Page 36 of On Tap for the Bear
"Ley lines." Eli stands beside me, haloed in that strange light. "This is what runs under everything. What makes this place different."
I reach out without thinking, my hand moving toward the nearest glowing line. The stone is cool under my fingertips at first. Then warmth spreads from the point of contact, racing up my arm.
Sensation explodes through me. Every taste I've been missing floods my mouth at once—chocolate, dark and bitter. Coffee, rich and bold. Strawberries, sweet and tart. Salt. Butter melting on fresh bread. Wine, tannic and complex. Everything. All of it simultaneously, layered and overwhelming and perfect and too much. My knees buckle.
Eli catches me as my knees give out, his arm around my waist, hauling me back against his chest. My hand jerks away from the stone. I'm gasping, heart racing, mouth still flooded with phantom tastes.
"Easy." His voice is low, steady in my ear. "It takes some getting used to."
"That was...” I can't find words big enough. "I don't understand."
"Neither do most people." He helps me back toward the stairs. "But it's real. All of it."
We climb back up to the main floor, and I lean against the hallway wall, trying to process what I just experienced. Magic. Actual magic. The word sounds ridiculous even in my own head, but I felt it. Tasted it.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" I look up at him.
"Would you have believed me?" Eli's expression is gentle. "Or would you have thought I was taking advantage of a vulnerable woman going through a crisis?"
He has a point. If he'd told me about ley lines and magic on my first day, I would have run. Would have chalked it up to small-town weirdness and gotten back in my car.
"I still don't understand what this place is." The admission feels important. "But I want to."
Eli steps closer, crowding me against the wall in a way that makes my pulse jump and heat flare low in my belly again. His hand comes up to brace beside my head. "Then stay. Let me show you."
His mouth finds mine, softer now but no less intense. I kiss him back, my fingers curling into his belt loops, holding him close. He tastes like everything I've been searching for.
When we finally break apart, my lungs burn and my head spins with wine and revelation and the lingering heat of his touch. My lips are tender, swollen. I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin.
"I should go home." I don't move, don't release his belt loops. "Get some sleep. Process all of this."
"Yeah." Eli's thumb traces my lower lip, the touch gentle but deliberate. "You should."
"But I don't want to."
"I know." He kisses my forehead, tender and careful, his lips lingering against my skin. "But you need time to think. To decide if this—all of this—is what you really want."
Part of me wants to argue. Wants to insist I've already decided, already chosen. But he's right. I need space to sort through it all.
I gather my dress and panties from behind the bar, the fabric wrinkled and wine-dark in the dim light. I pull it on while Eli watches, his gaze tracking every movement—the slide of fabric up my thighs, the way I reach back to pull up the zipper. It catches halfway and he moves behind me without a word, his fingers brushing my spine as he eases it up the rest of the way. The intimacy of the gesture makes my breath catch.
I smooth down my hair, finger-combing the tangles. Find my shoes kicked under a barstool. My legs still feel unsteady.
At the door, I pause. "Eli?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't regret this." I meet his eyes. "Any of it."
His smile is small but genuine. "Good. Neither do I."
I walk home through the quiet streets of Redwood Rise, wrapped in the memory of his touch and the impossible glow of those ley lines. My body carries the evidence of what we did—the pleasant ache between my thighs, the tenderness of my lips, the ghost sensation of his hands on my hips. My dress is wrinkled, my hair a mess, and I don't care.
The streets are empty, the shops dark. Only the streetlights cast pools of yellow on the sidewalk. My footsteps echo in the silence.
But underneath the confusion and disbelief, hope takes root. Tentative but real.
Whatever this place is, whatever Eli is, I'm not running. Not anymore.
