Page 15 of Grizzly's Grump
I nod, lips pressed tight. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”
“They’re slow here. Doesn’t mean they’re mean.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Have you met Marcy?”
He huffs. “Okay, maybe one or two are mean.”
I laugh—soft, surprised—and the corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not a smile. But it’s something.
We sit like that for a few minutes. Me on the log, him getting back to his feet and stacking firewood with the kind of quiet precision that makes everything else slow down.
“Why are you out here?” I ask finally.
"I was born here."
"No. I mean here tonight in the forest?"
He doesn’t look at me, but his eyes scan the trees. “The forest was restless.”
“You make it sound like it’s alive.”
His eyes meet mine then. “Sometimes it is.”
I shiver, and it’s not from the cold. The air between us tightens. It’s not just attraction—though that’s still humming in my chest. It’s something older. Wilder. Like the woods are listening.
“You ever feel like...” I trail off, not sure how to say it without sounding ridiculous. “Like something’s stirring deep beneath your feet? Like the world is about to... tilt?”
His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
“It’s not just nerves,” I whisper. “It’s like the air is listening. Like something underneath us just shifted slightly, and now everything’s off-balance—like gravity got recalibrated and no one told the trees.”
I wait, hoping he’ll unravel whatever’s coiled behind that single word. But he just stands there, silent and unmoving, as if the answer is buried too deep—or not meant to be spoken aloud.
So I stand. Brush off my hands. “Well. Good talk.”
Calder steps forward before I can move past him. Not close exactly, but close enough that the heat from his body reaches mine. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
I angle my head. “Are you offering to walk me home, Mr. Hayes?”
He looks down at me, eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m offering to make sure nothing gets close enough that you wish it hadn’t.”
There’s something wild in the way he looks at me—something not entirely human. And the worst part? I’m not scared. I’m drawn toward it… toward him. Like whatever's churning in the woods has burrowed into my bones, and Calder is the only one who knows how to read the map.
The tension between us draws tight, alive with heat and something unspoken. My heart trips. His hand lifts toward my cheek, and his gaze drops to my mouth. For a second, the space between us narrows to a single breath. I lean in without thinking. His fingers twitch as if he wants to close the gap. Then he pulls back, jaw tight, like the touch would cost him more than he’s willing to give.
I step around him because I need to breathe. I'm tired of feeling rejected, and thinking is getting harder by the second. “Good night, Calder.”
“Cilla.” I pause. His voice is rough. “You’re not just passing through, are you?”
I swallow hard. “Haven't decided yet.”
He says nothing else. Just watches me with that dark, unreadable stare, like he’s holding something back—something sharp-edged and unfinished. The silence stretches between us, dense and uneasy, until it wraps around the space we share, not a thread but a wall neither of us is ready to climb.
But he doesn’t need to. The memory of what he said—about having Beau look at my truck—lingers between us. Like he never questioned whether I’d stick around. He acts like I’m already a part of this place. Not just welcome—but inevitable. Like the trees bent around me while I wasn’t looking. Like I’m not here by accident, even if I haven’t figured out why.
And somehow, that’s the part that gets to me. Not the firewood. Not the near-touch. The assumption. Quiet. Certain. Like I somehow belong.
I walk back toward the truck with the heat of his gaze still pressed between my shoulder blades.
