Page 20 of Bear Hunt

I can do this. She’s not the same.

“Yes, please.” I nod, taking in her outfit and breathing a small sigh of relief.

She’s wearing a black hoodie and skin-tight jeans with a cute pair of boots. Only one has a blue lace and the other is pink. I like it, and at the same time, it makes me feel good about what I’m wearing. My green hoodie and leggings have been washed every night I’ve been here so far, but out of the three outfits I have, they’re my favorite.

However, the boots I bought at the thrift shop were already on their last legs, and now they seem to be falling apart.

Maybe I could get some new ones today?

Suddenly, I’m excited about this shopping trip.

We’ve been shopping for about two hours and I finally have some new shoes—boots. They cost the whole hundred dollars, but Mac said they’re worth it because they’ll last me a lifetime. She also said that I might need to wear them in a bit before spending a whole day in them, but that’s probably the only piece of advice she’s given me today that I’m going to ignore.

The thrift shop boots went swiftly into a trashcan on our way here to the food court and I’m proudly wearing what Mac called my new take-no-shit boots. She did whisper the word shit, explaining that she’s trying to cut down on the cursing, but she said there’s no other words acceptable to use for Doc Martens.

This whole thing feels like an experience someone else should be having, but I’m having fun, regardless. Mac is like the younger sister I never had.

“So Graves will only need a few days to get your ID ready once he has the photo.” Mac holds up the strip of what she called passport size pictures and waves them around triumphantly.

“It’s really that easy?” I slide my palms beneath my thighs to try and stop fidgeting.

While this experience has been and is fun, it’s a lot. There are people everywhere.

“Yup. He’s a genius. Not as much of a genius as Glitch, but he did it for me when I needed a new ID and it worked out pretty good.” She bites into her burger and moans, closing her eyes for a brief second before pinning them on me again. They crinkle at the corners and she indicates to the food sitting in front of me as she finishes chewing. “They’re best when they’re warm.Although, they’re nowhere near as good as Bear’s burgers. That man barbecues better than anyone I know.”

She keeps throwing all these names around, but the only one I recognize is Bear… Brock.

A shiver races up my spine and I’m struggling to pinpoint the feeling.

Mac chuckles. “I think you’ve got it as bad as he does.”

“Got what?” I unwrap the burger and take a bite, now knowing exactly why she moaned when she bit into hers. “Mmm!”

“Nothin’.” She continues to eat, glancing over my shoulder, and grins.

I turn to look behind me, but there are just a lot of people. Walking, sitting, eating, laughing, crying… it really seems like every kind of person is here. Which means…everykind of person is here.

I’m a little overwhelmed by it all if I’m honest with myself, but if I want a normal life, I need to do things like this.

We finish the rest of our food in silence before I take a large gulp of the black liquid I’ve been craving since that first morning Maribel handed me a coffee.

“Good stuff, right?” Mac drinks her own coffee, equally as enamored with it as I am with mine. “We should get one to go. The truck has cup holders.” She wags her brows like we’ve got a secret that’s just for us. I like it.

“Yes! Please, let’s do that.”

I’m suddenly not so sure if I should be working in that coffee shop once my social security number comes through, but then again…

“Mmm. It tastes sweeter than the one at the home.”

“It has a dash of vanilla.” Mac winks. “People say vanilla like it’s a bad thing, but it’s one of the most complex flavors. I wanted to grow some in my garden, but it’s a temperamental bean so I decided against it.”

“How is it temperamental?” I’m curious to learn about literally anything, and I didn’t even know it was a bean.

“It needs consistently perfect heat, light, and moisture to thrive, all of which are impossible to control in my garden. They grow best in tropical areas.” She shrugs, sipping on her coffee.

“You know a lot about this stuff.” It’s not a question, but it also kind of is. I’m not even sure myself.

“Gardening was the only thing I had that was my own. My garden answered to nobody except me, so I learned what I could, when I could.” Mac finishes her coffee at the same time as me and we both smile.

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