Page 21 of Befriending the Bear
Around noon, the crowd thickened. I was reaching for a box of romance novels someone had requested when my leg decided to remind me why my doctor had told me not to standfor extended periods of time. The muscle seized, a white-hot cramping that nearly dropped me to my knees.
Calloway was there before I could even process the pain, his hand on my elbow, steadying without making a scene. “Ch-chair,” he said quietly, already guiding me to the folding seat behind our table.
I sank into it gratefully, trying to breathe through the spasm. Calloway crouched beside me, his hand still on my arm, concern written across his face.
“I’m okay,” I managed. “Just need to sit for a moment.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t call me out. Instead, he stood, surveyed the booth, and made an executive decision. “We’re taking a lunch break,” he told Pascal, who had shown up minutes earlier to help.
Pascal nodded immediately, understanding flickering across his face. “I can handle things for a while. You two go get something to eat.”
Before I could protest that I was fine, that I only needed a minute, Calloway had grabbed my cane from where I’d optimistically left it leaning against the table. He held it out without comment, and something about the matter-of-fact way he did it—no pity, no fuss—made it easier to take.
“There’s a b-bench close by. More private.”
I let him lead me away from the crowds, grateful for his steady presence beside me. The bench was tucked into a small garden area I hadn’t known existed, shaded by an old oak whose leaves were just beginning to turn. Calloway waited until I was settled, then surprised me by sitting close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
“You sh-should have said something earlier,” he said, and there was gentle reproach in his voice. “About your l-leg.”
“Pot, meet kettle. How’s your back?”
That earned me a rueful smile. “T-touché.”
We sat in comfortable silence while my leg slowly unknotted itself. From here, we could hear the festival sounds—music from the small stage, children laughing, the general hum of community—but it felt removed, like we were in our own pocket of quiet.
“Thank you,” I said eventually. “For noticing. For not making a big deal of it.”
“We all have our…” He paused, searching for words. “Our d-difficult days.”
“Is this one of yours?” I asked carefully, wondering if the crowds were getting to him.
He considered this, head tilted slightly. “Actually, n-no. It’s been…good. Working with you. F-feeling useful.” A pause. “I forgot I could do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be around p-people. Not hide.” He picked at a loose thread on his sweater. “It’s easier with you there.”
The admission hung between us, delicate and significant. I wanted to reach for his hand, to offer some physical comfort to match what his presence had given me, but I kept still. These moments with Calloway were like approaching a wild animal—any sudden movement might break the spell.
“Ready to go back?” he asked after a while. “Or do you need more time?”
“I’m good.” The sharp pain had faded to its usual dull ache, manageable if I was careful. “But maybe I’ll use the cane.”
“G-good,” he said firmly, and I loved him a little for not pretending it didn’t matter.
The walk back to our booth was slower, but Calloway matched my pace without comment. When we arrived, Pascal had everything under control, chatting easily with customers while making change. Eleanor was nowhere to be seen, probably making the rounds of other booths.
“I’ll get us some f-food,” Calloway offered. “Any r-requests?”
“Surprise me.”
He returned fifteen minutes later with containers loaded with pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, and what appeared to be homemade potato chips. We ate standing behind our table, taking turns helping customers between bites.
“This is amazing,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich.
“S-Sunshine Corner’s truck. The chef is Ennio Fr-frant, the sheriff’s younger b-brother. I thought you’d l-like it.”
The fact that he’d thought about what I’d like, that he’d paid enough attention to guess correctly, warmed me more than the October sun.
