Page 22 of Bear Naked Truth
Dorian’s hand brushed hers. “If I catch on fire, will you still pretend to date me?”
“No,” Autumn said flatly. “I’ll dump your ashes in Everglen Creek and make it look like an accident.”
He smiled, wide and unbothered. But it bothered her because the more time she participated in this facade, that she spent at Briar Hollow, the more she felt like this wasn’t pretend anymore. Like she wasn’t going to be able to fight off what was changing inside of her much longer.
Rowan placed a single fingertip on the corner of the book. “Breathe in. Think of what you want most but haven’t said. And this, this will ignite a much need conversation for this session for every couple.”
The room seemed to still. The candle beside them sputtered, then glowed a deep amber, rich like sap. The book fluttered open.
Autumn held her breath.
“You want to stay, but you’re afraid you’ll be asked to become someone you’re not.”
The words inked themselves onto the page in elegant script, glimmering faintly like they’d been dipped in starlight.
Autumn froze.
“You want to protect him, but you aren’t even sure how to protect yourself.”
The words stabbed like needles. Not cruel—justtrue. And that hurt worse.
She couldn’t look at Dorian.
The page turned now addressing him.
“You want her to see what you see when you look at her.”
“You want her to believe it’s real.”
“You’d wait forever if she needed you to.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to speak, to laugh, to deflect like always.
But she couldn’t.
She could only sit there, in the middle of this bookshop filled with candlelight and soft jazz and strangers’ knowing eyes, andfeelit.
The weight of it. The realness.
“Dorian,” she said, voice low.
He turned toward her, expression open, unguarded.
She licked her lips. “This isn’t fake anymore, is it.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
12
DORIAN
The candlelight still shimmered off the book’s truth-scrawled pages, its words bleeding warmth and unspoken ache. Dorian wanted to reach for her hands, but resisted. But between almost and maybe his bear prowled.
The bookstore felt different now. Not just magical, butpersonal. Like the whole place had leaned in with bated breath, waiting to see what happened next. The whispers of rearranging bookshelves, the scent of old parchment and lavender ink, it all faded behind the rush of her pulse.
She hadn’t looked at him since the book closed and had been passed to another couple.
She just remained, still staring down, lashes low, body still as a windless evening.
