Page 47 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

Yep. Food baby confirmed.

I exhale and smooth the front of my dress.

Thankfully, the material is ruched around my waist is a modern miracle, and any evidence of overindulgence is safely camouflaged.

Thank you, fashion gods.

Taking a final breath, I step out of the hallway and into the open living room—and immediately stop in my tracks.

“Oh my gah.”

The entire far wall is made of glass, stretching from floor to ceiling, framing the cityscape in all its twinkling, cinematic glory.

“Hey,” Horace greets me. His voice is warm and hushed.

“Pretty incredible view,” I say in response, because yeah, I am that amazing at conversation.

I turn to find him watching me, hands tucked casually into his pockets, that familiar half-smile playing on his lips.

His shirt is loosened now, top button undone, and something about that small shift makes my stomach do a little flip—completely unrelated to the food baby.

“Yeah,” he agrees, exhaling softly. “It really is.”

But he’s looking atme. And somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the view anymore.

This part of Newark has undergone some major transformations, thanks to theBeautify New Jersey Project—and the results? Amazing.

It’s a bustling hub of modern city living, where high-rise apartments—like this one—have trendy cafés, coffee shops, and even pizzerias in their lobbies.

The streets are tree-lined, and the lights are bright enough to offer a feeling of safety in a city that is known for its past high crime rates.

“It is, uh, really great,” I say, and Horace’s heated gaze rakes over me from my head to my toes.

“Is it?” he asks.

“Oh yeah. I always liked the city. All that gleaming glass and steel. It’s like something out of a fantasy. Crazy, right? The things humans can make,” I say, and I know I am speaking nonsense.

He nods and holds something out to me. I walk and take the proffered cup and sip.

“Espresso? With Sambuca?”

“Anisette. Is that alright?”

I nod again and take another sip of the delicious coffee laced with licorice-flavored liquor.

“It’s delicious.”

“Carina, there is something I’ve been meaning to say?—”

“Actually, if you don’t mind,” I tell him, going for broke, “I think I’d like to talk later.”

“Later?”

“Yeah, after.”

“After what?” he asks, and his face is adorable scrunched up like he really doesn’t know.

“After this,” I tell him as I take hold of his collar and pull him down so I can seal my lips to his.

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