot over the past few months, as Mom’s health has been rapidly deteriorating. But if anyone could understand those reasons for not working, it should be Grandpa.

He also doesn’t think much of my idea to convince Paradise’s city council to use the federal right of eminent domain to buy his shop and the acre of land behind it that includes the hockey-rink-sized irrigation pond where my team can practice.

If I had the money, I’d buy it, but then again, the benefit isn’t for me—it’s for my team, which is part of the county recreational department. To me, it makes sense and I’m pretty proud of myself for having put it together when our last conversation about this ended with Grandpa saying, “Figure it out.”

I figured it out. If it works, the city can demolish the shop and turn the alley into green space that will extend to the pond; maybe Idaho Fish and Wildlife will stock the pond with trout. Residents and vacationers will have a fishing park in the summer, and I’ll have my outdoor hockey rink in the winter.

But Grandpa thinks if I want it, I should find a way to buy it instead of relying on the government. I have the money for a down payment, but there’s no way to make money on what I want to do with the shop and the land. Financially, it would be a terrible investment, even with the huge “payoff” of providing girls the chance to play competitive hockey.

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