Page 13 of Saved By the Grizzly Bear

“How long have you lived here?” I ask him as we head up to the front door.

“Since I moved to town. I knew that I didn’t want to live in town. I wanted more room to… more privacy,” he finishes, and I nod.

I wonder what he was going to say, but I’m too enthralled with the house to ask him. He unlocks the front door and waves for me to enter ahead of him.

His place is clean and smells just like him. Like pine and honey. There’s a staircase to the right, and I peek up it. I know it’s probably just bedrooms and bathrooms up there, but I’m dying for a tour.

The living room is to our left, and Alec leads me further into the house.

“Am I going to get the tour?” I ask, and he nods.

“Sure. This is the living room. Come on.”

He leads me through the living room and into the kitchen. Then we walk around past a half bathroom and his office. The office is empty except for a desk and office chair, and I quirk a brow at him.

“I don’t really bring work home,” he admits with a shrug. “So I don’t really need an office.”

“I like it,” I tell him honestly.

“The upstairs is just bedrooms,” he says, leading me back to the kitchen.

Part of me wants to ask him to see his bedroom, but I’m not that bold.

Maybe I’ll get the chance to see it soon…

I bite back a smirk at that thought as we head into the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He asks as he pulls out a barstool for me.

“Maybe just some water?”

“Sure.”

He grabs two glasses and fills them with water before he passes me one.

“What would you like for dinner?”

“What do you have?” I counter.

“Let’s see.”

He opens the fridge and scans the contents before he moves onto the cupboards.

“Eggs and bacon,” he says sheepishly, and I laugh.

“Not much of a chef?” I ask, and he snorts.

“Not at all,” he says with a laugh. “I went from my parents’ house to the Marines, where I ate in the cafeteria or had MREs. I’ve never really had to cook for myself. Until I got out of the Marines. I’ve been surviving off of Lunchables, frozen meals, and takeout for the last six months.”

“Well, luckily for you, your fiancée loves cooking,” I say as I slide off the stool and head over to the fridge.

He’s not lying. He really does only have a package of bacon and some eggs left in the fridge. I poke through the cabinets and find some penne, but that’s all he has.

“Bacon and eggs it is!” I say, grabbing the stuff from the fridge.

He grabs me two frying pans, and I get to work.

“How did you learn to cook?” He asks as I add the bacon to the pan.

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