Page 100 of Enemies in Paradise

On my way back to the studio, I make one stop.

The lights are on at Lynette’s, so I pull into her driveway. I knock softly on her door, just in case she’s asleep with every light in her house on. Seconds later, though, I hear her voice crackling through an intercom below her doorbell.

“Who is it?” Her voice is filled with suspicion, and I consider running away.

But her doorbell is the kind with a camera, so she’s probably already watching me on a screen somewhere. Apparently, her aversion to technology doesn’t extend as far as her security system.

I lean close to the camera. “It’s Cassie. From the shop.”

A long pause follows where I both break into a sweat and shiver in the cold before the lock clicks and the door opens a crack. “You can come in, but not your alien friends. I don’t know them.”

“Of course.” I look over my shoulder, not seeing whatever Lynette does, but I say, “Wait here, please.” Then I squeeze through the small opening she allows me just before she quickly shuts the door behind me.

I’m pressed against the door with Lynette only inches away.

“Why are you here?” she says without inviting me any further inside.

“I need your help to do the right thing for Bear.” I stay pressed against the door while Lynette stares into my eyes.

Finally, when I feel as if my soul has had a full body search, Lynette blinks. “I’m listening.”

“Zach says a few buyers made offers on your property. You said you wished you could give Bear the pond. I know how you can.”

For the next ten minutes, I tell her my idea. She never invites me to sit, but by the time I’m finished, she actually has a smile on her face.

“It’s a good plan,” she says and clasps her hands together. “I like it. I’ll do it.”

I leave feeling equal parts happy that I’ve done a good thing and devastated that my dream is over. Giving up the shop means my bookstore won’t happen. At least not in Paradise. And I can’t imagine living out that dream anywhere but Paradise.

The idea of leaving this place forever hurts worse than the idea of leaving the police force. Paradise and the people here have worked their way into my heart. I’ve fallen in love with their quirkiness, hospitality, and friendliness—Mayor Voglmeyer being the exception there.

But when I think about who I will miss most, Bear comes to mind first. I don’t know how or why, but somewhere between all our fighting, I’ve fallen hard for him. I wonder what would have happened if I’d laughed off the spilled coffee and made more effort from the start. Could the attraction we feel have grown in the right direction? Could I have come to Paradise for a different sort of dream?

Georgia brought me here, but it’s Bear who represents all the things I love about this little town. He’s quiet, but strong. Sweet, but protective. Beautiful in a rugged, wild way. Even with a new haircut and no beard, Bear looks groomed to the same degree that the manicured lawns and neighborhoods in Paradise are.

Which is not at all.

Coming from a city where men tend to be overly-groomed and homes in some neighborhoods look like they could be on the cover ofLawn & Garden—and probably have been—it’s refreshing to see people and places in a more natural state. There’s a reason people who haven’t visited LA think it’s some kind of fantasy land: because most of it is fake. I feel the same about a lot of the people there.

I’ve been in some semi-serious relationships, but no one I’ve dated has ever taken care of me the way Bear did the night the pipes burst in the studio. Or when he cleaned the whole place and did my laundry. Fed me. Told me to take a bath in a non-creepy way.

Didn’t hit on me after possibly seeing me naked.

That’s a big one.

He hasn’t always been polite, but he’s always been respectful. I’ve never felt threatened by him.

In fact, the more I get to know Bear, I have one overriding emotion when I’m with him: secure. I feel safe with Bear.

And I don’t know what to do with that feeling. I’m too uncomfortable sitting with it. I’m the one who’s supposed to make people feel safe, not the other way around. I don’t know how to be the person being protected and taken care of.

I’ve never been the one to receive care—my parents were more focused on fighting each other than worrying about my needs. Even after their divorce, I took care of Dad, not the other way around. Maybe that’s why I’ve been in more than one relationship with needy men and pushed away those who I thought were “clingy” because they wanted to do things for me.

I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want someone who makes me feel as if I have to keep my own emotions tucked away because it’s my job to make him happy. I don’t want someone who will let me push him away.

I want someone who won’t run when I yell or cry. Someone who will throw me over his shoulder when I’m being unreasonable, but also step back and give me space when I need it.

And I think that man may be Bear.

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