Page 30 of Bear Naked Truth
She opened her mouth, closed it, tried again. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.” Missy’s smile wasn’t cruel. Just knowing. “You think you’re afraid of these spirits. As if they are different fromany of the others you’ve met. But it’s not the dead who scare you. It’s the ones who might stay.”
Autumn swallowed, throat tight. Her gaze dropped to the countertop.
“Dorian’s got a good heart,” Missy continued. “He sees people. Wants to protect them. That’s dangerous, you know. When someone like that looks at someone like you.”
“Why?”
“Because you start to believe it.” Missy squeezed her shoulder once more, then pulled away. “That maybe you deserve it.”
Autumn clutched the jar in her hand like it could anchor her. The air felt too thick again.
She paid for her items in silence, save for the quiet clinking of coins and a muttered thank you. Missy didn’t press, didn’t pry. Just handed over the little paper bag and went back to her herbs like she hadn’t cracked Autumn open with a single sentence.
Outside, the breeze was cooler.
She sat on the bench just beyond the shop, the one carved with moons and vines, and let her eyes close for a moment.
She didn’t want to feel this. Not the longing. Not the guilt. Not the fragile thread of hope that tugged at her every time Dorian seemed to see her like she wasn’t a burden but a blessing.
He was wrong about her.
People didn’t stay.
Not when they knew the real Autumn, the one who still carried echoes in her bones, who couldn’t sleep without salt under her pillow and a charm over her heart.
But gods help her, he made her want to believe.
She pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the screen.
One message.
Dorian: Made lunch. Come back before it gets cold. And yes, I still have both eyebrows.
Autumn smiled before she could stop herself.
Maybe she was a little doomed.
16
DORIAN
Rain came easy to Celestial Pines.
It didn’t roar the way it did in cities, didn’t batter windows like angry fists. It arrived like a soft confession, whispering through the trees, pattering on rooftops, soaking into the soil like it had secrets to share.
Dorian stood just under the overhang of the wraparound porch, hands braced on the railing. The storm had rolled in quick, all gray skies and distant thunder, but he welcomed the quiet it brought with it. Rain made everything pause. Even the house had gone still. The spirits, too.
Behind him, the front door creaked open. Soft steps followed. He didn’t need to look.
Autumn.
She smelled like mugwort and coffee, like fresh parchment and that earthy spark of magic that always seemed to crackle in the air around her. He didn’t turn until she came to stand beside him, one hand lightly grazing the railing as she leaned into the space between them.
“Made it back,” he said, voice low.
She glanced sideways. “I brought herbs.”
