Page 18 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)

“Quite a collection,” I said when Fraser returned, arms full of ropes, harnesses, and a massive chainsaw.

“Never know when you’ll need to clear a tree.” He set everything down with practiced efficiency. “Or rescue a cat. Or hang Christmas lights for the entire neighborhood.”

The image of Fraser stringing lights for elderly neighbors was easy to picture. Of course he would. This man, who showed up in storms, would also be the one making sure everyone’s holidays were bright.

We worked together for the next hour, Fraser directing me with patient clarity as we rigged ropes to control the limb’s fall.

He moved with careful precision despite his leg, years of experience evident in every decision.

I watched the way his hands worked, strong and capable yet gentle when needed.

“Ready?” he asked, chainsaw in hand. He’d handed me a hard hat, and even though I felt ridiculous wearing it, I’d put it on. On him, it complemented the whole rugged outdoor look he had going on. On me, not so much.

I nodded, taking my position on the guide rope. The saw roared to life, and within minutes, the compromised limb was dropping exactly where Fraser had planned, missing both the house and the garden beds.

“P-perfect,” I said when the saw went quiet.

Fraser grinned, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool morning. “We make a good team.”

We. Such a simple word to carry so much possibility.

He spent another hour cutting the limb into manageable pieces, stacking wood that could be split for firewood later.

Fraser insisted on doing the heavier lifting, but he let me help without making me feel useless.

By the time we finished, the sun had burned through the morning clouds, the proverbial sunshine after the storm.

“Thank you,” I said as we stood surveying our work. “You d-didn’t have to?—”

“Calloway.” He turned to face me fully, and there was something in his expression that made my breath catch. “You’ve got to stop thanking me for wanting to help you. That’s what…” He paused, seeming to reconsider his words. “That’s what friends do.”

Friends. The word should have been reassuring, a safe boundary maintained. Instead, it felt like a placeholder for something neither of us was ready to name.

We stood there in my storm-scattered yard, chainsaw cooling at our feet, and I felt something shift inside me. Not healing, that would take more time than a single night and morning could provide. But maybe the beginning of healing. Maybe the first crack in the ice I’d packed around my heart.

“Calloway, everything okay?” A familiar voice calling out made me spin around.

“Sh-sheriff Frant. Y-yes. I’m fine.”

I walked over to the gate, where Auden stood, hands on his hips as he surveyed my house. “Looks like you got off without major damage.”

“J-just a tree limb. That’s it.”

“Glad to hear it. Not everyone was so lucky. This was a big one.”

Fraser joined us at the gate, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Morning, Sheriff.”

“Fraser.” Auden’s sharp eyes took in the scene—the chainsaw, the stacked wood, Fraser’s presence at my house early enough to suggest he’d been here all night. But his expression remained neutral, professional. “You boys need any help?”

“We’re g-good,” I managed, acutely aware of how this must look. “Fraser helped with the tr-tree.”

“Lucky you had someone nearby.” I caught the slight emphasis on “nearby.” “Power’s still out in some parts of town. We’re setting up a warming station at the community center if anyone needs it.”

“Thanks for letting us know,” Fraser said. “We’ll spread the word if we run into anyone who needs it.”

Auden nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. There was no judgment there, only the same quiet concern he’d shown since I’d moved back to Forestville. “Take care, Calloway. You too, Fraser.”

After he left, I let out a breath. “The whole t-town will know by lunch.”

Not from Auden. That man didn’t talk. But everyone else did.

“Know what? That I helped you with storm damage? Nothing scandalous about being neighborly.”

But we both knew it was more than that. In a small town like Forestville, people noticed things: whose truck was parked where, who was seen together, the small shifts in routine that suggested larger changes. And Fraser’s truck had been in my driveway all night.

“I should p-probably…” I gestured vaguely toward the house, not sure what I was suggesting but feeling the need for space to process everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.

“Right.” Fraser began gathering his equipment. “I should check on my own place anyway. Make sure I didn’t lose any shingles.”

I watched him load the chainsaw and ropes back into his truck, fighting the urge to ask him to stay. We’d already crossed so many boundaries, so what was one more?

“Fraser?” I called as he reached the driver’s door.

He turned, eyebrows raised in question.

“M-maybe dinner? Tonight? If you’re not too t-tired from all this.”

His face transformed with that sunrise smile. “I’d like that. Want me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

The words came out steadier than expected, and something passed between us—acknowledgment, promise, hope. Then he was driving away, and I was left standing in my driveway, feeling like the storm had rearranged more than my garden.

I spent the rest of the morning cleaning up smaller debris, but my mind kept drifting to the night before. The weight of Fraser’s arm around me. The steady sound of his breathing. The way he’d shown up without question, without need for explanation beyond simple concern.

Marcus would’ve liked him, I thought suddenly, then had to sit down on the porch steps as the realization hit me.

It was the first time I’d had that thought about anyone since Marcus died.

The first time I’d allowed myself to imagine introducing someone to his memory without feeling like I was betraying him.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Made it home safe. Only lost one shingle, and it was loose anyway. How are you doing?

A simple question with such a complicated answer. How was I doing? I was terrified and hopeful and confused and more alive than I’d felt in seven years.

Okay. Thinking too much.

Want to talk about it? Or think aloud at someone?

The offer was so perfectly Fraser—patient, no pressure, just presence offered freely.

Maybe at dinner

I’ll be there. 6?

Perfect

I put the phone away and forced myself to focus on the immediate tasks. There would be time later to untangle the mess of emotions. For now, I had a garden to salvage and dinner to plan. Normal things. Safe things.

But as I worked, I kept remembering the warmth of another body in my bed, the feeling of being held through the storm.

And despite all my fears, despite the voice in my head warning me about the pain of loving and losing, I was looking forward to six o’clock with an anticipation that felt dangerously close to hope.