Page 48 of On Tap for the Bear
But that was before she had time alone to think. Before the reality fully sank in—what it means to be tied to a bear shifter. To live in a town where everyone can turn into something with claws and teeth.
Instinct paces restlessly inside me, agitated by my worry. She said she'd stay. She chose us.
I want to believe that. But fear has a way of making people reconsider, even when their hearts are sure.
My phone sits on the counter, silent. No texts. No calls. She went back to the Inn hours ago to "think," and I haven't heard from her since.
"You're going to dice your finger off if you're not careful," Beau says from the grill, not looking up from the steaks he's searing.
"I'm fine."
"You're spiraling." He flips a steak with practiced ease. "She's not leaving, Eli."
"You don't know that."
"I know Quinn asked Evelyn about mate bonds when she got back to the Inn." Beau glances at me now, one eyebrow raised. "Evelyn called Cilla. Cilla called me. The town gossip chain is faster than you think."
My pulse jumps. "What did she ask?"
"If they're permanent. If there's a way to break them. If...” He pauses. "If you had a choice in choosing her, or if the bear decided for you."
The knife stills in my hand. "What did Evelyn tell her?"
"The truth. That mate bonds are real, that they're powerful, but that they don't override free will. That you still have to choose each other every day." Beau turns back to the grill. "Which is what you've been trying to tell her all along."
I set down the knife and brace my hands on the counter. Primal need claws at me—the urge to go to her, to make her understand that this bond is a gift, not a cage. That I would never take her choices away.
But showing up at the Inn, demanding she listen to me—that's exactly what would drive her away.
"She'll come to you," Beau says quietly. "When she's ready. Give her time to process."
"What if time isn't enough? What if she decides this is too much?"
"Then you let her go." His voice is gentle but firm. "Because that's what loving someone means. Even if it destroys you."
The thought of Quinn leaving—of watching her pack her car and drive away, taking my heart with her—makes every protective instinct I have howl in protest. But Beau's right. I can't force this. Can't make her stay if she's not ready.
All I can do is wait.
The dinner rushis in full swing when the bell above the door chimes.
I look up from the beer I'm pouring, and there she is.
Quinn stands in the doorway, backlit by the setting sun. She's changed clothes—jeans and a soft sweater that makes her eyes look darker. Her hair is pulled back, and she looks tired. Beautiful. Uncertain.
Our eyes meet across the crowded dining room.
She doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just walks to the bar and sits on the same stool she's claimed every night since she arrived.
My hands shake as I set down the beer I was pouring for another customer. The animal inside me surges forward, desperate to touch her, to make sure she's real and here and not leaving.
I force myself to walk calmly to where she sits.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey." She folds her hands on the bar top. "Can I get a beer?"
"Yeah. Of course." I grab a glass, trying to read her expression. Is she here to say goodbye? To ask more questions? To tell me she can't do this?
