Page 4 of Bear Naked Truth
“So.” She folded her arms, leaned against the stair rail opposite him. “How’d you end up with this place? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly scream ‘gothic innkeeper.’”
“None taken,” Dorian said. “I scream ‘ex-forest ranger with too many flannels,’ I know.”
She gave a barely-there smirk. He liked earning those. They felt rare.
He motioned toward the open sitting room and walked in, speaking over his shoulder. “You want tea or coffee? Kitchen’s mostly functional. Unless the stove’s feelin’ dramatic.”
“I’ll take whatever doesn’t hiss at me.”
He chuckled again. “Coffee it is.”
While he filled the percolator, one of the few modern luxuries he’d managed to wrangle into the place, he started in on the story. The truth. Mostly.
“My uncle Alaric owned Briar Hollow. Only met him once, when I was a kid. Didn’t even know he remembered me. But two years ago, he passed. Left me the deed and a letter that basically said, ‘Good luck, you poor bastard.’”
Autumn perched herself on the kitchen table, legs crossed, watching him over the rim of her mug. “Sounds like a generous guy.”
“He was… eccentric,” Dorian said, choosing diplomacy. “The house had been abandoned for years. Locals wouldn’t touch it. Said it belonged to the dead.”
“They weren’t wrong.”
He poured the coffee, slid a mug toward her, and leaned against the counter. “When I first stepped inside, I felt it. Like… grief had soaked into the walls. Heavy. But not evil.”
Autumn nodded once, no sarcasm this time.
“I saw the inn,” he continued, voice lower now, more earnest, “and I didn’t just see rot and bad plumbing. I saw a place that could come back to life. Like me, maybe.”
That surprised her. She blinked, slightly thrown by his honesty.
“I needed a second chance,” he added. “After the wildfire took my job, my cabin, and most of the forest I called home… well, this place felt like a dare. Or a gift. I’m still not sure which.”
She took a sip of coffee. “Why now? Why call me in after two years?”
Dorian rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Because the spirits have started to act out more. They’re not just pacing anymore. They’re pushing. I think they know I’m getting close to opening. Something about that makes them nervous.”
Her brows rose slightly. “You’re reopening this place?”
He nodded. “Boutique inn. Charmy, spooky, tucked into the hills. Already got bookings lined up from people who want the ‘paranormal experience.’ Though I don’t know if you could tell, but the veil keeps us all protected here, the thing is though that even the supernatural enjoy a good ghost haunting. Tourists are freaks for the paranormal these days. ”
She didn’t answer. Just sipped her coffee and looked at him for a long moment.
“You’re serious,” she finally said.
“As a hexed bookshelf.”
“Then you need more than a cleansing,” she murmured. “You need an exorcism and a ward built into the bones of this place.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
She stood, taking her cup with her, brushing past him to return to the sitting room. He didn’t miss the way her shoulder brushed his chest. Didn’t miss the goosebumps that raised on her skin. His bear stretched, slow and possessive, humming behind his ribs.
He followed her out.
“So,” she said, her tone lighter now, teasing, “what’s the catch?”
Dorian leaned on the back of the faded couch and gave her a crooked smile. “Catch?”
“You brought in a ghost whisperer, you’re talking bookings even with it acting out, and I swear this house grumbled when I walked in. There’s always a catch.”
