Page 47 of Befriending the Bear
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. But, Fraser? I really hope you’ll say yes. These kids need to learn from someone who’s been there, who understands what they’re signing up for. There’s nobody I’d trust more.”
We talked for a few more minutes about logistics and pay—which was surprisingly good—before I ended the call.
I stood in my kitchen, staring at the phone like it might ring again and take back the offer. Four weeks away from Forestville. Four weeks away from Calloway.
Six months ago, I would have said yes before Morrison finished the sentence. Hell, three months ago, I probably would have. But now…
Now I had morning coffee with a man whose smile made my legs turn to jelly.
Now I had book club discussions that ran late and dinners that I never wanted to end.
Now I knew what Calloway tasted like, what sounds he made when I kissed him senseless.
My leg chose that moment to remind me why I’d retired in the first place, a sharp twinge that made me grab the counter. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here was a chance to prove I was still useful to the fire service, and my body was already protesting the thought.
I needed to move, to think. Grabbing my jacket, I headed out for a walk, letting my feet carry me on the familiar route to the river trail. The November afternoon was crisp, fallen leaves crunching underfoot, the kind of weather that made me grateful to be in the Pacific Northwest. In Montana, we would be knee-deep in snow already.
The teaching opportunity was perfect. It would allow me to pass on thirty years of knowledge, help shape the next generation of firefighters. The pay would be a nice boost to my pension. And being back in that world, even temporarily…
But January was only two months away. Two months into whatever Calloway and I were building. We’d barely figured out how to be together in the safety of Forestville. How could I leave when things were getting solid between us?
It had been almost two weeks since our date. We’d seen each other every day since for coffees and dinner and book club, and every time, I fell for him a little more. We hadn’t taken our sexual relationship past a heavy frotting session and two more hand jobs, but that was okay. I was aching for more, but I wasn’t rushing anything. I’d wait as long as Calloway needed… But I did need to know that we were serious. Were we?
Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe we weren’t there yet in our relationship. Plus, it was four weeks, not forever.
But I knew how these things went. Four weeks would lead to other opportunities. Other ways to stay connected to the only life I’d known before Forestville. Before Calloway.
My phone buzzed with a text. As if Calloway knew I was thinking about him.
Still on for dinner? I’m making that mushroom risotto you liked.
Wouldn’t miss it. Want me to bring wine?
Already have some. Just bring yourself.
I smiled despite my churning thoughts. He always said that, just bring yourself. Like my presence was enough, was everything.
The walk back took longer, my leg protesting the cold. By the time I reached Calloway’s house, I’d changed my mind about the job offer a dozen times. The scents of garlic and mushrooms greeted me as soon as he opened the door, and his sweet smile hit me straight in my gut. How could I leave that behind, even for four weeks?
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” I leaned in to kiss him, a soft press of lips that still felt like a miracle. “Smells amazing in here.”
We moved through dinner prep with our usual rhythm, me chopping herbs while he stirred the risotto. The domesticity of it should’ve been mundane by now, but I was hyperaware of every moment, as if I saw it all with fresh eyes. The way he hummed under his breath while cooking. How he automatically moved to accommodate my bad side when we passed in the small kitchen.
“You’re q-quiet,” he said as we sat down to eat. “Everything okay?”
I should tell him about the call. But looking at him across the table, relaxed and happy in a way I’d watched him fight so hard to achieve, I couldn’t bring myself to introduce uncertainty into our evening.
“Just thinking.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. “This is incredible, by the way.”
He flushed at the compliment, pleased. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that meant so much to me. Neither of us felt the need to fill every moment with words.
“I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving,” Calloway said eventually. “My p-parents will expect me to come to Florida, but…” He trailed off, poking at his risotto.
“But?”
