Page 34 of Befriending the Bear
Fraser joined us at the gate, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Morning, Sheriff.”
“Fraser.” Auden’s sharp eyes took in the scene—the chainsaw, the stacked wood, Fraser’s presence at my house early enough to suggest he’d been here all night. But his expression remained neutral, professional. “You boys need any help?”
“We’re g-good,” I managed, acutely aware of how this must look. “Fraser helped with the tr-tree.”
“Lucky you had someone nearby.” I caught the slight emphasis on “nearby.” “Power’s still out in some parts of town. We’re setting up a warming station at the community center if anyone needs it.”
“Thanks for letting us know,” Fraser said. “We’ll spread the word if we run into anyone who needs it.”
Auden nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. There was no judgment there, only the same quiet concern he’d shown since I’d moved back to Forestville. “Take care, Calloway. You too, Fraser.”
After he left, I let out a breath. “The whole t-town will know by lunch.”
Not from Auden. That man didn’t talk. But everyone else did.
“Know what? That I helped you with storm damage? Nothing scandalous about being neighborly.”
But we both knew it was more than that. In a small town like Forestville, people noticed things: whose truck was parked where, who was seen together, the small shifts in routine that suggested larger changes. And Fraser’s truck had been in my driveway all night.
“I should p-probably…” I gestured vaguely toward the house, not sure what I was suggesting but feeling the need for space to process everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.
“Right.” Fraser began gathering his equipment. “I should check on my own place anyway. Make sure I didn’t lose any shingles.”
I watched him load the chainsaw and ropes back into his truck, fighting the urge to ask him to stay. We’d already crossed so many boundaries, so what was one more?
“Fraser?” I called as he reached the driver’s door.
He turned, eyebrows raised in question.
“M-maybe dinner? Tonight? If you’re not too t-tired from all this.”
His face transformed with that sunrise smile. “I’d like that. Want me to bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
The words came out steadier than expected, and something passed between us—acknowledgment, promise, hope. Then he was driving away, and I was left standing in my driveway, feeling like the storm had rearranged more than my garden.
I spent the rest of the morning cleaning up smaller debris, but my mind kept drifting to the night before. The weight of Fraser’s arm around me. The steady sound of his breathing. The way he’d shown up without question, without need for explanation beyond simple concern.
Marcus would’ve liked him, I thought suddenly, then had to sit down on the porch steps as the realization hit me. It was the first time I’d had that thought about anyone since Marcus died. The first time I’d allowed myself to imagine introducing someone to his memory without feeling like I was betraying him.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Made it home safe. Only lost one shingle, and it was loose anyway. How are you doing?
A simple question with such a complicated answer. How was I doing? I was terrified and hopeful and confused and more alive than I’d felt in seven years.
Okay. Thinking too much.
Want to talk about it? Or think aloud at someone?
The offer was so perfectly Fraser—patient, no pressure, just presence offered freely.
Maybe at dinner
I’ll be there. 6?
Perfect
