25. Chapter 25

When a detective works a case and has a person of interest, sometimes "motivational" tactics are used to get him or her to give up whatever info they may have. The motivation can be positive or negative, such as offering reduced charges or threatening to increase charges. I always prefer positive motivation. Nine times out of ten, I'm the "good" cop to my partner's "bad" cop act.

Which is why, when I want to confirm my suspicions that Bear still has feelings for me, I choose positive motivation and use the towel trick. This time on purpose.

And do I feel a tiny bit guilty about it? Of course I do. But I'm only human. Sometimes my urges get the best of me, including the urge I've had since Monday, to kiss Bear again.

It's not a premeditated act. The idea comes to me when I step out of the bath and hear him in the kitchen. He only gets a peek this time, not the accidental eyeful that he got earlier. And he's had enough time to recover from bumping his head, so I can't chalk it up to his injury when his eyes glaze over.

My conclusion?

Bear is still guilty of being attracted to me, even after our verbal brawls over the last few days.

The case is the most cut-and-dry one I've ever worked. There's no doubt he likes the way I look.

A lot.

I wonder if he's always looked at me the way he just did. Like I'm crack and he's the addict. Except without the white lips and twitching.

Bad example.

Bear looks at me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world, and he's using every ounce of self-control not to carry me off into the sunset. The heat of his gaze crosses the distance between us, hitting me with such intensity, I have to back away.

I close the bedroom door and lean against it to catch my breath. My heart pounds, and my whole body trembles. The smell of the chicken drifts from the kitchen, evidence of what he's willing to do for me.

There was a time—maybe even five days ago—when Bear's physical attraction to me would have been enough. But I don't think that's true now.

What I underestimated were my own feelings.

His eyes traveled over me with more than want. I've seen that in plenty of guys' faces. I've seen it in Bear. If want was all he felt for me, he wouldn't have hesitated to cross the room and pick up where we left off the other day.

But what I saw in his eyes was longing. Not just for my body, but for all of me. I saw it in the way he held back coming to me, his breath staggering while he blanketed me with the warmth of his gaze.

When I can finally move, I push away from the door and grab his jersey from the bed. I slip it over my head, and once again, his smell washes over me.

I wrap my arms around my waist and breathe deeply. It's silly, I know.

I swim in his jersey, which only reminds me of his size. I shouldn't be as happy as I am that I have nothing else to put on. If I did, I'd have an excuse to take off his jersey. I really don't want to do that, even though I know I'm playing with fire.

After slipping on my sweats and pulling my hair back, I walk barefoot into the kitchen.

I slide onto the tall stool at the counter, right next to Bear. His food is untouched, he's covered mine in foil and poured a glass of wine for each of us.

"Hi." He clears his throat and pulls the foil off my plate. "I thought you might need a drink, too."

"You thought right." I take a sip, then tuck into my dish. "How did you know I like chicken pot pie?"

Bear gives me a nervous glance. "To be honest, this is a lucky accident. Dad just brought it home."

"Oh… well, lucky me then."

So he didn't go out of his way to get me dinner.

"But I remembered from the night you came to the Garden that you liked chicken pot pie," he adds quickly, redeeming himself.

"I do. My mom used to make it…before she and my dad got divorced." I take another bite to keep from saying more. I don't know why I said that much.

"Yeah? My mom used to make it too… before she got sick." He takes a bite of his dinner, and I can't decide if our revelations have made things more awkward or more comfortable.

Bear clears his throat again. "That must have been hard. Your parents getting divorced, I mean."

"Yeah, it was, but it was coming for a long time." I poke at a pea on my plate. "The harder part was deciding who to stay with. I chose my dad. Not because I loved him more, but because I was fourteen and didn't want to leave LA for Phoenix."

"It's hard to make new friends in high school," he says, then shrugs. "I mean, I don't really know. I've only lived here."

I laugh. "I've only lived in LA, so I don't know either. I was too afraid to find out. Then I was too stubborn to admit I'd been wrong."

Bear turns toward me and tips his head. "You regretted your decision?"

I stare at my plate and consider how to answer. I haven't really talked about my parents' divorce, not even to Georgia. There never seemed to be a point, other than to bring up painful memories. There's a reason I chose the career I did, beyond making my dad happy.

Police work doesn't lend itself to vulnerability. It's part of the job to stay in control, being careful about revealing too much emotion.

But when I look at Bear's face and see the openness there, I realize he's been vulnerable with me from the start—from the moment he tried to bring me an iced coffee and strike up a conversation.

I didn't see him then, but I do now. And I want him to see me.

"I probably wouldn't be as independent as I am if I had gone with my mom, but I was lonely sometimes. My brother had already moved out, and my dad worked all the time, so I got myself to school, set my own curfew, and made us both dinner most nights."

"You did all that? Did you have time to do regular kid stuff too? Like hang out with friends and get involved with school stuff?" Bear looks at me with what might be admiration. Or it might be sympathy.

I'm not sure how comfortable I am with either, so I take a breath before going on.

"I didn't have a lot of friends. I was on the golf team, but there were more people on my campus than there are in Paradise." I try to make light of how lost I sometimes felt in a huge crowd, but the kindness in Bear's face pushes me to be honest.

"It wasn't always easy to get to know people, especially when I spent summers and most holiday weekends in Arizona with Mom." His eyes swim with empathy, and I have to look away. "With going between two states, golfing, schoolwork, a part-time job, and taking care of my dad, I didn't have a lot of time for friends."

"You know, Cassie," Bear says slowly. "I could be your friend if you move here, even if I lose the building to you."

The sentiment is sweet, but I get caught on the word friend and the pity—because that's what I saw before, not sympathy, pity—in Bear's voice.

I don't need anyone's pity, especially Bear's. My life isn't as hard as his and I don't enjoy feeling as if he sees me as someone who needs to be taken care of. Divorce is easy compared to watching your mom die. Not that I understand what that's like, but I do know what saying goodbye can do to your heart. I chose to say goodbye to my mom instead of going with her. I've lived with that regret for a long time.

"You mean when you lose the building," I counter. I say it lightly, but I mean it too.

Bear flinches, and I almost feel bad. But I'm not backing down from what I want just because he's nice to me.

He sits taller and, when he looks at me, the compassion is gone from his face. "I mean if. I don't plan on losing." There's a sadness in his voice that tugs at my heart, but whatever I thought I saw in his eyes before, I was wrong. What he wants more than anything is to keep his hockey rink. "But I also meant what I said about being friends."

I thought we might be headed to more than friends, and I have to push back the urge to close the short distance from my lips to his to show him what I really want. I already regret opening up to him. I don't want to do anything else I'll regret.

"Sure." I shrug and inch away from him.

Whatever I'm feeling for Bear is all new. I don't know if it will last beyond tonight. I don't know if being a friend for him is the kind with benefits or if a platonic relationship is all he really wants. And I'm not about to ask for clarification when I'm not sure what I want from him.

What I know is that I still want my bookstore, and Bear's the one obstacle getting in my way.

"Our friendship will have to be long distance, obviously, if you get the shop." I jab my fork into a rogue pea on my plate. "Since it's the reason I would move to Paradise in the first place."

"Couldn't you open your store in another part of town? There are other places to rent or buy."

I glance at Bear to see if he's serious. "No, actually, there aren't. There's not another building available—at least not in as good a location for business. And, I don't know if you're aware…" I tease, but I end up sounding sarcastic. "But bookstores are not the thriving industry they once were, thanks to a little start-up called Amazon."

Bear nods, chewing on the inside of his lip before pushing away from the counter. "I gotta get to the shop, so I'll see you tomorrow."

He leaves his half-full plate and walks to the door.

"Sounds good. Thanks again…for everything." I allow myself one look at him, but Bear doesn't look back before leaving.

His heavy footsteps grow softer the further down the stairs he goes. By the time he reaches the last step, I'm burning with shame for being so open with him.

If he wants to be friends because he feels sorry for me—which is equal parts sweet and humiliating—it's a no for me. Bear is nicer than most of the men I've known—definitely nicer than any of the ones I've dated—but he's throwing off scared-of-me vibes. And I don't know if getting to know me better would change that.

Bear has lived in a small town his whole life, grown up in a close, seemingly ideal family, and is still in his early twenties. He's lived in a bubble—still does. He has no idea what the real world is like or how his heart is going to break in a million different ways. When his mom dies, that might be the first of it, but it won't be the last.

I wish I didn't know those sorts of things either. But working in the LAPD, I've seen more than Bear can imagine. So many things I wish I could forget.

I can't, but for one night, I'll pretend I can. I'll pretend Paradise has always been my reality.

I finish my dinner, wash the plate, then crawl into Bear's bed, wearing his jersey, and feeling safer than I have in years.

Maybe safer than I've ever felt.