Page 29 of Holly's Grizzly

That last thought should come as more of a surprise, but it settles over me with a realization that’s no surprise at all. Age-old and bone deep, it feels more right than anything in the world to hug her closer and run my lips over her forehead, letting out a soft chuckle when her face scrunches up at the tickle of my beard against her nose. It’s exactly where I was meant to be—right here with Holly.

Even if I know it can’t last.

I push that stark truth to the furthest corner of my mind that I can.

Sure, Holly is going to have to leave in a day or two, back to Seattle and her job and her friends and her whole life waiting for her, back to reality.

But just for tonight, this is reality.

The incredible woman in my arms and the taste of her still lingering on my lips. The crackle of the fire and the snow falling in heavy sheets outside.

There’s nothing in the world but this.

11

Holly

I wake up back in my own personal furnace, tucked tight into Irving’s arms and surrounded by the warmth and the scent of him.

Only this time we’re not tangled on a couch, but in his bed.

Bundled close and cozy under flannel sheets and a huge quilt that looks like it was handmade, I nuzzle into him and brush my cheek against the springy, coarse hair on his chest.

Dimly, I remember him carrying me up here last night after he gave me two of the most incredible orgasms of my life. I remember him tucking us both into bed and kissing my forehead, my cheeks, making sure I was comfortable and safe.

In my dreamy, half-sleeping state, it makes me think of all the times I’ve gone without that kind of care from a partner.

How many times have I felt like I was begging for every single crumb in my relationships?

It wasn’t even just with Cody, if I’m being honest. It’s a pattern I’ve let myself slip into too many times—accepting less than I want, less than I deserve, always settling. Always being the one to plan and carry the mental load, to do the emotional labor without ever truly feeling like I was getting the same in return.

I glance up at Irving.

These few days we have together aren’t… real. They’re like something out of a made-for-TV holiday movie, cozy and warm and temporary.

I shouldn’t be reading so far into things, shouldn’t be holding up the care and attention he’s shown me in the last forty-eight hours against all my past relationships like it means something.

But I’ll be damned if I can make my soft, wounded heart believe that.

And maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can just enjoy this brief respite from reality for what it is.

An exhale. A chance to slow down and catch my breath, let myself be cared for and handled with all the wonderful, aching tenderness Irving’s shown me and not expect it to be anything more than what it is.

I’ll be gone when the snow stops falling, when the mountain roads are passable again.

But until then?

Until then I’m going to savor every single second of this.

I turn my attention back to the big, handsome bear shifter beneath me.

Irving is sleepy and warm and still smells like mountain pine and crisp winter snow—a scent I want to bottle up and take with me when I go.

When he feels me stirring, a low rumble reverberates in his chest, and he lays a hand on my back to keep me still.

“It’s too early,” he mutters. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

I just hum in reply. My hand wanders beneath the covers, tracing the expanse of his chest, his abdomen, brushing over the soft planes of his stomach before dipping lower and—

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