Page 29 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)

FRASER

T hanksgiving morning dawned cold and bright, the kind of day that felt like frost, family time, and football. Inside Sunshine Corner, it was warm with the scent of turkey, roasting vegetables, and fresh bread.

Ennio Frant, the owner and chef, had opened the restaurant for us, donating his own time as well.

He was a slender guy with an open smile and an infectious energy.

Ennio was everywhere at once—chopping, seasoning, laughing, telling people what to do.

His partner Marnin hovered nearby, pretending to be disgruntled but smiling every time Ennio swatted him away from the pumpkin pies.

I’d been worried about who was paying for all of the food, but we’d received a generous donation from the Banner twins, Forestville’s most famous residents. They were former supermodels who were now retired, and they loved sponsoring local projects, Ennio had assured us. Guilt assuaged.

Calloway had found his happy place in the kitchen, assisting Ennio.

Never one for the spotlight, he was in his element helping prepare the food.

Since the kitchen floor could be slippery, I’d been ordered to stay away to avoid hurting my knee.

I was told to make myself useful by greeting our guests, and so I did, placating myself with the thought that it was a great way to get to know more people.

We had fifteen confirmed guests, all of whom might’ve otherwise spent the holiday alone, but we’d hung posters everywhere that let people know we accepted walk-ins too. We had no idea how many people would show up, but we were ready for anything.

I chatted with some seniors from the nursing home, who had all arrived early, apparently eager to be among people.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Mildred said, a ninety-three-year-old who slayed at Rummikub, which she’d told me in an invitation that had sounded like a warning.

I pointed at Calloway, who was bringing in a plate with fresh rolls. “Thank him. He’s the one who came up with the idea.”

By the time we started serving, we had a full house.

Three massive roasted turkeys sat on tables, waiting to be carved, and we had all the Thanksgiving classics: mashed potatoes, green beans with bacon, sweet potato casserole, cranberry sauce, and, of course, stuffing.

A woman had brought homemade apple sauce, which turned out to be delicious, and others had brought in stacks of pies.

Laughter echoed off the walls, forks scraped plates, and the sound of community filled the space.

People were eating, talking, and sharing stories.

Jamie had somehow coaxed Mildred into trying their mac and cheese, and I caught Marnin sneaking bites of stuffing from the buffet when he thought no one was looking.

And Calloway? He was glowing.

He didn’t dominate conversations or make grand speeches. He was quieter than most people noticed as he refilled water glasses, slipped extra napkins beside plates, and stopped to ask one of the older guests if they needed help cutting their turkey. He moved like poetry: soft, careful, deliberate.

I kept catching myself watching him. Not just because he was beautiful in his button-down with rolled up sleeves—only Calloway would show up to cook in a button-down—but because he was so fully involved, so present.

“Stop staring at him,” Jamie teased, nudging me with their shoulder as I put more cranberry sauce on their table.

“Not staring,” I said. “Admiring.”

“Uh-huh.” They smirked. “You’re so far gone it’s adorable.”

I didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Because it was true.

A thin man who had to be around my age sat by himself at the end of a table, watching everything around him. His weathered face didn’t show any emotions, but somehow, he radiated loneliness, and I headed over to chat with him.

“Hi, I’m Fraser Strickland,” I said, extending my hand.

“Macallister Heald.” His handshake was firm.

“Mind if I sit here?”

He gestured. “Have at it.”

“I’m new to town, so I wanted to introduce myself.”

He gave me a thin smile. “I’m new myself.”

“What brought you to Forestville?”

He hesitated, then let out an almost imperceptible sigh. “I bought the old Bear Creek Campground.”

Ah, I was talking to the hermit, as the locals referred to him. The campgrounds were near the summit of Bear Creek Mountain, and word was he only came down his mountain and into town for groceries. “You’re liking it there?”

“I love the peace and quiet, yes.”

My eye fell on a patch on his leather jacket that hung over his chair. The red-and-blue insignia with the double A s was easy enough to recognize. “You’re with the 82nd Airborne?”

He sat a little straighter. “I was, yes. Retired last year.”

“We have something in common, then. I used to jump out of planes for a living too.”

His eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Smokejumper.”

He whistled between his teeth. “That takes courage.”

“So does jumping into a war zone.”

We talked for a while, swapping stories about jumps and injuries, about brotherhood and forced retirement.

Macallister wasn’t much for small talk, but once we found common ground in bodies that no longer did what we wanted and missing what we had when we’d been too young to appreciate it, the conversation flowed.

There was a quiet integrity to him, the kind that only came from living through the worst and still finding reason to get up in the morning.

By the time Calloway appeared at my elbow, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen and his hair damp at the temples, I felt like I’d made a friend.

“Sorry,” he said, eyes flicking between us. “We n-need help b-bringing in the pies.”

I stood, brushing my hands on my jeans. “That’s me. The designated pie-delivery guy. Duty calls,” I said to Macallister. “You sticking around?”

Macallister gave me a look like I’d asked if he breathed oxygen. “What kind of fool leaves before the pie?”

I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder before following Calloway.

Various pies stood ready to be brought in, and I grabbed one.

I didn’t dare hold a bigger tray since that would require both hands, and I didn’t feel stable enough.

My knee had made its displeasure known for too much standing and walking.

It took a few trips back and forth to get everything set out on the dessert buffet table, where people could help themselves.

My knee seized up on me as I headed back to the kitchen, and Calloway grabbed my elbow. “G-go sit. Please. I’ll b-bring you some p-pie.”

The quiet “please” always did me in. With a sigh, I nodded. Macallister was still at his spot, sipping from a mug of apple cider. I slid into the seat across from him again.

“Still here,” he said with a little grin.

“Pie’s about to be served.”

As if on cue, Calloway emerged with a tray of pumpkin and pecan slices.

When he reached us, Macallister accepted a slice of pecan pie without a word.

I reached for the pumpkin, brushing my fingers against Calloway’s as I took the plate.

He met my gaze, and something passed between us—familiar, grounding, intimate.

“Save me a s-seat?” he asked quietly.

I nodded.

He moved off again, and Macallister gave me a look that was halfway between amused and approving. “Friend of yours?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. The best kind.”

Macallister took a bite of pie and chewed slowly. “He’s got a good way about him. Quiet. But steady.”

“He’s stronger than he looks.”

Macallister nodded. “You planning on sticking around?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got the look of a man who wants to stay put but hasn’t decided whether he’s going to.”

I stared at him.

“I’ve seen it. In guys who’ve been moving too long. The ones who find something good and start asking themselves if it can last.”

I nodded slowly, caught off guard by how quickly Macallister had cut through me. His tone had been calm, nonjudgmental, just a simple observation spoken like a truth he didn’t expect to be challenged.

“It’s new. Between him and me.” I nudged my head at Calloway. “But it means a lot to me.”

“But so does what you had before.”

I pushed a bite of the pie around my plate. “I’m going back in January to train rookies. Four weeks.”

I’d made the decision after agonizing over it for far too long. Calloway was right that I couldn’t stay for him, denying myself a glimpse into a possible future. If I didn’t go, I’d always wonder “what if,” so I would go. I would spend the four weeks away from Calloway and back in my old life.

“Is he going with you?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Is he going with you?” Macallister repeated.

Oh. My. God. Why had that option never even occurred to me? I’d been so focused on the binary choice between going or not going that I had never considered alternatives. The idea caught fire in my head like a lightning strike in a California summer.

Was that even an option? Could I ask Calloway to come with me?

I glanced toward the back of the restaurant, where Calloway was helping a guest cut her pie into smaller pieces.

He was laughing at something the older woman said, the sound low and genuine, and it hit me with the force of a falling tree: I didn’t want to spend a single night in Montana without him.

But he’d already said he wasn’t ready. He’d been honest about his fears, about how fragile the roots of this thing between us still were. Could I really ask him to leave Forestville, to leave the safety he’d only begun to rediscover and follow me into my old world?

Macallister took another bite of pie, watching me with the calm of someone who had learned to let silence do the heavy lifting.

I shook my head, still stunned. “I didn’t think about that being an option.”

He gave a grunt. “Sometimes, we get so used to living life alone, we forget we can ask someone to come with us.”

I turned the idea over in my head again. “I don’t know if he’d say yes.”

“Only one way to find out,” Macallister said, pushing his empty plate forward and leaning back. “And listen, I have the people skills of a rusty nail, so don’t take my word for it, but I’d say he’d be more upset about not being asked than being asked and saying no.”

I looked toward Calloway again. He caught my eye this time, brow furrowed in concern. I must’ve looked as shell-shocked as I felt.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

I nodded. He gave a tentative smile.

Macallister got up. “Thanks for dinner and for the conversation. Good luck.”

Before I could say more than a quick “thank you,” he walked off, boots thunking against the hardwood floor as he put on his leather jacket. He was out the door in seconds, looking like he was glad to escape.

Calloway came over to me, dropping into the seat beside me. “Y-you okay? You l-look pale.”

“I’m good.” I cleared my throat. “Just had a conversation with Macallister.”

Calloway merely lifted an eyebrow.

I took a breath. “I’ve been thinking. About January. About you and me, and what that month might look like.”

He stilled. “Okay.”

“I want you to come with me,” I said. Plain, unvarnished, straight to the point.

“To Montana. For the four weeks. You wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

We could rent a place, stay together, maybe explore a little.

You could write, I could teach, and at night we’d come home to each other. ”

His mouth opened, but no words came.

I rushed on. “I know it’s a lot. And soon. And it’s not Forestville. But I don’t want to spend those four weeks fifteen hundred miles away from you. And I don’t want to ask you to wait either. Not when there might be another option.”

He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting in the hem of his sleeve. The air between us grew heavy with the weight of it.

“I—I’ve never b-been to Montana,” he said finally, voice soft.

I waited.

“I don’t know if I c-could…” He shook his head, then looked up at me, eyes wide and vulnerable and very, very brave. “But I w-want to try.”

Inside me, emotions were all tangled up. Relief, awe, and something dangerously close to love all entwined. I reached across the table and took his hand.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “I d-don’t want to be left behind. And I don’t want to l-let fear decide for me again.”

I squeezed his hand, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

“Day by day,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, smiling softly. “Day by day.”