Page 3 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
Patrick leaned forward, his eyes sparking with excitement. "I want it to be a place where the community can gather, where they can feel at home. A mix of comfort food and elevated dishes using local, seasonal ingredients. Lots of game, of course, but also vegetarian options. And a bar with craft cocktails and local beers."
I liked the sound of it. His vision fit with mine, but that didn’t mean I actually wanted to do it. Cedar Hollow was beautiful, sure. Idyllic, even. And as I said, it would put me on the map, career-wise. But I wasn’t sure if it wasme.Not anymore. I’d worked hard to build my life inside a bustling city, full of lights and people, filled with noise and smog. Not on pine-scented breezes, beautiful creeks, idyllic views, and neighbors who turned into bears on the weekends.
Still... the idea wouldn’t leave me alone. Like a scab that needed to be picked at.
Even if it was two-minutes-late Patrick Mc-fucking-Cloud—golden boy of shifter suburbia— who I had to deal with. I mentally shook myself. No. I couldn't let old feelings cloud my judgment. This was business, and I needed to treat it as such.
"It sounds like you have a clear vision," I said, still proud of my steady voice. "But I'll need more details. What's the square footage? The seating capacity? Have you thought about the kitchen layout and equipment needs?"
Patrick blinked, seemingly taken aback by my rapid-fire questions. "I, uh. It's ready, mostly. I kept it as a shell building. We could go over there together, if you'd like. Then you can decide what kind of equipment you need and furniture."
I hesitated. The thought of being alone with him, walking through a shell building, planning a future endeavor, felt dangerous. Too intimate. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I couldn't let my personal history with Patrick stand in the way of my professional goals.
"That would be helpful." I tried hard to sound businesslike.
The waitress arrived. "What can I get you?"
"I think we're good," I told her, more coldly than I usually would, but Patrick had me all befuddled. "Ready?" I turned to him. "I can clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon, if that works for you."
Patrick nodded, and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Tomorrow works great. I'll text you the address."
We finalized a few more details on the way out of the bistro. Our conversation went more smoothly now that we had a clear purpose. But underneath the professional veneer, I still felt the undercurrent of tension, the weight of all the things left unsaid. Outside, just as we were about to go off in different directions, Patrick's hand brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. I jerked back, startled by the intensity of the sensation. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret.
"Ella, I..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words.
Whatever he was about to say, no matter how much the questionWhy? still burned a hole in my stomach, I didn't want to hear it. "This is just business, Patrick. Business between two adults. Nothing else."
"Right," he nodded with a hint of sadness in his eyes, the same eyes in which I could still see my younger, teenage self.
The few minutesof sleep I managed to get were filled with wild and vivid dreams that left me drenched every time I woke up. The last one, around two in the morning, was the worst of them all. It was a slideshow of Ella and me, of our nearly four years as high school sweethearts.
Carol and I had been friends since we were babies. Our moms were best friends, had been sincetheirchildhood. So, Carol and I grew up like cousins or brother and sister. We spent vacations and holidays together and met up at least once or twice a week the rest of the time. We went to different grammar and middle schools, and it was sometime over those eight years that Carol met Ella, and they became best friends. I heard Ella’s name mentioned countless times, but as life would have it, I didn't meet her until the first day of high school. In our small town, there was only one.
The moment I finally did meet Ella, Iknewshe wasthe one. People laughed at that. They called it puppy love, said we were fourteen, that there was no way I could know that one day I would marry her. But I knew. Thorne, my inner bear… not so much.
He took one look at her, narrowed his big, fuzzy, judgmental eyes, and muttered something like,Youimprintedon a girl who smells like bubblegum?
I ignored him because, at his words, my stomach did something I was pretty sure wasn’t medically normal. He didn't let up, though.No fur, no claws, smells like fruit snacks and nervous energy,he grumbled. We’re not doing this.
But I was already doing it. I was all in. Thorne growled something about poor decision-making and went quiet—for a few hours. Then he came back with opinions. So many opinions. He hasn’t shut up since.
I mostly ignored him and his barbs. He and Ella neverofficiallymet. She knew I was a bear shifter; it wasn't a secret, but there was no reason for Thorne to come out when Ella and I were alone. Especially since I got the impression that she was nervous about myother side, as she called it. So when we were together, we pretended to be normal teenagers, doing normal teenage things. An arrangement that suited all three of us just fine.
I took a long, cold shower—we're doingthatagain?Thorne growled—to chase the ghosts of my dreams off. Then I brewed a pot of coffee and went into my office, knowing that sleep wouldn't come again tonight, or maybe I was turning it away, trepidatious of what else I might dream of. I turned on the computer and watched four screens come to life. The first one showed me where I had left off on drawing the newest modelhouse to be added to Cedar Hollow. A two-story, five-bedroom, four-bathroom house, larger than the others, meant for a big family.
Something bothered me about it. I didn't like the way the entrance looked. I lost myself in my work, erasing and drawing until the entire building was enclosed by a wrap-around porch. There. When I reached for my coffee cup to take another sip and found it empty, I realized that it was already four in the morning. I must have zonked out in front of the screen, like I often did when a project pulled me in. And this one had. I realized that, at some point, I added a gas fireplace. One built right into the wall between the master bed and bathroom.
Can you imagine a fireplace right there? Ella's voice echoed in my head. The memory was like a dagger stabbing my heart. She had just turned eighteen—six months after me—and we celebrated it by losing our virginities to each other. We had always known the day would come; we had planned for it. I booked a hotel room, and we told our parents we were sleeping over at Carol’s, who was fully onboard with our plan. It was the most magical night of my life. The hotel room had a fireplace in the bedroom, but at some point, in the middle of the night, Ella and I took a bath, and she pointed at the wall between the two rooms and said,Can you imagine a fireplace right there?
And now I had just drawn one into the plans for a house. Shit, I was losing it.You think? Thorne muttered inside me, his voice thick with disdain and something else I didn’t want to name. Next thing you know, we’ll be picking throw pillows and journaling about closure.
I rubbed a hand down my face.
You’re not subtle, by the way, he went on.You built her a fireplace. A fireplace. In a house you designed before sunrise. Might as well tattoo her name across the blueprints and howl about it.
I didn’t answer him. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong.
You ran into her yesterday, he added, his voice quieting some.And we haven’t slept since. That’s notnothing, Patrick.
