Page 4

Sleep.

Eat.

My bear wasn’t asking for much. He wanted me to meet our basic needs. I wasn’t even good enough for my beast.

A B&B came into view, the windows lit and smoke billowing from the chimney.

“Off-season should have cheaper rates.” I tried to convince myself as I walked toward it, the ground getting slippery beneath my feet. “No one comes to a town like this in the winter.”

I was proved wrong the second I opened the door. The front desk had three people waiting, and there was plenty of chatter coming from a side room. My first thought was there was a big function happening, possibly a birthday or a wedding.

But the more I watched, standing in line, the more I saw that they were all guests and were here for some kind of work. Theykept talking about production schedules being messed up. I just didn’t know the production of what.

It was nice to have the warmth surrounding me. The B&B had a cinnamon-and-pine scent with almost a briny tinge to it. That and all the scents of the humans with their cologne and hair products and cosmetics. But, unlike on the bus, they didn’t overwhelm my senses here, the cinnamon and pine like a balm making it all okay.

One after another, the people were dealt with at the front desk. The man helping the guests had a voice meant to sing. Its soothing quality that could wrap around you. It made sense he had a job in hospitality. People would respond well to it.

Rub.

And so did my bear. He’d never been one to behave. Where the other kids’ bears were telling them helpful things as they learned to navigate two beings in one body, mine did things like this.

“May I help you?” the man asked, and I stepped up to the counter.

“I hope so.” I sucked in a deep breath trying to covertly scent the air. The cinnamon, it was him. Cinnamon and brine. And the pine was there, too, but not as deep. No the pine wasn’t his, but possibly—I looked at his neck and saw the top of a mating mark—of course, the pine was his mate.

No!

My bear hadn’t decided to be any more helpful than he was with the whole rub thing.

“I’m looking for a job. I’m good in the kitchen, don’t mind cleaning, and am organized.”

“We might have something temporary.” He swished his mouth from left to right. “What’s your name?”

“Scotty.” I held out my hand to shake his. I wouldn’t have normally done so. He was a shifter. I wasn’t sure what kind, but something aquatic. But we were surrounded by humans, and humans were all in on the handshaking thing.

“I’m Colton. Let me make sure these guys are all set and we can go talk with Mateo, my”—he looked around the room—”my husband about that job.”

4

MATEO

I’d been at the B&B in the busiest of high seasons and managed to glide through it with ease. This was different. There would be no gliding.

The workers were here for just that…work. And somehow that made them more entitled than the snootiest of guests. And not just one of them. All of them.

If only we’d been big enough to house the contestants. They were probably happy as clams with getting the free stay and food. I didn’t see any of them complaining that we brewed our coffee with a drip maker instead of creating craft pour overs of fancy blends. The entire thing was ridiculous.

We were going to be stuck with them for weeks. Weeks. And if the snow kept coming down at its current clip, they were going to be stuck inside for days. The roads might be plowed quickly around here, but their location wasn’t on a city road. The odds of it being cleared right away were slim to none.

And they didn’t come from a place with snow. Their ability to drive in flurries probably didn’t exist, and this was no flurry.

I put the rest of the groceries away. It had been too slippery outside to go to the big store up the highway. Instead we went to the tiny mom and pop place. I didn’t mind that it cost more. Keeping money local was worth that sometimes. But they carried a ton of small items, and that was driving me up the wall. That and being unable to buy huge trays of frozen lasagna and danishes—items that would make our lives easier as we tried to feed everyone.

I’d done the best I could picking things out. Beyond breakfast, Colton and I were far from expert chefs. I went with easy, and if they wanted to be all entitled about it, they could figure out a way to feed their own selves.

It was safe to say I was feeling a bit grumpy.

And by bit, I meant a whole lot.