Page 78 of Enemies in Paradise

“You thought right.” I take a sip, then tuck into my dish. “How did you know I like chicken pot pie?”

Bear gives me a nervous glance. “To be honest, this is a lucky accident. Dad just brought it home.”

“Oh… well, lucky me then.”

So he didn’t go out of his way to get me dinner.

“But I remembered from the night you came to the Garden that you liked chicken pot pie,” he adds quickly, redeeming himself.

“I do. My mom used to make it…before she and my dad got divorced.” I take another bite to keep from saying more. I don’t know why I said that much.

“Yeah? My mom used to make it too… before she got sick.” He takes a bite of his dinner, and I can’t decide if our revelations have made things more awkward or more comfortable.

Bear clears his throat again. “That must have been hard. Your parents getting divorced, I mean.”

“Yeah, it was, but it was coming for a long time.” I poke at a pea on my plate. “The harder part was deciding who to stay with. I chose my dad. Not because I loved him more, but because I was fourteen and didn’t want to leave LA for Phoenix.”

“It’s hard to make new friends in high school,” he says, then shrugs. “I mean, I don’t really know. I’ve only lived here.”

I laugh. “I’ve only lived in LA, so I don’t know either. I was too afraid to find out. Then I was too stubborn to admit I’d been wrong.”

Bear turns toward me and tips his head. “You regretted your decision?”

I stare at my plate and consider how to answer. I haven’t really talked about my parents’ divorce, not even to Georgia. There never seemed to be a point, other than to bring up painful memories. There’s a reason I chose the career I did, beyond making my dad happy.

Police work doesn’t lend itself to vulnerability. It’s part of the job to stay in control, being careful about revealing too much emotion.

But when I look at Bear’s face and see the openness there, I realize he’s been vulnerable with me from the start—from the moment he tried to bring me an iced coffee and strike up a conversation.

I didn’t see him then, but I do now. And I want him to see me.

“I probably wouldn’t be as independent as I am if I had gone with my mom, but I was lonely sometimes. My brother had already moved out, and my dad worked all the time, so I got myself to school, set my own curfew, and made us both dinner most nights.”

“You did all that? Did you have time to do regular kid stuff too? Like hang out with friends and get involved with school stuff?”Bear looks at me with what might be admiration. Or it might be sympathy.

I’m not sure how comfortable I am with either, so I take a breath before going on.

“I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was on the golf team, but there were more people on my campus than there are in Paradise.” I try to make light of how lost I sometimes felt in a huge crowd, but the kindness in Bear’s face pushes me to be honest.

“It wasn’t always easy to get to know people, especially when I spent summers and most holiday weekends in Arizona with Mom.” His eyes swim with empathy, and I have to look away. “With going between two states, golfing, schoolwork, a part-time job, and taking care of my dad, I didn’t have a lot of time for friends.”

“You know, Cassie,” Bear says slowly. “I could be your friend if you move here, even if I lose the building to you.”

The sentiment is sweet, but I get caught on the wordfriendand the pity—because that’s what I saw before, not sympathy, pity—in Bear’s voice.

I don’t need anyone’s pity, especially Bear’s. My life isn’t as hard as his and I don’t enjoy feeling as if he sees me as someone who needs to be taken care of. Divorce is easy compared to watching your mom die. Not that I understand what that’s like, but I do know what saying goodbye can do to your heart. Ichoseto say goodbye to my mom instead of going with her. I’ve lived with that regret for a long time.

“You meanwhenyou lose the building,” I counter. I say it lightly, but I mean it too.

Bear flinches, and I almost feel bad. But I’m not backing down from what I want just because he’s nice to me.

He sits taller and, when he looks at me, the compassion is gone from his face. “I meanif. I don’t plan on losing.” There’s a sadness in his voice that tugs at my heart, but whatever I thoughtI saw in his eyes before, I was wrong. What he wants more than anything is to keep his hockey rink. “But I also meant what I said about being friends.”

I thought we might be headed to more than friends, and I have to push back the urge to close the short distance from my lips to his to show him what I really want. I already regret opening up to him. I don’t want to do anything else I’ll regret.

“Sure.” I shrug and inch away from him.

Whatever I’m feeling for Bear is all new. I don’t know if it will last beyond tonight. I don’t know if being a friend for him is the kind with benefits or if a platonic relationship is all he really wants. And I’m not about to ask for clarification when I’m not sure what I want from him.

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