Page 25 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)

FRASER

T he call came while I was admiring the backsplash in my kitchen, which I had just finished replacing. The old one had been a vague mustard-yellow that reminded me of vomit, and now I had a gorgeous white and dark-blue pattern that matched my kitchen cabinets, which I’d painted blue last week.

“Fraser,” I answered, my phone wedged between my ear and shoulder as I wiped off my hands with a rag.

“Fraser, it’s Chief Morrison.” The familiar voice of my old chief sent a jolt through me. “How’s retirement treating you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“You’re not bored yet?”

The chief had always known how to get to the hard questions immediately. “No.”

I didn’t mention it was because I’d kept busy with home improvement projects.

Now that the kitchen was done, the hallway was next.

Replacing the crowning, maybe the baseboards too.

Definitely painting all the walls, though perhaps wallpaper would look good there too.

I’d have to get some samples and make up my mind.

“Hmm, surprising. I hadn’t pictured you as someone who’d enjoy doing nothing.”

He wasn’t wrong. “What can I do for you, Chief?”

“I’ll cut to the chase. Remember the training program we talked about before you left? Well, we’ve got funding. Four-week intensive for new recruits this winter, and I need someone with your experience to run the classroom portions. Interested?”

I grabbed my phone, clenching it a little too hard. Teaching. Using everything I’d learned without having to pass the physical requirements I could no longer meet. “When?”

“January. You’d be based in Missoula. It’s mostly classroom work with some field demonstrations, but nothing you can’t handle with that leg.”

Four weeks back in my old world, surrounded by the brotherhood I’d lost. The offer was everything I’d been hoping for: a way to stay connected to firefighting without the parts my body could no longer do.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course. But, Fraser? I really hope you’ll say yes. These kids need to learn from someone who’s been there, who understands what they’re signing up for. There’s nobody I’d trust more.”

We talked for a few more minutes about logistics and pay—which was surprisingly good—before I ended the call.

I stood in my kitchen, staring at the phone like it might ring again and take back the offer. Four weeks away from Forestville. Four weeks away from Calloway.

Six months ago, I would have said yes before Morrison finished the sentence. Hell, three months ago, I probably would have. But now…

Now I had morning coffee with a man whose smile made my legs turn to jelly.

Now I had book club discussions that ran late and dinners that I never wanted to end.

Now I knew what Calloway tasted like, what sounds he made when I kissed him senseless.

My leg chose that moment to remind me why I’d retired in the first place, a sharp twinge that made me grab the counter. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here was a chance to prove I was still useful to the fire service, and my body was already protesting the thought.

I needed to move, to think. Grabbing my jacket, I headed out for a walk, letting my feet carry me on the familiar route to the river trail.

The November afternoon was crisp, fallen leaves crunching underfoot, the kind of weather that made me grateful to be in the Pacific Northwest. In Montana, we would be knee-deep in snow already.

The teaching opportunity was perfect. It would allow me to pass on thirty years of knowledge, help shape the next generation of firefighters. The pay would be a nice boost to my pension. And being back in that world, even temporarily…

But January was only two months away. Two months into whatever Calloway and I were building. We’d barely figured out how to be together in the safety of Forestville. How could I leave when things were getting solid between us?

It had been almost two weeks since our date.

We’d seen each other every day since for coffees and dinner and book club, and every time, I fell for him a little more.

We hadn’t taken our sexual relationship past a heavy frotting session and two more hand jobs, but that was okay.

I was aching for more, but I wasn’t rushing anything.

I’d wait as long as Calloway needed… But I did need to know that we were serious. Were we?

Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe we weren’t there yet in our relationship. Plus, it was four weeks, not forever.

But I knew how these things went. Four weeks would lead to other opportunities. Other ways to stay connected to the only life I’d known before Forestville. Before Calloway.

My phone buzzed with a text. As if Calloway knew I was thinking about him.

Still on for dinner? I’m making that mushroom risotto you liked.

Wouldn’t miss it. Want me to bring wine?

Already have some. Just bring yourself.

I smiled despite my churning thoughts. He always said that, just bring yourself. Like my presence was enough, was everything.

The walk back took longer, my leg protesting the cold.

By the time I reached Calloway’s house, I’d changed my mind about the job offer a dozen times.

The scents of garlic and mushrooms greeted me as soon as he opened the door, and his sweet smile hit me straight in my gut.

How could I leave that behind, even for four weeks?

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” I leaned in to kiss him, a soft press of lips that still felt like a miracle. “Smells amazing in here.”

We moved through dinner prep with our usual rhythm, me chopping herbs while he stirred the risotto.

The domesticity of it should’ve been mundane by now, but I was hyperaware of every moment, as if I saw it all with fresh eyes.

The way he hummed under his breath while cooking.

How he automatically moved to accommodate my bad side when we passed in the small kitchen.

“You’re q-quiet,” he said as we sat down to eat. “Everything okay?”

I should tell him about the call. But looking at him across the table, relaxed and happy in a way I’d watched him fight so hard to achieve, I couldn’t bring myself to introduce uncertainty into our evening.

“Just thinking.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. “This is incredible, by the way.”

He flushed at the compliment, pleased. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that meant so much to me. Neither of us felt the need to fill every moment with words.

“I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving,” Calloway said eventually. “My p-parents will expect me to come to Florida, but…” He trailed off, poking at his risotto.

“But?”

“I don’t want to go. I w-want to stay here. Maybe c-cook for people who don’t have anywhere else to go.” He looked up, vulnerable. “Is that s-selfish?”

“It’s self-preservation. There’s a difference.”

He smiled, small but genuine. “Would you want to help? With the d-dinner, I mean. If you’re not going back to M-montana.”

“I’d love to help,” I said, pushing away thoughts of January. “I wasn’t planning on going to Montana anyway.”

“No?”

I shrugged. “It’s easier for everyone if I don’t go. Maybe for Christmas, but we’ll see. The holidays have such extra meaning that everything becomes supercharged. That’s a lot of pressure to deal with.”

He patted my hand. “I’m sorry.”

We finished dinner while talking about menu possibilities and who might need a place to go for the holiday.

Jamie might not have plans, so we wanted to invite them.

And I’d heard about a guy who’d bought an old campground, who rarely came into town.

Locals called him the hermit. Maybe he’d like to come?

It felt good to make concrete plans for a future that included both of us.

After dinner, we settled on the couch with our books. Reading side by side, occasionally sharing passages that struck us, had become our favorite evening ritual. Tonight, though, I couldn’t focus on the words. My mind kept drifting to Morrison’s call, to the choice I’d have to make.

“Okay, that’s the third time you’ve t-turned back to the same p-p-page,” Calloway said, setting his own book aside. “What’s going on?”

I closed my book, buying time. He knew me too well already, and that was a comfort as much as an annoyance right now. “I got a call today. From my old chief.”

Calloway went very still. “Oh?”

“He wants me to teach. Four-week program for new recruits in January.” I watched his face as I spoke, saw the micro-expressions flicker across it. Surprise, worry, something that might have been pride. “It’s in Missoula.”

“That’s…” He paused. “That’s w-w-wonderful. Using your experience without the ph-physical demands.”

“Yeah. It’s a good opportunity.”

“You should d-do it.” The words came out steady, but I heard the effort behind them.

“Calloway—”

“No, really. This is p-perfect for you. A way to st-stay connected to that world.” He picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “When do you have to d-d-decide?”

“I told him I’d think about it.”

“What’s to th-think about? It’s only four w-w-weeks.” He rose. “I’m tired.”

And he was not inviting me to spend the night. Frustration bubbled inside me. “I’m trying to have an open and honest conversation with you about this. Why are you shutting me out?”

“It’s n-n-not my decision to m-make. You n-need to do what’s b-b-best for you.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “What about us? What about doing what’s best for us?”

Calloway turned to face me, and I saw the walls going up, brick by brick. “There is no ‘us’ in this d-decision, Fraser. This is about your c-career. Your life.”

“You’re part of my life now.” The words came out more intense than I’d intended, but I meant every one of them. “Or at least I thought you were.”

His jaw worked, the stutter fighting to get out whatever he was holding back. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. “It’s been t-two months. We’ve known each other t-two months. You c-can’t make career decisions based on?—”