28. Chapter 28

Cassie is fast, but I catch her before she reaches the stairs to my apartment. I grab her arm, and she shoots me a confused look.

"Do you need something?" she asks casually, but with a stiffness that makes me drop my fingers from her elbow.

"Let me feed you." The emotion I've been holding back all morning creeps into my voice. Spending time with Mom always does this to me.

Cassie's mouth pulls into a tight smile. "I don't need to be fed."

"Cassie—"

"—Bear!" Cassie snaps, then lets out a deep breath. "I have a lot to do today before the city council meeting on Tuesday. I'm sure you do too."

Her voice, unlike mine, is calm and emotionless.

Except when she called me Bear.

Not Bjorn. Bear.

There was emotion in my name.

I step back and give her the space she seems to need. I've made the mistake too many times of telling her what to door offering to help when she doesn't want it. As much as I want her to stay for breakfast, it has to be her choice. Cassie calling me Bear is a win, and I have to hope we'll continue to make progress. I can move at her pace—that's why I proposed being friends—as long as we've got some forward momentum.

But really, I just want to feed her and see her in my jersey again.

I meet her stone face with a smile. "You're right. I need to work on my presentation."

"Thanks for everything. Willy and I will get out of your way now." Cassie's words are gentler, which I take as a good sign I made the right move.

Until I realize she's talking about leaving.

"What do you mean? Where are you going?" I catch myself before my voice rises any further. "There's still no water at the studio. I need at least a couple of days to re-pipe. Probably longer. I can't do anything until Grandpa okays it."

As much as I want to tell her she can't stay at the studio with no running water, I stay chill.

"I'll be fine. I can find somewhere else to stay." Cassie tugs at her ponytail and tosses it over her shoulder.

She does that with her hair a lot, especially when she's nervous. It's her only tell that gives away what she's really feeling. Her eyes are a sea of calm.

"Why? You can stay here." As soon as I say the words, I know I've made a mistake.

Or maybe the mistake was leaning close to her, as if I was giving an order. Maybe it was both things together that was the mistake. Either way, her whole body goes stiff with resistance.

"Not with my cat. I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have."

"You haven't." I'm losing the little ground I'd gained, and I can't stop myself from fighting to get it back.

Of course, that only makes Cassie dig in her heels further. "If you'll take me home, I can grab my car and come back for Willy and my stuff."

"Fine." I have to give ground to gain any back. "Just make sure you have somewhere to stay first. If you can find anywhere. I doubt you'll find anyone who will let you stay with your cat."

I've made the same mistake again. I've told Cassie what to do. Her whole body has gone rigid because I've tried to help her when she doesn't want it or think she needs it. If I tried to toss her over my shoulder now, there's no way I'd be able to.

"Then you'll need to fix the pipes you broke, so that I can stay where I was," she says with a smile, but not in a friendly way.

I take a deep breath to keep from losing my cool. "I didn't break the pipes. They broke on their own." I talk slowly and carefully, but when she raises an eyebrow, I can't stop my retort. "They're historic, remember?"

I shouldn't have said that, but she's being unreasonable. Cassie would rather live without indoor plumbing than have someone help her. That makes no sense.

Which is why Cassie is the most infuriating woman in the world.

She's impossible to get along with. All she wants to do is fight. I was stupid to believe we could ever be anything but rivals. I was even stupider to believe she might feel anything like what I feel for her. Like I might explode with wanting to be close to her. Wanting to get to know her. Wanting to take care of her.

Cassie doesn't want any of those things.

And now her eyes are sharp slits. If she could shoot fire from them, I'd be ash.

The longer Cassie says nothing, the harder it is for me to hold still, until finally I crack.

"Get your stuff. I'll drive you," I say as gently as possible, realizing too late I've given her another order. "Please," I quickly add.

It doesn't make a difference. I've only made things worse.

"I don't need a ride. I can call Georgia." She turns to walk up the stairs.

"The show is shooting in Florence today and tomorrow. Remember?" I try not to smirk, but in a glance back, Cassie catches me.

I should apologize.

I don't.

"Let me know when you're ready to go." This time, I turn my back to her before she can do the same to me.

I don't want to argue with her anymore, and I'm, for sure, not going to offer any more help. This is the thanks I get after I let her wear my jersey, bring her cat to my apartment, and offer to make her breakfast. If she wants anything else, she'll have to ask for it.

I go back inside and make the ebelskiver I promised Cassie—just in case she changes her mind and asks me for breakfast. My own pancakes are cold balls of dough now, but I eat them anyway. I can't taste them. Not while I'm listening over Grace's chatter for Cassie's footsteps or her knock on the back door.

At least half an hour passes with me looking so many times over my shoulder at the door, I get a crick in my neck. The problem is, I've got work to do. There are toilets to be installed in the cottage Georgia just finished renovating; I've got a couple more non-emergency calls; there will be emergencies—there always are; and I've got to call Grandpa and talk him into paying me to re-pipe his building.

Convincing him I should get paid for my work won't be easy, but I'm not doing it for free. The job is too big. And if he doesn't want to pay for it, then Cassie will have to buy as-is and put thousands of dollars into fixing the plumbing.

Or she can forget about buying a building that should be torn down anyway.

As far as I'm concerned, that's her best option.

I wait for her as long as I can, but I finally have to give up. She can ask me to drive her when I get home from work tonight. Maybe by that point she'll have come to her senses.

I call for Molly, kiss Mom goodbye, avoid doing the same to Grace, even though she puts her cheek toward me, then head for my Jeep. I'm about to get in when my conscience gets the best of me. I climb the stairs and knock on my own door—just to make sure I don't catch Cassie in another compromising situation. Especially the kind that will make me want to kiss her again. My power of resistance is all used up by this point.

When she doesn't open the door, I peek my head in. "Cassie?"

I don't hear anything, so I go inside. She's not in the kitchen or sitting area, and the doors to the bedroom and bathroom are both open, so she's not hiding in there either. I don't know where she's gone, but once again, she's proven she's the most infuriating woman in the world.

I go back to my Jeep, Molly jumps in the back, and we drive down our street.

As I near the main road, the truck in front of me slows to a crawl. I assume they're slowing because of wildlife—maybe a moose or deer—until I get closer.

Nope. Not wildlife.

Unless the most stubborn woman in the world walking around the snow piled on the side of the road counts as wildlife. But I'd describe what I'm seeing more as beingstubbornlife.

I inch past Cassie, her tight black ponytail bouncing up and down as she struggles through the still-unplowed snow on the road, with her cat carrier in one hand and her other one held out for balance. I'm so tempted to pick up speed as I pass her—like the truck did—but with a deep sigh, I pull to the side of the road.

I climb out of my Jeep and walk behind it. Snow finds its way into my work boots, and I know Cassie's feet have to be soaked in her tennis shoes.

"What are you doing?" I call to her.

She stops ten feet away from me. "I called an Uber. The driver told me to meet her at the end of your street."

I drop my head and blow air out of my cheeks before looking at her again. "Did the driver's name happen to be Irma?"

Cassie squints, then gives me one reluctant nod.

"She'll be here in about an hour, then. That's how far away she lives."

Cassie's mouth drops. She grabs her phone, checks what I guess is the Uber app to confirm what I've said because as soon as she looks at it, her eyes close and her chest falls.

My cheeks twitch from fighting the smile I know better than to let out. But I'm not letting her get out of this predicament without torturing her a little. She's done enough of that to me.

I lean against the back of my Jeep and cross my arms. "If you're thinking about walking, it's a bad idea. No sidewalks like you've got in LA. And we've lost more than one Californian to snow drifts."

Cassie glares at me. "Funny."

I smile, push away from the Jeep, and tromp through the snow to her.

"I don't need you to rescue me," Cassie says when I reach her, but with no bite.

"I'm not here to rescue you. I'm here to rescue your stupid cat." I reach for the cat carrier, and to my surprise, Cassie doesn't resist when I take it.

Her ill-advised plan must have taken the fight out of her.

"Fine. But I'm only letting you give me a ride for Willy Wonkat."

"Who said anything about giving you a ride? Irma will be here in an hour." My eyes dart back to her in time to see the surprise on her face, and I turn around fast before she catches my smile.

I take two long strides before she calls my name.

"Bjorn!" Her breath is short and labored, snow crunches behind me, and I know she's trying to catch up with me, but I don't stop. "Bjorn! B-JORN!"

I walk faster until she finally yells, "Bear!"

Then I stop and face her with a grin. "Isn't that easier to say?"

She glares at me, her eyes ebbing and flowing through angry shades of green, drawing me closer. Willy Wonkat—is that really his name?—let's out a meow that sounds like a dachshund with its tail caught in a door.

Cassie's mouth cracks into an unwilling smile. "Yes, it's easier."

"Good. I like it when you call me Bear." I turn back around. "I don't know why you always choose to do things the hard way. Choose easy. That's my motto."

"Is it?" With a few quick steps, she's somehow ahead of me. "That's why you're fighting to play hockey on a pond rather than fighting to build an indoor rink someone else will pay for?"

I stop long enough to shoot her a glare she doesn't see, then hurry to catch up. "Getting an indoor rink built isn't easier."

"Really?" She swings her head to look at me and her ponytail follows. "Because Georgia told me Dexter might be able to get the money."

"Might. I'm not giving up for a maybe."

Especially because I don't want a community center. I want Mom's pond. But I don't tell Cassie that part. I've already said it once.

"Hmm," Cassie huffs, and instead of walking toward the passenger door, heads for the driver's side.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She looks at me over her shoulder. "You're the one who told me I'm a terrible backseat driver." Then she climbs in the Jeep. "Glad you left it on. It's nice and toasty in here."

Now it's my turn to send Cassie an unwilling smile. If letting her drive makes her feel like she's won this round, that's fine. I'll play along.

So I put her stupid cat in the back seat, where he meows at Molly and Molly tries to lick him through the carrier but is nonplussed otherwise. Then I slide into the passenger seat.

By the time I buckle my seatbelt, Cassie's already got the heat cranked to sauna levels, but I don't say a word. She's trying—and failing—hard to not shiver.

She adjusts the rearview mirror, puts the Jeep into drive, then turns to me.

"Bear?"

"Yeah?"

"I really appreciate everything you've done."

"Sure." I nod slowly, pretending the way she just looked at me hasn't sent my pulse racing a million miles an hour.

Then she hits the gas and peels out onto the road, sending chunks of mud and snow flying at least ten feet.

Cassie squeals, then yells at me over her stupid cat's frightened meows, "Don't think my thanks means I'm going to stop torturing you!"

She smiles, and I laugh.

But I hope she's not joking. Being with her is the best kind of torture.