Page 30 of On Tap for the Bear
"Traffic," I lie.
"We live fifteen minutes outside town. There is no traffic." He steps aside to let me in. "Fair warning—the women are plotting something."
"Great."
The cottage's main room is warm and crowded. Beau and Anabeth are setting out plates while Calder pulls a massive roast from the oven. The meat smells good, rich with garlic and herbs, but it's missing that extra something Cilla always brings to her cooking. Sawyer's at the table already, nursing a beer and looking tired—Tanner's at a sleepover tonight, one of the rare evenings Sawyer gets to himself. He's always tired these days, single parenting a seven-year-old while serving as sheriff doesn'tleave much room for rest. The shadows under his eyes have deepened since Jonah disappeared, like he's carrying the weight of that loss on top of everything else.
At the far end of the table, there's an empty chair. An empty plate. Silverware laid out just so, a napkin folded beside it. We've kept Jonah's place set since he disappeared, a silent promise that we're still waiting. Still hoping. Nobody sits there. Nobody touches it. It's become sacred space, a shrine to possibility. Some nights I catch Sawyer staring at it, his jaw tight. Other nights Beau grips the back of the chair like he's holding himself back from flipping the whole table. Tonight, Calder just glances at it once, then looks away, something in his expression going carefully blank.
"Eli!" Anabeth spots me and immediately sets down the silverware she's holding. "Perfect timing. I need to talk to you."
"Can I at least get a beer first?"
"No." She crosses the room and links her arm through mine, steering me toward the kitchen. "This won't take long."
My brothers watch with barely concealed amusement as I'm marched into the kitchen like a prisoner to execution. Beau calls after us: "Be gentle with him!"
Anabeth closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed. She's at least ten inches shorter than me, but the way she's looking at me—direct, unflinching, with that scientist's ability to see straight through bullshit—makes me want to back against the counter. Her dark eyes are sharp behind her glasses, missing nothing.
The kitchen smells like rosemary and black pepper. Copper pots hang from hooks above the island, catching the light. Through the window, I can see the darkening forest, trees swaying in a breeze I can't feel from in here.
"So," Anabeth says, her voice calm but direct. "Quinn."
I should've stayed at the tavern.
"What about her?"
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm asking." Her eyes are sharp behind her glasses. "What are your intentions?"
"My intentions?" The formal phrasing would be funny if I didn't feel like I was being dissected. "We barely know each other."
"When I was at the tavern yesterday, that's not what I saw." Her tone is matter-of-fact, scientist observing data. "The way you looked at her when she walked into the tavern? That wasn't 'barely knowing' someone. That was recognition."
My bear stirs, restless. She's not wrong.
"It's complicated."
"It always is." Anabeth moves closer, and the biologist who studies ley lines with clinical precision transforms into something fiercer. "Cilla's having dinner with Quinn right now. And before she left, she told me Quinn's been through hell, Eli. The kind that breaks people."
"I know she's been hurt...”
"Do you?" Anabeth cuts me off. "Quinn told you someone betrayed her, stole her work. But do you understand what that really means? Cilla told me it was her mentor—someone she trusted completely. Quinn lost her career, her reputation, everything she'd built. And now she's here, trying to figure out if she can even taste food anymore, and you're—what? Flirting with her? Almost kissing her in your cellar?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "How did you...”
"Beau saw her leave this morning. Said she looked shaken." Anabeth's expression softens slightly, but her voice stays firm. "Look, I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong. But Quinn doesn't need someone else she trusts letting her down. If this is just attraction, if you're not serious about her, you need to back off now. Before she gets hurt worse than she already is."
The words sting because they're fair. Because part of me is terrified that's exactly what I'm going to do—hurt her. Not intentionally, but by being what I am. By telling her the truth and watching her run.
"That's not what this is." The words come out rougher than I intend. "I would never—Anabeth, you know me. You know I wouldn't hurt her."
"I know you wouldn't mean to." She's watching me carefully now, her scientist's mind working through something I can't see yet. "But Eli, there's a lot you're not telling her. A lot she doesn't know about this town, about you. About what you really are."
About what we could be, if she'd have me. If she doesn't run when she learns the truth.
My shoulders tense. I lean back against the counter, exhaustion hitting me all at once. "I know. I'm trying to figure out how to tell her. How do I look at a woman who's been betrayed by someone she trusted and say, 'By the way, I'm a shapeshifter, you're my fated mate, and the land itself recognizes our connection'?"
"Figure it out faster." Anabeth's voice is firm but not unkind. "Because she's starting to notice things. Cilla said Quinn asked her if there was something in the water—something that makes the food taste different here."
