Page 43 of Befriending the Bear
“Montana, 2015. Late-season prescribed burn that got away from us a little. Not dangerous, but not quite as controlled as we would’ve liked. We ended up having to stay out an extra night, camping right there in the burn scar.”
“Why was it your f-favorite?”
“Because that night, after we contained it, the whole crew sat around watching the edges still glowing. No danger anymore, just these ribbons of orange in the darkness. And this kid, Martinez, actually, the mouse guy, started singing. Quietly at first, some song his grandmother taught him. Then others joined in, and it became magical.”
I paused, remembering. “Twenty of us, covered in ash and exhausted, singing into the dark while the mountain glowed around us. It was…church, kind of. Sacred.”
Calloway’s eyes were soft in the candlelight. “You miss them.”
“Every day. But that’s the thing about family. They’re still family even when you’re apart.”
Our food arrived—seared scallops for him, wild trout for me—and we ate slowly, savoring. Calloway told me aboutdiscovering poetry in college, how it had given him a way to work with words that didn’t require speech. I told him about learning to read fire weather, the strange poetry of pressure systems and dew points.
“I n-never expected this,” he said over dessert, a shared chocolate tart that I’d insisted we get despite Calloway claiming he was full.
“Expected what?”
“To feel like this again. To w-want things again.” He set down his fork, meeting my eyes. “To feel like I d-deserve them.”
“You deserve everything good,” I said, meaning it with a fierceness that surprised me. “You deserve happiness and love and a million more nights like this.”
His hand found mine across the table. “I’m starting to b-believe that. Because of you.”
The weight of that trust, that faith, made my throat tight. I turned my palm up, interlacing our fingers, not caring who might see. Let them look. Let them see two men choosing each other despite all the reasons not to.
The waiter returned with our check, and I paid quickly, eager to continue this evening that felt like a turning point. As we gathered our things to leave, Calloway moved with a new confidence, his shoulders relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before. Outside the restaurant, the Seattle night was clear, city lights competing with stars.
The drive home was charged with new energy. Calloway kept our hands linked over the console, thumb tracing patterns that sent heat through my entire body. By the time we reached Forestville, anticipation had built to an almost unbearable level.
“Come in?” he asked when I pulled into his driveway. “For c-coffee?”
We both knew it wasn’t about coffee.
Inside, he barely got the door closed before I pressed him against it, kissing him like I’d wanted to all night. He made a sound of surprise that melted into approval, arms coming up around my neck. We kissed like teenagers, all heat and discovery, hands roaming over sweaters and through hair.
“Couch,” Calloway gasped when we broke for air. “Before my knees g-give out.”
We stumbled to the living room, landing in a tangle of limbs that should have been awkward but felt perfect. I ended up on my back with Calloway straddling my hips, looking down at me with wonder and want that made me ache.
“Okay?” My hands settled on his waist.
“M-more than.” He leaned down to kiss me again, slower this time, thorough and devastating. His fingers dipped beneath my sweater, skimming along my ribs and leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arched into his touch, craving more contact, more of his skin on mine.
Calloway tugged at the hem of my sweater in silent question. I sat up enough to let him pull it over my head and toss it aside. “You’re so b-beautiful,” he murmured, eyes roaming appreciatively over my bare chest before he ducked down to press open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone. Each brush of his lips sent sparks through my body, kindling the heat building low in my belly.
I slid my hands under the soft wool of his sweater, relishing the smooth expanse of his back, the shift of lean muscle beneath warm skin. He shivered as I traced patterns up his spine. Mimicking his earlier move, I pulled his sweater off and let it join mine on the floor. For a moment, we looked at each other, chests heaving, pulses racing in anticipation.
In the lamplight, Calloway was breathtaking. His chest was lean and defined, with a subtle dusting of dark hair that tapered to his waistband. His skin had a warm olive tone that seemed toglow in the soft light. At forty-eight, his body showed the elegant lines of maturity. Not the hard-carved physique of youth, but something more refined, more real. There was a small scar near his left ribs, and I wanted to know its origin, to learn every mark and line that made up the map of him.
Then Calloway’s mouth was on mine again, hungry and insistent. I cupped his face, angling him right to deepen the kiss. He made a needy sound in the back of his throat that went straight to my cock. I wanted to hear him make that sound again and again.
My hands slid down his back to grip his hips, pulling him flush against me. We both groaned at the contact, the delicious friction of our bodies moving together. Calloway rolled his hips deliberately, drawing a gasp from my lips.
I smoothed my palms down his back to cup his perfect ass, pulling him flush against me. He groaned, head falling back as he ground down against my iron-hard cock. The rub was a devious torture even through layers of clothing, but I needed more.
Calloway’s fingers ghosted over my belly, making my abs clench under his touch. He leaned down, trailing kisses from my neck to my chest, tongue flicking out to taste my skin. I groaned, hands tightening on his hips as he worked his way lower.
His fingers deftly unbuttoned my slacks, dragging the zipper down with excruciating slowness. I lifted my hips to help him tug them off, kicking them away impatiently. Calloway sat back on his heels, eyes darkening as they raked over my body, now clad only in tight black boxer briefs.
