Page 50 of On Tap for the Bear
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything. "Good."
"Good?" She glares at me. "This isn't funny, Eli. I'm terrified. I came here broken and lost, and now I'm supposed to just—what? Trust that some magical bond means everything will work out? Trust that you won't wake up one day and realize I'm not worth the trouble?"
"You're not broken. You never were." I cup her face with my free hand, making her look at me. "You're healing. There's a difference. And yeah, you're worth the trouble. Worth every difficult conversation, every moment of doubt, every fear you need me to help you work through. That's what this means."
The door opens behind us, and I hear boots on the wooden floor. Heavy steps. Someone stumbling slightly.
"Well, well." A voice I don't immediately recognize—male, slurred with alcohol. "If it isn't the little gal with her picture in one of those snooty food magazines."
I turn slowly, placing myself between Quinn and whoever this is. A man in his forties, red-faced, wearing a tourist's idea of outdoorsy clothes. Passing through town, probably staying at one of the motels on the highway.
"Can I help you?" I keep my voice level, but every protective instinct I have rises to the surface.
"Just curious about that little gal behind you." He leans against the bar, eyeing Quinn. "Read about her online. There was some mess up with the magazine. Rumors spread quick in the digital. I’m just wondering what some hotshot city critic is doing hiding out in the middle of nowhere."
She goes still beside me, shoulders hunching inward.
"You're drunk," I say flatly. "And you need to leave."
"I'm just making conversation." He grins, showing too many teeth. "Asking questions. Like, how does a food critic let someone else take credit for her work? Either you weren't paying attention, or you didn't have the backbone to fight for it...”
I move before I consciously decide to. One moment I'm just standing there and the next I'm putting myself fully between this asshole and Quinn. My protective fury surges so close to the surface my hands shake with the effort of holding it back.
"Get. Out." My voice comes out deeper, rougher. Not quite a growl, but close.
The drunk's eyes widen. He's too intoxicated to understand what he's seeing, but some primal part of his brain recognizes danger. "Hey, man, I was just...”
"You were just leaving." Beau appears at my shoulder, barely leashed fury in every line of his body. "Right now. Before this gets uglier."
The guy backs toward the door, hands up. "Jesus. Can't anyone take a joke anymore?"
The moment he's gone, I force myself to breathe. To push down the protective rage. To turn to Quinn with human hands instead of claws.
She's staring at me with wide eyes. Not afraid—analyzing. Seeing something she didn't fully understand before.
"You believe me," she says quietly. "About Vanessa. About what happened. You don't think I'm...”
"Of course I believe you." I sit back down, closer this time. "I've read your food writing, Quinn. Seen the way you describe flavors and textures with perfect precision. No one who writes like that would need to steal from someone else. Vanessa saw your talent and took it because she couldn't create anything that good herself."
A tear slips down her cheek. "No one's said that. Everyone just assumed—because she's established and I'm not, because she has the platform—they all just believed her version."
"Then they're idiots." I wipe the tear away with my thumb. "And they don't deserve you."
"But you do?"
"I don't know if I deserve you," I admit. "But I'll spend every day earning it. If you'll let me."
Quinn laughs wetly, shaking her head. "This is insane. All of it. Mate bonds and shapeshifters and magic towns. A week ago I was in the city, convinced my life was over. Now I'm sitting in atavern with a man who turns into a bear, and somehow that's the sanest thing that's happened to me."
"Does that mean you're staying?"
"I don't know yet. I need—time. To figure out what staying means. What I want my life to look like if I'm not chasing the next magazine assignment or clawing back a reputation that someone I trusted ripped away from me."
It's not a yes. But it's not a no either.
"Take all the time you need," I tell her. "I'm not going anywhere."
She nods slowly. "Can I ask you something?"
