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to do list

. . .

rysak

A lright, back in Bear Mountain mayor mode.

As the shuttle bus trundled up the road toward my hometown, I pulled out my phone to go over my agenda for the day:

To-Do List for July 24th

Check with Wade to make sure everything’s set up for the festival

Schedule meeting with Takoda about increased Iron Claw activity

Double-check that the mayoral baby presents went out

Follow up with MP DeBeer about checks and balances for the JFBF

Tell Zion his retirement request is a no-go—no one submitted for the teacher job

Tell Wade to double Zion’s usual pay increase

Quash this mate shit with Cal

DELETE my Fetder account

I knew I’d have to deal with the false-positive mate thing with Cal as soon as I walked through the door to park my suitcase and change out of my Victoria MLA suit into my summer mayor uniform—jeans and a ribbon shirt from the local shop owned by Wade’s second maul husband, where we sourced all official Bear Mountain mayoral gifts.

Probably before I even got a shower.

My standing practice was to wait until I got into the office to confirm the few to-do list items I’d assigned to Wade, my brother and underworked Bear Mountain assistant.

I’d see Takoda at the Christmas Eve Totem Tree Lighting Ceremony I was hosting, so that could wait.

And since the talk with Cal meant I wouldn’t have the morning free, as originally planned—thanks, surprise text—I decided to push the Zion conversation and the sensitive MP meeting until after the festival.

My thumb flicked through my phone as I rearranged everything in the time.lytic productivity app my human ex had recommended.

That only left...

My thumb hovered over DELETE my Fetder account —an item that had already been pushed from June 24th, and before that from May 24th.

If she hadn’t reached out after seven months, she probably wasn’t going to. Meanwhile, compulsively checking the app every day had quietly added up to hours of wasted time.

Cal’s false-positive was a sign. This had to stop.

I opened the app and checked my messages one last time.

Hi, Cindy wants to connect!

Hi, Olive wants to connect!

Hi, Destiny wants to connect!

And so on, and so on. Twelve alerts had come through since yesterday on the four-year-old profile I’d only reinstated because I was drunk and feeling petty on New Year’s.

I’d wanted her to see I’d moved on.

Even if I hadn’t.

None of the alerts were from her.

I deleted the twelve hopefuls without even checking their profiles and tapped our dormant message thread one last time.

Her last message still read:

Thanks for dinner. It was delicious, but I won’t bore you with a description because I know you’re cutting calories for reasons I still don’t understand.

(BTW, here’s an article about the rise in bodybuilding dysmorphia I read in Pacific Monthly —it’s a gift link, so don’t worry about the paywall.

I get 5 per month: [Linked Article]). Anyway, headed up to our room.

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow morning. Heart hands.

Underneath that was my unsent reply:

I’m sorry about how I ended things. I fucking miss you. Can we talk? I’ll try to explain why I

The message stopped there. Because I knew I shouldn’t… couldn’t allow myself to send it.

It had been a bad idea from the start. Writing out the message. Reinstating the Fetder profile. Imprinting on the play partner I knew from day one I couldn’t keep.

Okay, do it, man. Just do it.

I clicked through all the unnecessary screens and offers to reduce my monthly fee until I finally hit the big red Delete Account button.

“Hey, Mayor, we’re here.”

I hadn’t realized the bus had stopped—or that all the humans flooding into town for Bear Mountain’s summer festival had already gotten off—until Brenda, our outsider driver, called out to me from the front.

Sliding my phone into the inside pocket of my suit jacket, I stood. “Thanks, Brenda.”

At the front of the bus, I placed a full hand on the older woman’s shoulder—just enough contact to connect on a bio-level. “How are the new grandbabies?”

“Oh, they’re the cutest, healthiest things you ever laid eyes on! Wanna see?” she asked, already pulling out her phone.

No.

The pain of wanting but not having a family had become a constant ache by this point, and looking at photos of Brenda’s womb-triplet grandcubs would only make it worse.

Out loud, I said, “Don’t tell anybody, but that’s the only reason I came back to Bear Mountain.”

Brenda let out a delighted chuckle and began swiping through what had to be at least fifty pictures—both human and full-bear versions of her three granddaughters—even though they’d only been born less than a month ago, part of the flood of late-spring hybrid babies.

“The birth went so smoothly,” she said. “Less than an hour of labor, and they were all here and dear. That Holly midwife new-turn is the best thing that ever happened to our little town. Can’t believe she got that bad boy Hawk to maul up with two constables.”

Frankly, I couldn’t either. But I wasn’t about to look a gift midwife in the mouth.

“Wish I could chat more, but…” I’ve already given you more than my allotted ten minutes . “…I’ve got a lot to do today.”

“Don’t you?” Brenda agreed. “Your brother-in-maul told me he’s already near sold out of the Christmas in July sweatshirts—and it’s only Christmas Eve.”

Tourists often didn’t take into account how cold a mountain town could get, even in summer. It was perfect weather for bears—and even more perfect for Wade’s second husband, who just so happened to be the only vendor in town, other than the Bear Mountain Bar & Grill, who sold hoodies.

Which reminded me—I still needed to add a note ordering Wade to gently convince his husband to update the design on the festival shirts, which hadn’t changed since our father was still the Mayor/MLA.

After saying goodbye to Brenda, as a few locals boarded for a free ride to Barrington’s Super Center, I made that note in the time.lytic app my ex had recommended.

Then, after months of stalling, I finally marked the Fetder task as done.

The rest of the walk to the mayoral den, I spent mentally rehearsing what I was going to say.

Fuck. I hoped he hadn’t done something stupid like bond-bite her.

Wade’s first maul husband—our lawyer—had made sure “bond bite only with mayoral approval” was clearly written into our maul formation contract. Both Red Outsider Twins had signed it—with eerily similar handwriting.

But bears could be bears.

That new midwife Brenda loved so much was only here because our normally reserved RCMP Commander, Takoda, had bitten the hell out of her in bear form. Same with her sister, though that time it had been the twins’ younger brother, Cody.

How many times had I paused a scene with my ex to calm myself down and retract my teeth?

Don’t think about her….

Also, where was the twins’ black Ford Raptor truck?

The tinny chant of some band declaring they weren’t looking for anything but a good time told me that at least Callum was still home.

I frowned. Gideon rarely left Callum’s side—unless I sent him on a clandestine mission or they were working. And it wasn’t time for either of them to report to their family’s businesses.

Didn’t matter, I decided. I loosened my New Democratic Party orange tie before pushing through the door of the mayoral den to quell at least one twin.

If Callum thought springing some tourist on me as a potential—and most likely ill-fitting—mate was a good way to move the needle on our maul finding a wife, I was going to have to disabuse him of that?—

I stopped. My blood ran cold.

A familiar scent hit my nose, layered over the bacon, eggs, and pancakes wafting from the kitchen.

Is that…? No. No, it couldn’t be.

“…I promise you, he’s not mad.”

Callum’s voice floated from the kitchen, tucked around the first corner past the entry.

“He ran out. And he wasn’t there this morning,” came a familiar voice—flat and near-monotone, the way she got when she wasn’t masking. Or when she was really, really satisfied after our three-tiered version of sex.

“Okay, disappearing was a bearhole move. But you have no idea how hard it is to control the bond bite instinct… or keep my hands off you while you’re making these pancakes.”

There came a giggle. Lighter, happier than the small chuckles she sometimes let out during aftercare cuddles.

“Seriously, stop. Body respect. Or you’re going to make me burn these.”

“Burned pancakes are the only kind I know how to make,” Callum replied without a shred of remorse in his voice.

“Well, many college students don’t have access to kitchens to attain the skills they’d need to make breakfast.”

“Honeybee, how many times do I have to tell you, she was flirting with me—not the other way around. But I like this jealousy I’m seeing. It kind of balances out the dom stuff.”

“Is that why Gideon left?” Her voice shifted—uncertain, anxious. A tone I knew all too well. “Because I told him about the dynamic I enjoyed in my last relationship?”

“No. Not gonna lie—we’re both jealous as hell of the guy who got to be with you for three years before shitting the bed and letting you get away. But that’s not why—oh. There he is.”

I hadn’t even realized my feet were moving until I found myself a few steps from the kitchen. From her.

She was standing at our stove, with my third maul’s arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“Hey, Rys!” Cal said brightly, straightening up—but not releasing the woman I’d made cry on Christmas.

She just stared at me.

Bears… We have superior everything when it comes to identifying someone we know.

But humans don’t give themselves enough credit for their own animal instincts.

She recognized me. I felt her recognize me. Even without the mask.

“Sweetiebird? What are you doing here?”

Before I could stop myself, I jumped to the worst conclusion. “How did you find me? Are you stalking me?”

I was in shock. That’s the only reason I didn’t even consider the other possibilities.

Not until she twisted out of Callum’s arms and bolted past me—out the door.

Cal moved to follow her, but I blocked him, shoving him back, rage and confusion roaring inside me.

“What the hell, Cal? How did you find out about us? And why would you bring her here, of all places?”

“Find out—what the hell are you talking about?” he snapped back. “That’s Holly Winter’s best friend! We just met and scent-matched with her last night—hold on.”

Cal’s expression shuttered with shock.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re the asshole dom that dumped her on Christmas?”