Page 13 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)

FRASER

T he Fall Festival rolled into town like a friendly invasion. When I arrived at the town square early Saturday morning, vendors were already setting up booths, stringing lights between lampposts, and transforming our quiet streets into something out of a Hallmark movie.

The October sun had decided to show up and show off, painting everything in that particular golden light that only came with autumn.

The air was crisp enough to require a jacket but warm enough in the sun to make you want to shed it.

A light breeze carried the scent of cinnamon and apple cider from the food vendors, mixing with the earthy smell of fallen leaves that crunched underfoot.

The mountains in the distance were showing their first hints of snow on the peaks, while the trees in town blazed with reds and oranges so vivid they looked almost artificial against the cloudless blue sky.

It was the perfect day to be outside, and that was exactly what I planned to do. The library’s large book sale booth was tucked between Brianna’s pastry stand and a local artist selling watercolors. I’d somehow let Eleanor rope me into helping with setting up the booth.

“We need your muscles,” she’d said, which was such a clever manipulation-disguised-as-compliment that I hadn’t even recognized it at first. And then when I had and had wanted to cancel, she’d countered with, “You wanted to get more involved in the community, didn’t you?”

Hard to get angry when someone played the game that well.

Of course any thought of canceling had evaporated when I found out Calloway would be volunteering too. We’d hung out twice more since our shared dinner, and he hadn’t left my thoughts. What that meant was something I chose not to focus on.

I spotted him immediately, bent over a box of donated books, sorting them with the same careful attention he brought to everything.

He wore a rust-colored sweater that made him look like autumn incarnate, and when he glanced up and saw me, his whole face changed with surprise, melting into something warmer that made my stomach go weak.

“G-good morning,” he managed, straightening slowly like his back was protesting the work.

“Morning. Eleanor put you to work already? I thought I was on time.”

“She’s always early.” His lips quirked in that almost-smile I was learning to treasure. “I’ve l-l-learned to show up half an hour b-b-before.”

“Well, I’m here, so put me to work. I know nothing about organizing books. You’ll have to tell me what to do.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe, or recognition of the reversal. Usually, I was the one leading our interactions, creating space for him to step into. But here, surrounded by books, he was in his element.

“F-fiction by author’s last name,” he said, already moving to demonstrate. “Nonfiction by s-subject. P-poetry gets its own section.”

We fell into an easy rhythm, him sorting while I grabbed new boxes and opened them for him, our movements finding a natural synchronization.

“You two work well together,” Eleanor observed during a lull, her tone too innocent to be trusted.

Calloway flushed, suddenly fascinated by the spine of a cookbook. I busied myself straightening already-straight rows, hyperaware of the foot of space between us that felt simultaneously too much and not enough.

When I was certain Calloway couldn’t see me, I sent Eleanor a silent warning, and she held up her hands in an equally wordless acknowledgment.

Getting close to Calloway was like approaching a crown fire—one wrong move and he would torch up, retreat to higher ground.

I couldn’t have Eleanor spook him like that.

Luckily, she kept her mouth shut after that.

The festival officially opened at ten, and Main Street filled with a mix of locals and tourists, all eager for small-town charm and reasonably priced crafts.

Our booth drew steady traffic. Books were five for ten dollars, a deal that had people loading up bags.

Luckily, we had countless boxes under our tables to restock when the tables got too empty.

I watched Calloway navigate the interactions with a grace I hadn’t expected. When customers asked for recommendations, he’d point rather than speak, or he wrote titles on a notepad Eleanor had thoughtfully provided. Most people didn’t seem to care about his silence, too focused on their finds.

“He’s good at this,” I said to Eleanor during a brief break.

She smiled, giving me her knowing teacher look that made me feel twelve years old. “He spent years as a public librarian. You develop strategies.”

Around noon, the crowd thickened. I was reaching for a box of romance novels someone had requested when my leg decided to remind me why my doctor had told me not to stand for extended periods of time. The muscle seized, a white-hot cramping that nearly dropped me to my knees.

Calloway was there before I could even process the pain, his hand on my elbow, steadying without making a scene. “Ch-chair,” he said quietly, already guiding me to the folding seat behind our table.

I sank into it gratefully, trying to breathe through the spasm. Calloway crouched beside me, his hand still on my arm, concern written across his face.

“I’m okay,” I managed. “Just need to sit for a moment.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t call me out. Instead, he stood, surveyed the booth, and made an executive decision. “We’re taking a lunch break,” he told Pascal, who had shown up minutes earlier to help.

Pascal nodded immediately, understanding flickering across his face. “I can handle things for a while. You two go get something to eat.”

Before I could protest that I was fine, that I only needed a minute, Calloway had grabbed my cane from where I’d optimistically left it leaning against the table. He held it out without comment, and something about the matter-of-fact way he did it—no pity, no fuss—made it easier to take.

“There’s a b-bench close by. More private.”

I let him lead me away from the crowds, grateful for his steady presence beside me.

The bench was tucked into a small garden area I hadn’t known existed, shaded by an old oak whose leaves were just beginning to turn.

Calloway waited until I was settled, then surprised me by sitting close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

“You sh-should have said something earlier,” he said, and there was gentle reproach in his voice. “About your l-leg.”

“Pot, meet kettle. How’s your back?”

That earned me a rueful smile. “T-touché.”

We sat in comfortable silence while my leg slowly unknotted itself. From here, we could hear the festival sounds—music from the small stage, children laughing, the general hum of community—but it felt removed, like we were in our own pocket of quiet.

“Thank you,” I said eventually. “For noticing. For not making a big deal of it.”

“We all have our…” He paused, searching for words. “Our d-difficult days.”

“Is this one of yours?” I asked carefully, wondering if the crowds were getting to him.

He considered this, head tilted slightly. “Actually, n-no. It’s been…good. Working with you. F-feeling useful.” A pause. “I forgot I could do this.”

“Do what?”

“Be around p-people. Not hide.” He picked at a loose thread on his sweater. “It’s easier with you there.”

The admission hung between us, delicate and significant. I wanted to reach for his hand, to offer some physical comfort to match what his presence had given me, but I kept still. These moments with Calloway were like approaching a wild animal—any sudden movement might break the spell.

“Ready to go back?” he asked after a while. “Or do you need more time?”

“I’m good.” The sharp pain had faded to its usual dull ache, manageable if I was careful. “But maybe I’ll use the cane.”

“G-good,” he said firmly, and I loved him a little for not pretending it didn’t matter.

The walk back to our booth was slower, but Calloway matched my pace without comment. When we arrived, Pascal had everything under control, chatting easily with customers while making change. Eleanor was nowhere to be seen, probably making the rounds of other booths.

“I’ll get us some f-food,” Calloway offered. “Any r-requests?”

“Surprise me.”

He returned fifteen minutes later with containers loaded with pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, and what appeared to be homemade potato chips. We ate standing behind our table, taking turns helping customers between bites.

“This is amazing,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich.

“S-Sunshine Corner’s truck. The chef is Ennio Fr-frant, the sheriff’s younger b-brother. I thought you’d l-like it.”

The fact that he’d thought about what I’d like, that he’d paid enough attention to guess correctly, warmed me more than the October sun.

The afternoon flew by. Calloway and I found our rhythm again, working in tandem like we’d been doing this for years instead of hours.

He’d hand me books, I’d make change. I’d chat with customers, he’d restock our tables.

When my leg started protesting again, he subtly took over the more physical tasks without making me ask.

Around three, the sheriff stopped by, dressed in full uniform, with his family. I’d seen him in passing a few times, but we’d never been formally introduced.

“Fraser, right?” He extended a hand. “Sheriff Auden Frant. I’ve been meaning to welcome you properly to town.”

His handshake was firm and his smile genuine. This was a man comfortable in his own skin, content with his place in the world.

“Fraser Strickland. Good to meet you.”

“This is my husband Keaton and our kids.” He gestured to the four teenagers browsing the tables with the focused intensity of kids who’d been given book money.

“Nice to meet you,” Keaton said warmly. “The kids are all big readers, and they’ve been saving up for today. We might need a wagon to get their haul home.”

The older of the two boys rolled his eyes at his father. “You mean you’ve been saving up, Dad. You can never walk past a bookstore without buying something.”

Keaton grinned. “It’s a law, don’t you know? One shall not pass a bookstore without supporting the local economy. Right?” He bumped Auden’s shoulder.

Auden didn’t even miss a beat. “Absolutely. And I’d hate to have to arrest anyone today.”

That got a chuckle out of all of us.

The youngest of the two girls looked up from a stack of fantasy novels. “Dad, they have a whole series I want. Can I get them all?”

“Sure,” Auden agreed easily. “If you carry them yourself for the rest of the day.”

Her face clouded over for a moment, but then she smiled. “I’ll drop them off at your office, and we can pick them up later.”

“Dani…” Auden sighed.

“You had no problem putting the wood carving there that you bought,” his daughter pointed out.

The sheriff didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Good point.”

The kids dove back into their browsing while Auden turned his attention to us. “I’m glad to see you getting involved, Fraser. And, Calloway…” His expression softened with genuine affection. “It’s really good to see you out and about.”

Calloway flushed but managed a small smile. I loved how Auden showed him warmth without pity.

“Calloway got me involved in book club,” I said. “Which is how I ended up volunteering here.”

Auden’s gaze sharpened slightly, taking in the easy way we stood together, the careful space between us that somehow emphasized our awareness of each other.

But he didn’t comment, only smiled. “Well, I’d better wrangle the kids before they buy out your entire stock.

Good to finally meet you properly, Fraser.

Calloway.” He nodded to us both, then headed off to negotiate with his teenagers.

“He seems nice,” I said when they’d paid for their haul and left again. Keaton had been right that they’d need a wagon.

“He is,” Calloway said softly. “His d-dad was too. One of the f-few people who never made me feel…” He gestured vaguely at his throat.

“Different?”

“B-b-broken,” he corrected, then seemed surprised he’d said it aloud.

Before I could respond—to argue, to reassure, to do something about the pain in that single word—Brianna appeared at our booth like a force of nature. “Brought you some snacks,” she said, handing Calloway a brown paper bag.

When he opened it, his eyes lit up. “K-k-rentenbollen.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but judging by his expression, it was something good. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You two are adorable,” she said, patting Calloway’s shoulder. “Working together like an old married couple. It’s good to see.”

The words hit like cold water. Goddammit. Calloway stiffened, that careful withdrawal beginning, and moved without thinking.

“We make a good team as friends ,” I said easily, keeping my tone light. “Calloway does all the actual work. I lift heavy things and look decorative.”

Brianna laughed, but there was an apology in her eyes. “Well, keep up the good work. Both of you.” She bustled back to her own booth.

“S-sorry,” Calloway muttered. “Small towns. Everyone thinks?—”

“Hey.” I waited until he looked at me. “We are a good team. That’s all she meant.”

He searched my face for a moment, then nodded slowly.

The tension eased from his shoulders, and we went back to our rhythm of him sorting, me selling, and me pretending not to notice how naturally we moved around each other.

Brianna had only confirmed what I had felt myself, except I hadn’t been stupid enough to say anything.

By five o’clock, the festival was winding down. We’d sold three-quarters of our stock, which Eleanor declared a rousing success when she returned to help pack up.

“You two were wonderful.” She beamed. “We’ve never sold this many books on the first day. You’ll help tomorrow too, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I said as Calloway nodded.

“Excellent. Now go enjoy your evening.”

We helped load the remaining boxes into Pascal’s car—he’d volunteered to store them overnight—then found ourselves standing in the thinning crowd, suddenly directionless.

I was in pain, more than I cared to admit, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Calloway yet. “Wanna come over for dinner?”

He hesitated. “How about we go to my place so I can cook?”

The implied “you need to sit down” was there, but I appreciated him not mothering me or making the decision for me. “Sounds perfect.”

Even more perfect, and far more important, was that apparently, he didn’t want the day to end either. Or was I reading too much into this?

Only one way to find out.