Page 13 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

“As I was saying, Horace,” Uncle Uzzi says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin like he’s discussing theweatherand not potentially upending my entire life,

“I’d really like your input on how to make the app more user-friendly. But also, I’m wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t like to try it out?”

I drag my attention away from Carina—who has just disappeared back into the kitchen, her scent still lingering in the air—and focus on Uncle Uzzi. I narrow my eyes. The old man is up to something.

“Oh, I’m happy to work on the app,” I say, taking a sip of my sweet tea, because priorities.

“The coding is… strange. Unlike anything I’ve encountered before.” I sip and swallow and lower my voice slightly. “But as for using it? I’m not in the market for a mate, Uncle Uzzi.”

I whisper the wordmate, barely more than a breath.

It doesn’t matter. He hears me anyway.

Uncle Uzzi hums, eyes twinkling in that knowing way of his. Like he sees more than he should.

More than I want him to.

“I see. Well, that is to be expected about the code. You see, I have a connection in a parallel dimension who did most of the mapping for this app.”

I freeze mid-swallow.

Goddamn, this sweet tea is addicting.

I blink. Once. Twice. Slowly.

Then I set my glass down very carefully, because I must have misheard him.

“Pardon me?” I say, staring at him. “Did you just sayparallel dimension?”

“Indeed,” he replies, completely unbothered, taking a sip of his tea like this is an ordinary conversation and not the single most insane thing I’ve heard in, well,ever.

“But I suppose you could call it another plane of existence. An alternate reality. However you phrase it, it all boils down to the same multiverse.”

He says it so casually. Like this is just standard pizzeria talk.

Meanwhile, my entire world is recalibrating.

I look at the mural on the wall. Then back at him.

Then back at the mural, because I’m going to need a minute.

“Uh, excuse me,” Carina interrupts.

She’s holding Uzzi’s salad and something else I know I didn’t order.

But goddamn, it smells fantastic.

“Since you two are technically our first customers, I thought you might like to try thishot antipasto platteron the house,” Carina says, setting down an absolute feast of bite-sized Italian delicacies.

Golden, crispy arancini.

Melted mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto.

Sautéed mushrooms glistening in olive oil.

Garlic knots so perfectly baked they look like they might just melt in my mouth.

My stomach growls its approval.

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