Page 71 of More Than I Can Bear

The word felt curiously old fashioned and awesome all at the same time.

Then there was being kissed awake. River started first, looking at me almost shyly when my eyes opened, going back for more when I didn’t protest. Kisses on my lips, then down my neck, making me squirm, which woke up Kaine and he joined in the fun real quick. They kissed me until I was gasping and writhing on the bed. Then, just when I thought things were about to get interesting again, Kaine rolled out of bed.

“How about breakfast? I’ve got some thick cut bacon in the fridge and some free range eggs? That on some toasted sourdough?”

“I could make that,” I said. “Or the coffee.”

By this time of the morning I would’ve done that any number of times at work, so making three cups was no great chore. He just shook his head slowly with a smile.

“Have a nice long shower,” he told me. “We’ll make breakfast.”

“Maybe I’ll join you.” River looked at me with a slow smile.

I tried to imagine it: the simple pleasures of a shared life, of being able to have a shower together, a car ride, maybe a movie on the couch. Of being connected to someone. But Kaine obviously wasn’t picking up on that, and he threw a pillow at the other man.

“Your breakfast will be waiting for you when you get out,” Kaine promised me as River reluctantly pulled himself out of bed.

In the shower I was forced to confront what had happened last night. I had meant to… It wasn’t what I had planned but, as I smiled at my reflection, noting how swollen my lips were, the skin on my chin reddened with beard rash, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. If multiple orgasms and having breakfast made for me was the beginning of my fated mate era, I was here for it.

A tiny part of me felt guilty, knowing that Amber wouldn’t have been able to find someone to replace me at such short notice and that everyone else would’ve had to pick up the pace to cover my absence but… Like a lot of creative people, my day job was a means to an end, not the career I’d engaged in willingly. I’d dreamed of being able to spend the whole day drawing when I was still at school and now…After I dressed, I walked out into the massive living room and saw all the art supplies where we’d left them, along with all of the shoes, just blank canvases ready for me to work on. Kaine looked up the moment I entered the room and pushed a steaming hot coffee towards me.

“So I’ve got news.”

I pulled the cup closer, cradling it in my hands and soaking up the warmth as River turned away from the cooktop.

“What news?” he asked with a frown.

“I spoke to Margot at the gallery and that didn’t go so well,” he said. Then his lips quirked up in a smile. “But then I went and had a chat with Bjorn.”

“Over at the tattoo shop?” River said, turning down the heat and setting the spatula down on the counter top. “He’s got that gallery…” They both turned to me.

“Bjorn’s a family friend,” Kaine told me. “He’s one of us.”

“A bear shifter tattooist?” I asked, still trying to get my head around that.

“A bear shifter biker tattooist,” River corrected.

“Who owns the shop he works in.” Kaine grabbed a plate and loaded it up with food, pushing it my way. “One part is the tattoo studio and the other part is a gallery. He and Cressida looked at your work and…” He looked like the cat that got the cream right then, so much pleasure in his expression. “He wants to offer you a solo show.”

“A solo…?” Words failed me. Gallery owners were spoiled for choice, often only letting a select few artists exhibit with them, and mostly those with a proven track record of sales. I flushed, thinking of my own anaemic sales records. “But I barely sell enough to keep myself in supplies,” I told him.

“Sales aren’t just about having a good product,” Kaine said and River sighed. The other man winked over his sleuthmate’s shoulder, as if Kaine did this a lot. “We build bloody good houses, but few people would build with us if they didn’t know that. We have a marketing and advertising budget that rivals our materials spend, but that makes sure that the sales keep coming.” He nodded slowly. “Bjorn knows his shit and wouldn’t offer you a spot if he didn’t think he could sell your work.”

“So what’s the shop’s name?” I asked, feeling a thrill and tamping it down hard.Don’t get excited, I thought to myself,not yet. The place might be a dump or—

“Bear Claw Studios,” Kaine replied.

Oh. Shit.

Something had happened in the last five years. When I was still at university there were only a couple of places to show your work. There were the big expensive galleries with fancy wooden floorboards and perfectly white walls, all with hideously expensive abstract artworks on their walls. And then there were the slightly grungier indie galleries that were off the beaten track, with less hideously expensive, often very cerebral artworks displayed in them. I didn’t feel like I fitted in either place. Then tattoo studios, hip boutiques and cool cafes seemed to get in on the whole gallery idea, displaying artwork that didn’t really fit in the fine art canon, art like mine, instead focussing on shit the owners vibed with.

And Bear Claw was one of the coolest.

I’d met Cressida, the gallery manager, at an opening once and gushed all over her after one too many red wines. She’d handed me her card, told me to call her but… I didn’t. When I was hungover the idea felt ridiculous. The woman was a goddess and I was…

“They want…” My throat closed up so I took a sip of my coffee. “You showed them my work?”

“Your Instagram feed,” Kaine said, proud as punch, but that sent a wave of terror through me. I just posted my latest WIP pics there. It wasn’t a professional portfolio. I unlocked my phone, tapping on the Insta icon, trying to remember what I’d last posted on there, fearing what that might mean for me career wise until…

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