Page 7 of Bear With Me

As he bangs around in the kitchen, I sit carefully on the edge of his well-worn sofa and study his house. The inside of the cabin isn’t anything fancy. It’s a sort of a studio-style open living space with the galley kitchen off to one side and the combination dining and living room to the other. It’s decorated with a bunch of black and white nature images and several homey, handmade throws.

As he makes the drinks, I cross the living room to one of the pictures. It’s a black and white study of a grove of trees. It could have been taken anywhere, but part of me already knows it was taken in the woods. Something tells me that he keeps this place near to his heart. I can totally understand that. I didn’t want to leave my home either because it was the place that made me feel the closest to my parents. With my gift, I was able to grab memories from all over our house.

I didn’t realize how much I missed that special kind of inconvenience until I touched the fridge at Nonna’s and didn’t get a vision of my dad grabbing a beer. Or when I started the coffee machine and didn’t see my mom’s sleepy morning face complete with hair sticking in every direction.

“Did you take these?” I ask, turning back to lean against the kitchen counter, suddenly curious about this mysterious gentle giant with the soulful brown eyes and predatory stare.

“No,” Declan says, coming out of the bedroom already changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “My dad was a photographer. These are all his.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Declan comes to stand by my side. “Yeah, they are. I have tons of them at the shop in town. The tourists love them and I kinda like the thought of his work being out there in the world, you know? Some way for his memory to go on.”

An image of my parents come to mind and I wonder how they’ll be remembered. Both were business professionals and had little time for anything artistic. In fact, their memories are mostly confined to pictures and home videos.

“You’re lucky to have that,” I choke out, taking the mug from his hand. An image pops to mind as soon as my fingers graze the ceramic. I see Declan sitting behind the counter of what I assume is his shop.

Normally when I’m sucked into a vision I do everything I can to pull myself out, but this time, I find myself lingering, taking everything in. I want to know everything I can about this man and since I can’t read him like everyone else, I’m reduced to second-hand snooping.

God, he looks lonely, is the first thing that comes to mind. He’s sorting through inventory on the glass shop counter, the longer hair up on top pulled back into a little bun. Small wire-framed glasses are perched on his nose and he curses as they keep sliding down. He looks up with the coffee cup in hand and his eyes are drawn to the passersby outside of his front window. Families of three and four go by, not even looking at his door.

The shop is empty save for some serious dust motes in the air and I can tell not much has changed in the time since his father ran it. The wood paneling on the wall looks original and there are more of the black and white nature scenes as far back as I can see. Various tourist-y knick knacks cover the shelves and there are racks and racks of fishing and hunting gear that I don’t even recognize. My parents weren’t very outdoorsy. Tennis was about as far as my mom would go to working up a sweat.

The memory fades slowly, sweetly almost and I blink rapidly trying to clear my head of the un-reality. Declan’s fingers run through the hair at my nape, lifting the weight away from my neck and cupping my head with his large palm. And I forget everything but how close he is.

“Are you all right?” he asks, peering into my eyes.

I don’t know if it’s the atmosphere or the memory or the loneliness I felt from him that reminds me of my own, but I find myself leaning toward him. My hands lift up to rest on his broad shoulders and I get on my tip-toes to kiss his full lower lip.

The hand at the back of my head slides down my spine and rests on my hip. At first I think he may be trying to push me away. I make a sound in the back of my throat and take a half-step forward to bring our bodies flush together. In spite of the chill from my wet clothes, I can feel my body temperature rising. Whatever indecision he felt evaporates and his grip tightens.

I’d wondered what his facial hair would feel like. Would it tickle or chafe? Would I like it or love it? The jury is in and I may never kiss a man without any again. The soft bristle teases me on an entirely new level, causing gooseflesh to pepper my skin.

His lips are even softer than I imagined, especially in comparison with the rough scratch of his scruff. I could drown in the need for more. My senses are clogged with it, with him. The smokey-clean scent of his skin, the searing warmth of his palms slipping under my damp shirt.

He wasn’t in my plans, but now I wonder if there wasn’t a reason that I wound up in Hillsborough. Because a kiss this soul-shattering is anything but ordinary.

I make a sound of surprise when he moves back a few inches. My brows furrow and my stomach clenches. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Holy shit, what if he didn’t want me to kiss him?

But he interrupts me by taking a few steps backwards and sitting on his couch. He tugs at my fingers and I walk towards him, the bit of apprehension returning because I know he’s the type of man that can eat a girl like me right up.

“C’mere,” he says, his voice gruff and I like it. I like that I did that to him, that I have that kind of effect on him. I like that he doesn’t see me as weird or pitiful, he just sees me.

His hands guide me over his hips so that I’m straddling him. He pauses and his fingers trail up my hips and stomach, but what I enjoy more than that is the look of intense concentration on his face. When they reach my face, he cups my cheeks and brings my lips back down to his.

“You should probably leave,” he says a few moments later, or maybe it’s hours. I’ve completely lost track of everything but how he makes me feel.

I pull back, my arms still wrapped around his neck and my lips deliciously bruised. “What do you mean?”

He lays a kiss on the base of my throat, then kisses his way back up to my mouth. “Little girl like you. It’s not safe to be here all alone.”

I attempt a laugh, but it strangles on a moan when he nibbles at my ear. “I think I can take care of myself,” I manage to say. I should be scared of him like I was of the creep, but I’m not. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t read him, maybe it’s because he kisses like a God. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t scare me even though his words sound like a warning.

My phone vibrates on the couch where I set it and I groan, knowing that it must be my brother. I shoot Declan a wry smile. “That’ll be my brother. Probably good timing, if I knew what time it was.”

Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I get back to my feet.