Page 76 of Bears Behaving Badly
“Annette, this is Jenn and Jim Griffith. We kind of grew up together.”
“I think you can drop the ‘kind of,’” Jenn said, smiling at them both. She was tall, with a face full of freckles and short red hair that sprang from her skull in all directions, as if each hair follicle was out for itself. Her husband was six inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier, with light-brown skin, long lashes (why were those always wasted on men?), and the most melting Godiva-dark eyes Annette had ever seen. “It was the rare week when you weren’t over at one of our houses for dinner at least twice.”
They’re Stables, like Brian.What the hell happened to David when he was a kid? Easy: one or both of his parents died. And in the resulting chaos, his neighbors opened their homes to him, found out his secret, and loved him despite his other nature. Or because of it. Which is nothing I anticipated.
In fact, she was a little ashamed at how easily she’d dismissed the man for the two years he’d been on the periphery as an IPA investigator. Nobody knew anything about him? Well, nobody bothered to ask. He kept to himself? Again: nobody reached out. In less than a day she’d discovered his intelligence, sense of humor, and sweet-tooth-fueled candy fetish.
This is odd. Two years of nothing, and suddenly…everything? Maybe it’s not entirely on me. Maybe David chose to open himself up a little. And if he has, what does that mean for us?
Idiot: there is no us. David did not equivocate.It didn’t happen, it will never happen, stop trying to make it happen.Remember?
Too well.
And what were you thinking, glomming onto him with your lips? Poor guy will never consent to being stuffed into a closet with you again. Not without a rape whistle.
She made a determined effort to stop beating herself up and had to smile when she saw Jenn go straight to the kitchen and pour David a cup of coffee as her husband went for the maple syrup.
“Would you like some, Annette?”
“No, thank you, Jenn.”
“Something else? Water? Milk?”
“I’d love some milk. Oh God, I can’t watch.” She really couldn’t; David had put so much syrup into his coffee it was now indistinguishable from the syrup in color, smell, and texture.
“Back off, Garsea. Do I weigh in on your nutritional habits?”
“Frequently.”
“You had a plate of raw fish for supper.” To the Griffiths: “Not sushi. Not sashimi. Literally just a big dinner plate with a football-size pile of salmon that she wolfed down with two ginger beers.”
“Three ginger beers. May I put this in your fridge?” She held up the doggy bag—horrible name—which held her third helping of crème brûlée, perfect for a snack at 3:00 a.m. Or five minutes from now.
“Yes, of course. Wow, and I thought David could put away the chow. Is that because you’re like him? You’re”—Jenn’s voice trailed off as her husband gave her what he probably thought was a subtle elbow to the side—“a great big lover of fish?” she finished weakly.
“Uh…”
“It’s fine, Annette,” David said, sipping and closing his eyes in bliss. You could almost see the waves of syrupy contentment coming off him. “They know all about my nature.”
“So you turn into a bear?” Jenn coughed and tried to sound nonchalant, which was tough given that she was leaning so far forward she was practically looming over Annette, a good trick since she was two inches shorter. “I mean…if that’s your thing. Which is none of my business. No one’s business, really. It’s a private thing. If it evenisa thing. Um. We have fish sticks? If you’re still hungry?”
“I’m fine.” She despised fish sticks. She also wasn’t sure how she felt about being so casually outed. Well, she could have denied it. David had simply handed her the chance to…not deny it. Which, she had to admit, was a novel sensation. “And I don’t turn into a bear. Neither does David. We just—” She cut herself off and took a gulp of milk. Mmmm…whole milk. “It’s complicated.”
“I can imagine.” Jim paused. “Actually, I can’t. I’m sitting here trying to imagine it, and I can’t make it happen in my brain.”
“Don’t hurt yourself, hon.” Jenn snickered.
David cleared his throat. “Listen, guys, I’m sorry to just drop in like this—”
“Are you kidding?”
“It’s beenages. How long can you stay? A week? A month?”
“—but Annette and I need a place to crash for the night.”
Jim’s face lit up. “Is this for one of your cases? Are bad guys after you?”
“Yep to both.”
