Page 32 of On Tap for the Bear
The energy spikes twice more during dinner, each pulse a little stronger. The second one makes the lights flicker. The third rattles the windows in their frames. Anabeth takes readings after each one, her frown deepening. By the time we're clearing plates, she's pulled Beau aside for a whispered conversation that has him looking at me with worry. His jaw tightens, and he glances toward the forest, then back at me.
I help with cleanup because it's expected, scraping plates and loading the dishwasher while my mind races. My thoughts are in town, at the Pinecrest Inn. Quinn and Cilla are probably finishing up dinner by now. Is Quinn telling Cilla about this morning? About the cellar, the almost-kiss, the way the earth seemed to hum beneath us? Does Quinn feel the pull even now,sitting miles away? Does she sense the way the land responds to her, or does she just think it's stress, exhaustion, the aftermath of trauma?
"Stop overthinking it," Beau says quietly, appearing at my elbow with a dish towel. Water drips from his hands, leaving dark spots on the floor. "You'll know what to say when the time comes."
"What if she runs?" The words come out rougher than I intend, raw with fear I can't quite hide.
"Then you give her space and wait. But Eli?" He grips my shoulder, his hand heavy and warm. "I don't think she's going to run. Quinn strikes me as someone who faces things head-on, even when she's scared. Especially when she's scared. She drove five hours to escape her problems, but she's not hiding. She's here, asking questions, trying to understand. That's not running. That's fighting."
I want to believe him. But the memory of her backing away from me in the cellar, the fear mixed with want in her eyes, the way she fled without looking back—that suggests otherwise. She wanted me to kiss her. I could see it, feel it, taste it in the air between us. And then she ran anyway, because wanting and trusting aren't the same thing.
Not yet. Maybe not ever, if I tell her the truth.
Another wave of energy rolls through as I'm leaving, strong enough that I have to grip the truck door to stay steady. The metal is cold under my palm, grounding. Through Calder's window, I see Anabeth watching me, concern clear on her face. She lifts her phone slightly, shows me the screen even from here—another spike, higher than before.
I nod once. I understand. The lines are escalating. Quinn is calling to them, or they're calling to her, and time is running out before something happens that neither of us can control.
I have until tomorrow to figure out how to tell her. One day to find the words that won't send her running. Twenty-four hours to prepare for the moment that could give me everything or cost me the one thing I've been waiting for my entire life.
The walk from my truck to my A-frame feels endless. My bear paces inside me, restless and impatient, clawing at my control. The October night has turned cold, my breath fogging in front of me. The compound is quiet except for the wind in the trees and the distant sound of the ocean. Stars wheel overhead, bright and indifferent. When I finally step inside, the ley lines hum beneath my feet—steady, certain, utterly confident in what's coming.
The A-frame is dark. I don't bother turning on lights. Just stand in my too-large kitchen, surrounded by restaurant-grade equipment I barely use, and stare out the massive windows at the forest beyond. Somewhere out there, the ley lines converge. Somewhere out there, my youngest brother is lost or dead or something I can't let myself think about. And somewhere in town, fifteen minutes away but feeling like miles, Quinn is finishing dinner with Cilla, completely unaware that tomorrow everything changes.
For both of us.
I wish I felt the same certainty the ley lines do. Instead, all I feel is fear—not of telling her the truth, but of what comes after. Of watching her look at me differently. Of seeing trust turn to horror, want turn to fear, possibility turn to loss.
My bear growls softly, disagreeing. She won't run, it insists. She's ours. She'll understand.
I hope to god he’s right.
CHAPTER 10
QUINN
The wine sits warm in my belly as I walk through downtown Redwood Rise, my boots scuffing against the sidewalk. Three glasses. Maybe four. Enough that the edges of the world have gone soft, enough that I needed to walk off some of the buzz before heading back to my room at the Pinecrest Inn.
Cilla hugged me goodbye at the Inn, smelling like lavender and red wine, whispering advice I'm not sure I asked for. "Life's too short to wait for perfect timing, sweetheart. Sometimes you just have to jump."
The cold October air bites against my cheeks now, clearing my head with each step. My thoughts keep circling back to Eli. To this morning in the cellar. To the almost-kiss that's been haunting me all day.
I round the corner onto Main Street, and there it is—the Bear Claw Tavern, glowing warm against the darkness. Eli's truck sits in the parking lot, mud-splattered and solid. He came back. Left his family compound to check on the place, probably found some excuse about inventory or prep work that couldn't wait until morning.
My heart kicks against my ribs.
I should go home. Should walk back to the Inn, climb the stairs to my room, take off this dress Cilla insisted looked "criminally good" on me, and sleep off the wine. Should be sensible and careful and all the things I've learned to be since my taste buds went silent and my career imploded.
Instead, I cross the street.
The door isn't locked. The bell chimes as I push inside, and Eli looks up from behind the bar where he's doing inventory counts, pen paused over a clipboard. His hair is still damp from a shower, pushed back from his face, and he's changed into a clean flannel over a dark t-shirt.
"Quinn." Surprise crosses his features, followed quickly by hunger and wariness. "Everything okay?"
"Why didn't you kiss me?"
The words come out steadier than I expected. Direct. No preamble, no dancing around it.
Eli sets down his pen carefully, like he's buying time. "You've been drinking."
