Page 89 of Enemies in Paradise

I look at his choice, then back at him. “Hazelnut is my favorite, too.”

While I start his coffee, Bear wanders to the bathroom where he crouches to check the pipes. “I epoxied and taped the cracks last night. It’s a temporary fix. You won’t be able to run the water for very long, but if you’re still insisting on staying here, you can at least flush the toilet.”

When he stands again, he fills the entire tiny space, and when he faces me, I’m staring.

He walks back to me, his gaze never leaving my face, and I can’t look away. “Or the offer to stay at my place is still on the table.”

That sounds dangerous.

Which makes me want to say yes even more.

The word is on the tip of my tongue when Bear sneezes. He rubs the back of his hand under his nose, then sneezes three more times. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re already rimmed in red.

“Not with Willy.” I shake my head. “But thank you.”

The Keurig beeps, and I turn to pick up his coffee. When I hand it to him, I say, “You should probably take it to go. You can bring the mug back when you’re done.”

Bear sighs and rubs the back of his neck before taking the cup. “All right, then. My door is unlocked when you’re ready to pick up your stuff… or if you change your mind.”

“I won’t. No matter how hard you try to convince me.” I hope my grin looks as assured as I’m trying to convince him I am.

“I don’t give up easy, Cassie.” Bear’s face goes soft, but his eyes burn so dark and intense, my breath catches.

He doesn’t say anything else until he walks out the door and mutters, “Stupid cat.”

For the rest of the morning, I try to get the color of his eyes out of my head. But I can’t. I see them in the blue tile in the bathroom, my favorite sweatshirt, the pattern in the shower curtain. His eyes can be a hundred different blues, but my favorite is the color they were when he told me he didn’t give up easily.

It’s the same color his eyes were when he saw me in his jersey.

I try to focus on preparing my presentation for the city council, but I’m too distracted thinking about Bear. I could use a shower to clear my head, but that’s not an option. Not being able to take one makes me want one even more, which also makes me reconsider staying at Bear’s.

What I could really use is another bath.

And I miss his jersey.

By early evening, I’m going stir-crazy. I need some way to burn off all the energy that every thought of Bear sends rushing through my body.

And there’s only one thing I can think of to do.

I may not have Bear’s jersey, but I have skates and there are hockey sticks and pucks in the shop. I’ve only skated a few times at indoor rinks for birthday parties when I was a kid, and I’ve never even held a hockey stick. But I know how to hold a golf club, and I’ve seenHappy Gilmore.

If Adam Sandler can play a former hockey player turned golfer, maybe I can play a former golfer turned hockey player. Obviously,Happy Gilmoreisn’t reality, but I need to understand what’s so great about that pond. I’m going to get historic status at the city council meeting. Bear’s fight for the shop and the pond is over.

So why hasn’t he given up?

I go next door to get a hockey stick, then grab my skates and coat. I’m almost to my door when Willy dashes in front of me, presses his head against the door, and yowls as if he might open it if he keeps trying hard enough.

“You’re pushing the wrong way, Willy.” I nudge him away from the door with my foot and he rubs his whole body against my leg.

I think that means he’s going to miss me, which is a positive step forward in our relationship. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’ll be back soon.” I bend down to pet him, but he dodges my hand and runs straight for the kitchen table.

He leaps on top of it and goes straight for the plastic cup I’ve left there. “Oh, no you don’t. Willy!” I grab it just before he sticks his head in it.

And now I’m thinking about Bear again, because he may be right that this cat is stupid. But I love him anyway.

Willy.

Not Bear.

---