Page 23 of Choose the Bears

If only that was the case. I unlocked the door and let everyone in.

When I put stuff away,filled my shelves and the fridge, I felt some of the satisfaction I’d intended to feel. It was like every item was a claim made by me over this space. It was mine, mine, mine alone, something I felt until I heard the sound of a drill undoing the screws of the existing door. For a moment, the entire world was given free access to my apartment, until they went to work. Hinges were replaced as were the door handle and the locks before it was set back in place. As I started pulling out ingredients for the stew, I watched the door get hung, the hinges tested, then the lock and the deadbolt.

“That’s better,” Kyle said, hands on his hips, seeming satisfied with their handy work. “So, Imogen, need a hand with anything?”

I was about to ask about the boxes when Asher and Lucas went to work. They were discussing things I had no idea about, like the difference between different models of motion sensors, when he appeared on the other side of the kitchen counter.

“Can you cut onions without crying like a baby?”

“Nope.”

His grin was infectious.

“Guess you better cut them anyway.” I nodded to the pantry. “You can test the quality of the tissues that Asher bought if you need to have a little cry.”

“Diced or sliced, and how many onions?”

Kyle seemed utterly undeterred by the idea of having weepy eyes and stinky hands, removing the brown skin before grabbing the second chopping board I unwrapped. There was a comfortable, easy air about the entire living area, replacing the alien feeling of last night, right up until I grabbed the kitchen knives from the grocery bags.

It was the same packet Phil had bought. I didn’t want to think about that, see him, hear him inside my head when I saw it, my fingers dimpling the hard plastic container they were sealedwithin. I didn’t want to think about anything to do with Mike at all, but suddenly I was just staring. Why would Phil need knives? Why would he need knives and Vaseline? The thought seemed to cycle over and over inside my head because I didn’t have an answer and suddenly I needed to.

Kyle reached out slowly, the sight of those very long, very strong fingers with prominent knuckles and a small white scar across one of them finally breaking my spell. He didn’t ask questions, though, simply producing a pocket knife and flicking it open before cutting through the packaging. A knife was held out hilt first and I took it with a grateful nod. I could have all the brain farts I liked later, after the carrots were cut and the celery diced.

“Damn, that smells amazing.”

I looked up as Asher and Lucas returned. The stew was in my grandmother’s old cast iron cook pot, bubbling away gently on the stove. Lucas was right, because the smell of thyme and garlic filled the kitchen.

“Just need to get the potatoes boiling and everything will be done,” I said with a smile.

“We can do that.” Kyle and Lucas looked at each other. “Asher can show you the changes we’ve made.”

Asher didn’t seem so sure about that. It was strange seeing such a big man look so uncomfortable, but he nodded.

“We’ll start in the spare bedroom.”

“While we’ll get started on the rest of this wine,” Kyle announced, rinsing off the new wine glasses and then pouring out three measures.

I’d wanted to buy something cheap to add to the stew, but Asher had been adamant this was the bottle to buy. Golden liquid beckoned me closer, but instead I followed Asher into the spare room.

“So.” I looked at the room, seeing small wires and devices subtly tucked away. “What did you end up installing?”

Chapter 13

Asher

Not enough, that’s what I felt. Nowhere near enough. Putting in a security system in a place like this was like trying to polish a turd, but here we were. Standing in a too-small room, too close to my mate, the bear shoving harder and harder to be free.

I reminded him that he wouldn’t fit into this space if I let him come forth, that he’d hurt Imogen, or worse. Terrify her with his furry visage, because she had no way to anticipate that more than one soul lived within my body. So instead, I pointed to the motion sensors attached to the windows.

“The entire security system will be synced to your phone. With a click,” I opened my own device and showed her an example of the video feed she’d get, “you’ll be able to see exactly what’s going on at your place. Is anyone trying the windows?” Her eyebrows shot up and she eyed the thin aluminium frames. “Has anyone smashed one to get in?”

“Is that likely?”

I could drown her in statistics, tell her about all the different acts of violence that were perpetrated across the city, but I didn’t. That look of wariness was enough to stop me. Each timeI saw it in her eyes, it made my heart ache. Most women would question a good Samaritan buying them groceries, but only ones who’d been treated badly would accept that gift with both reticence and abrasiveness. Imogen was waiting for the other shoe to drop, anticipating unconsciously the moment when the kindness would suddenly stop, or worse, reveal itself to be an act all along. My mate wasn’t going to allow herself to be love bombed again, that helped ease my pain somewhat.

“Security isn’t really about what’s likely or not,” I replied blandly. “It’s about trying to prepare for any eventuality. This system will make sure you know if anyone is trying to get access to your place without your permission. So, let’s go through the different features and how to use it.”

It was lucky I’d had this conversation a million times before. My mouth was moving, saying the words while my mind was elsewhere. Following the shape of her body I traced with my eyes, reading her reactions, soaking in her responses. I felt like the bear was pressing too hard against my skin as we tracked her every movement, but when I leaned over to see if the system was syncing to her phone, my control began to shred.

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