Page 56 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

But more often with guilt-tripping stories about their grandkids or conveniently “forgetting” to count how many she’s already put in their bag.

Some shamelessly tell her she could use a sugar daddy investor to help her with her business.

I try not to get jealous. I really do.

But this busload of people from a local retirement community comes for an early lunch every second Thursday.

A busload. Of older men. Flirting with her. Every two weeks.

Probably flashing their sweet old-person smiles while charming her into giving them extra knots, like some kind of Garlic Knot Mafia.

Second mental note: Be at the pizzeria on Thursday mornings. Every Thursday morning.

For purely business reasons, of course.

Of course, she doesn’t just want to talk at me while we eat. Carina expects conversation.

In turn, I tell her more about my company, and she listens—really listens, not just politely nodding along.

But then she pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as she sets down her fork.

“I cannot believe you signed up for a corporate account and didn’t even tell me,” she says.

There’s no bite to her words. No real anger.

Just mild exasperation and surprise.

I can tell because I’d know if she was mad.

I’d scent it in the air between us, thick and undeniable.

I sip my coffee, amused. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. The company ismy name, after all.Vanderbilt Systems. Horace Vanderbilt.”

She huffs, stabbing at a piece of pancake. “I thought it must be a coincidence since you ran from the pizzeria like your pants were on fire.”

Her words are teasing, but I see it—the flicker of something deeper beneath them. A wound she tried to hide from me.

My chest tightens, and before she can retreat behind walls I never want between us, I reach for her hand, closing my fingers around hers. With a gentle tug, I urge her up from her seat, and when she’s close enough, I pull her into my lap.

She lets out a little gasp, startled but not resisting, her hands resting on my shoulders for balance.

Her legs straddle me, her weight settling over me in a way that feels right—so impossibly right that my Bear rumbles with approval inside me.

But I have to focus. Because what I’m about to say could change everything.

“Carina, I have to tell you something important,” I say, my voice steady even though my heart is hammering. “Something you might not understand at first?—”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Are you married?”

“What? No!”

“Involved? Do you have a girlfriend?” she demands, her tone sharp as she presses her palms against my chest, pushing.

I don’t let her go. I can’t.

“Nothing like that. I swear!” I say quickly, my grip firm but gentle.

“Please, Sweetheart, just listen.”

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