Page 13 of Holly's Grizzly

My fault, that I’d come home crying, a little plaque in hand proclaiming me as one of the company’s best up-and-coming software developers. It was an honor that had felt stupid and hollow as I set it on the counter of the apartment we shared and trudged into the bedroom to fall into bed fully clothed, clutchinga pillow to my chest as I tried to breathe through the bitter disappointment.

It was just one more hurt to add to the pile.

One more thing I shouldn’t have assumed he’d care about, should have made sure tocommunicatemore clearly if it was important to me he showed up for it.

But it doesn’t matter now.

Cody is long gone, and getting over him was the impetus behind… all of this.

Changing things up, learning to survive on my own, finding out who I am now. Twenty-eight and completely capable, expanding my horizons and proving to myself just how much I don’t need anyone at all.

And Ihadgotten over it, or at least over him. Even if it’s still hard sometimes to open up about it, and even if running away to the woods for Christmas seemed preferable to being the sad single friend at the holiday gathering, I’ve been so proud of how much I’ve grown.

Well, at least until I fell into a goddamn river and almost died. Until I got my ass saved by a bear shifter who’s being so unbelievably kind to me.

My thoughts tangle again, but instead of trying to make sense of them, I try not to think of anything at all and instead lose myself in the warmth and the steam of the shower.

4

Irving

The pasta sauce I threw together simmers on the stove and the noodles are nearly done cooking by the time I hear the shower turn off.

I freeze for a moment, hands hovering over the counter, knife poised just above the head of romaine I was cutting for a side salad. But, giving my head a hard shake, I make myself snap out of it.

All of this is… fine.

It’s fine that Holly’s staying here.

It’ll just be for a couple of days, and then she’ll be on her way. Although I can’t actually remember the last time I had a houseguest, I can be a good host. I can make Holly feel welcome and hopefully cheer her up after the weighted conversation we had earlier and her repeated insistence that she doesn’t need any help or want to make me feel put out.

And dinner is a perfect place to start.

Having my hands full with the cooking is exactly the distraction I need to get out of my own head a little. I’m not going to overthink this. I’m not going to question why every inch of me feels so tuned up and tuned in, vibrating with somestrange energy and hyper-aware of every sound coming from the other side of that door.

I finish the salad, drain the noodles, and give the sauce a quick stir before flipping off the burner. Everything’s ready, and I lean back against the kitchen island in satisfaction, doing a quick sweep of the spread to see if there’s anything I missed.

Knowing the right thing to say to ease Holly’s fears and assuage the guilt she seems to feel about accepting my help isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse—truthfully, knowing the right thing to say isn’teverreally in my wheelhouse—but this? This I can do.

I love cooking. Well, I love food, more accurately. Growing it, preparing it, trying new recipes and developing my own.

It’s always been one of my hobbies, and my favorite way to spoil the people I care about on the rare occasions I have to do so. I’m solitary by nature, but given the opportunity, there’s nothing I love more than making sure the people around me have enough to eat and a comfortable place to sit and rest a while. I’m no expert in love languages, but if I had one, that would certainly be it.

That last thought gives me a moment of pause.

Is this too much?

Is that part of the reason Holly’s so uncomfortable? Maybe I’m coming on too strong, being presumptuous, putting too much pressure on her.

The instinct to provide for her—to offer her shelter and warmth and a good meal after all she went through today—was so immediate I didn’t stop to question it.

At the same time, I don’t think it’s any more or less than I’d offer to anyone who found themselves stranded in the woods or who showed up on my doorstep looking for help. It’s hardly an inconvenience or a burden, and I doubt I’d be questioning it at all if it didn’t seem to make Holly so uncomfortable.

Well, that, and the fact that providing for this particular stranger seems to tug at some deeper, less rational need to protect and provide.

Beneath my skin, my grizzly rumbles his approval.

He’s a greedy bastard.

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