Page 4 of Befriending the Bear
His eyes darted to mine, then away. The struggle was visible on his face, social expectation warring with something deeper. His jaw worked, and I could see the effort it took to form the words.
“C-C-Calloway.” He managed it on the third try, and the name came out like a victory. “G-Gilstrap.”
“Good to meet you, Calloway.” I shifted my weight, trying to ease the pressure on my bad leg without being obvious about it. The way he’d noticed the cane told me he was someone who paid attention, who understood what it meant to navigate the world differently from how others expected.
He clutched the book against his chest like armor, but he hadn’t fled yet. That felt like something. In my experience, people either ran from difficulty or leaned into it. Calloway seemed caught between the two, and I wanted to tip the balance in my favor.
“You’ve got good taste in poetry,” I said, nodding at the book. “Mary Oliver’s been getting me through some long nights lately.”
His eyes widened, genuine surprise flickering across his face. “Y-you know her w-w-work?”
“Her line about what we plan to do with our wild and precious life has been rattling around my head since I got here. Trying to figure out the answer.”
A smile ghosted across his face, there and gone like morning mist. He opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to make a decision. “Th-the library has a b-b-book club. F-Fridays. W-we’re doing p-p-poetry this m-month.”
The invitation was so unexpected, offered with such visible effort, that something tightened in my chest. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll check it out. Been meaning to get more involved in town stuff.”
He nodded quickly, already stepping backward. “I s-s-should…”
“Sure,” I said, not wanting to push. Over the years, I’d learned that sometimes the best thing to do was to let a fire burn itself out naturally. “It was nice running into you, Calloway. Literally.”
That earned me another fleeting smile, and Christ, I wanted to see what he looked like when he really smiled, when he wasn’t fighting so hard against himself. And then he was gone, walking quickly but carefully, like someone who’d learned to navigate the world without drawing attention. I stood there in the parking lot, weight balanced between my good leg and the cane, watching him disappear around the corner.
My leg was screaming now, demanding attention, but I barely noticed. Something had happened. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, but it felt significant. Like the moment when you realize a controlled burn is about to jump the fire line, except this time I wasn’t sure I wanted to contain it.
Book Club in the library on Fridays.
I filed the information away and started the slow walk back to my truck, only to slap my forehead at the realization that I didn’t have it. Right. That was why I was there in the first place. Thank fuck I lived just off Main Street and would be able to walk back home, even with my leg being an asshole today. I headed for home. Maybe I could stop by Brianna’s for a sweet treat? Lord knew I deserved that today. And that woman could bake. Hell, she could make a monk forget his vows in exchange for a bite of her cinnamon rolls.
The cane clicked against the sidewalk in a rhythm I was still getting used to. Six months, and I still felt like I was playacting at being someone who needed mobility aids. The Fraser who’d run up mountains with sixty pounds of gear on his back was gone, but I hadn’t quite figured out who this new version of me was yet.
Forestville revealed itself slowly as I walked. Flower boxes hung from lampposts, full of late-season blooms. A used bookstore I hadn’t noticed before, its window full of sun-faded covers. The sound of the river running behind the buildings, constant and soothing. It was the kind of town that appearedin Christmas movies, all small-town charm and everybody-knows-everybody warmth. Like a Hallmark movie, except in September.
I continued toward Brianna’s, my mind still circling back to those hazel eyes and the way Calloway had fought so hard for each word. In thirty years of firefighting, I’d learned to read people quickly—who would freeze, who would run, who would stand their ground when the flames got close. Calloway was something else entirely: someone who stood his ground despite wanting to run, who pushed through fear with a kind of quiet courage that made my insides all warm.
The bell above Brianna’s door chimed as I entered and the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread hit me. My stomach growled, reminding me I’d skipped breakfast in favor of getting to the auto shop early.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Brianna called from behind the counter, her smile bright enough to power the town. “Fraser, honey, you look like you could use some coffee and something sweet.”
Only six weeks in, and she already made me feel like I’d been coming here for years. Clearly, baking wasn’t her only strength. She had a way of putting you at ease, of making you feel at home.
“You’re not wrong.” I made my way to the counter, trying not to lean too heavily on the cane. “What’s good today?”
“Everything’s good every day,” she said with mock offense. “But I just pulled a Dutch apple pie out of the oven. Still warm. Served with fresh whipped cream.”
“Sold. With a double espresso, please.”
She waved her hand. “Find a seat. I’ll bring it right out.”
My pride told me I could make it to a table without the cane, but the reality of the deep ache in my leg won the battle. As I made my way to the closest table, I glanced around the bakery. A young person with purple-streaked hair worked the espressomachine, moving with the easy efficiency of someone who’d found their rhythm. A couple of older women sat at a corner table, deep in gossip. Normal small-town morning stuff.
How long would it take before I considered myself part of this charming town? Before they did?
“You settling in okay?” Brianna asked when she put the coffee in front of me, followed by a plate with a massive slice of apple pie that made my mouth water, decorated with a healthy dollop of cream on the side. “I know moving to a new place can be tough, especially when you’re…”
She gestured vaguely at my general existence.
“When I’m a broken-down old firefighter?” I supplied, trying for humor.
