Page 8 of Honey for the Bear

I go to her because I can’t stay away.

Because she’s the only thing in this world that makes me feel human.

I let out a low, bitter laugh, the sound echoing in the empty cabin.What a cruel joke.The one person who makes me feel alive is the one person I can never have.

My bear growls softly, a low rumble that vibrates through my chest.It doesn’t agree.It doesn’t care about the risks or the consequences.All it knows is that it wants her.

And if I’m being honest with myself, so do I.

But wanting her and having her are two very different things.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself to my feet and head for the kitchen.The jar of honey is still sitting on the counter, untouched, its golden glow mocking me in the dim light.

I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, and for a moment, I consider throwing it out the window.But instead, I set it back down and grab a carving knife from the drawer.

The block of wood on the counter catches my eye, and I pick it up, running my fingers over the rough surface.It’s small and misshapen, but I can already see the shape of it in my mind—a bear, standing tall and proud, its head tilted toward the sky.

I sit at the table and start carving, the rhythmic scrape of the knife against the wood filling the silence.The work is slow, methodical, and for a while, it’s enough to quiet my thoughts.

But no matter how hard I try to focus on the carving, my mind keeps drifting back to her—Hannah.

To the way she looked at me, like she could see right through all the walls I’ve built around myself.

To the way her hand brushed against mine, sending sparks shooting through my veins.

To the way my name sounded on her lips, soft and full of unspoken questions.

I let out a heavy sigh, setting the knife down and leaning back in my chair.The half-finished carving sits in front of me, its rough edges catching the light.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

But one thing is clear.I can’t keep running from her.

And I can’t keep running from myself.

Chapter 5

Hannah

Thesmellofhoneyand butter fills my kitchen, warm and sweet, as I pull the last batch of muffins from the oven.They’re golden brown, the tops just starting to crack, and I can’t help but feel a little proud.These are my best yet.

I set the tray on the counter and glance out the window toward the woods.Cameron’s cabin is out there, hidden somewhere in the trees.It feels strange, knowing he’s so close yet so far—like an untouchable force looming at the edge of my life.

My chest tightens as I remember the way he left yesterday, his broad shoulders disappearing around the farmhouse without a single word of explanation.One moment, he’d been there, strong and steady, his presence as grounding as the earth beneath my feet.And then he was gone, like smoke slipping through my fingers.

I don’t know what I expected when I asked why he keeps helping me.Answers, maybe.Honesty.But Cameron doesn’t seem to work that way.He’s like a locked door, and no matter how hard I knock, he won’t let me in.

Still, I can’t stop thinking about him.

With a sigh, I wipe my hands on a dish towel and start packing the muffins into a basket.It’s a flimsy excuse, baking these.I tell myself it’s a thank-you for fixing the fence, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.I want to see him.I want to understand him.

And maybe, just maybe, I want him to see me, too.

***

Thewoodsarequietas I follow the narrow path toward Cameron’s cabin, the late evening light filtering through the trees in soft golden beams.The air smells like pine and damp earth, and the occasional rustle of leaves reminds me I’m not alone out here.

The basket feels heavy in my hands, though it’s light enough to carry.It’s the weight of my nerves, I think, pressing down on me with every step.

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