Tempted by the Bear - Complete (15 page)

T
ori

L
ast Thursday
, my internship ended. Keith gave me a hard hat as a going-away gift, and we promised to stay in touch. In a weak moment a few days later, I sent him a text. I invited Keith to my final presentation, and he said yes.

I smooth out my slim-fitting skirt and tug on the bottom of my cropped jacket. “So this isn’t too much for Maine?” I ask Lucy. My suit would fit in perfectly with my mother’s country club crowd, and I don’t want to overdo it for my professor.

“You look smart.”

“Thanks.” She doesn’t know I’ll be seeing Keith and that part of my concern is what he’ll think. I’m hoping he will see me as an equal instead of as a kid.

I grab my bag and leave for class. My heels click down the hall as I remember how to walk in them. When I get outside, the warm breeze blows my hair back and tickles my neck as I run my speech over in my head.

“Tori!”

I glance to my right to find Jax jogging my way. He’s dressed up, too, and he grabs his tie as it tries to swing over his shoulder with the wind. With our busy lacrosse schedules, we don’t see much of each other, and I’ve been able to keep our dating casual.

I stop and wait for him to catch up. He says, “You look fantastic. Final presentation?”

“Yes. You, too?” I really should give this guy more of my time. He’s gorgeous in his suit that must be tailored to his body.

“Naw, I wear this every day.” His eyes dance as he holds out his arm. I hesitate for a second because Keith might see us, but I shake the thought quickly. “Let me escort a beautiful lady.”

When I hook my arm in Jax’s, I notice the pleasant scent of spicy cologne. It’s faint, but since he never wears one, I comment, “You smell good.”

When we get to the door, he holds it open and winks at me. “So do you.”

I wish that adorable gesture made me tremble, but it barely registers on the Richter scale. I point down the hall. “I’m that way.”

He releases me and says, “Upstairs. Go get ’em.”

“You, too.” I make my way to the classroom and enter it to find the two other presenters hovering over the projector. We were all told to come early and make sure our visual aids are in order. I sort out my things and wish them good luck.

A few minutes later, people begin to arrive, and my nerves make my palms sweaty. I’m second in line to speak, so I take a seat in the front row. After the fourth time I swivel around to see if Keith has come, I realize how ridiculous I must look and make myself stop. It doesn’t take long for me to realize I didn’t need to check, because my tattoo begins to itch. When I turn again, I find Keith’s gaze on me as he settles into a seat. He holds up a thumb. I return the gesture before facing front again.

The silly grin on my face would give me away if anyone looked, and my anxiety is overcome by my happiness. The first student’s speech flies by even though he drones on about working in a meat processing plant, because I’m busy reliving the fun I had with Keith.

When it’s my turn, I manage to get through my presentation without missing a beat. I find Keith’s familiar smile encouraging as I share the highlights of my internship at Bear Mountain Lumber, and at the end, he gives me a wink that sends a bolt of lust all the way down to my toes.

Damn it.
I’m not doing so well with the crush that can’t be had. When class is over, I make my way to him. He shines like a beacon in the crowd with his strong presence, and I’d be drawn to him even if he were a stranger.

“You were great,” he says. “Even I wanted to do an internship next semester.”

I grin at him. “Thanks. But you deserve all the credit. It was fun because of you.”

When we get to the hall, he steps aside to let students pass. “I’m glad. It’s not often I find someone who likes the way things work the way I do. I enjoyed having you.”

This should be goodbye, but I hang on to the tiny thread left between us. “Can I buy you an ice cream?” I offer a sly smile. “You are missing milk-and-cookie time.”

“Ah… sure. Lead the way.”

When we get outside, the melodic song of birds chirping makes me notice the tiny spring buds are now full leaves. White flower petals are scattered on the ground.

Keith’s face falls as he says, “This is bringing back memories of when I was here. Do they still have black raspberry?”

I wonder if he’s wishing he were younger. “They do. Is that your favorite flavor?”

“Yes.”

My shoes click up the concrete steps to the student union. “Mine, too.”

He smiles, but it’s not quite full. “I should have guessed it. We’re an awful lot alike.”

Yeah, but you still don’t want me.
I lead us to the counter, where a plastic window reveals the ice cream. I say, “Two large cones please, black raspberry.” The paper napkins whoosh out of the container as I grab extras and hand them to Keith. I say, “If we’re so alike, you’re going to need these.”

He chuckles, and when he takes them from me, I think he purposely avoids touching me.

Once we have our treats, we go outside, and I walk us over to a bench. I perch on the edge, and when I cross my legs, Keith’s gaze lingers on them. My skirt has hiked up high on my thighs, and I don’t pull it down. I watch him lick his ice cream and wish I could taste his tongue.

He says, “You look so grown-up today.”

I sigh. Obviously, I read his body language wrong, because he still sees me as a child. “I am grown up.”

Keith stops eating and stares at me for a moment before he drops his gaze. “Yes. Yes you are.”

I stare back and do my best impersonation of telepathic communication.
Oh Keith, please act on what we have.
While I know he didn’t hear me, I could swear he moves in closer. Or maybe I do. His scent is tantalizing, and the little bit of purple ice cream on his lips makes me want to stick my tongue out and lick him. Now I’m sure I lean in closer, and I’m about to close my eyes when he flinches back and laughs as he lifts his cone to show me the drip running down his hand.

Shame burns its way up my neck when I realize he wasn’t going to kiss me after all. I’m so stupid. I take a bite of my cone and crunch it as I fall back on the bench. The metal back of my seat is hard against my shoulder blades.

I gaze ahead to see if anyone watched my embarrassing move, and I notice Jax is walking toward us. I wave my arm as I stand. I say to Keith, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Jax quickens his step as he comes to us. “How did it go?” he asks.

“Great.” I turn to Keith as he stands. I notice how in his dress shirt and slacks, he’s the magazine-spread fantasy of women compared to Jax, who’d be more likely to grace a gossip rag for girls. I say, “This is Keith. He was my boss.”

Jax sticks out his hand, and I slip my arm around his waist, as if it can erase my blunder, and say, “And this is Jax.”

Keith’s eyes narrow, and I swear a low rumble comes from his chest as he grabs Jax’s hand. I know one comes from Jax, because the vibration hums against me. I glance back and forth between them as they hold on with a death grip longer than they should.
What the heck?

I look up at Jax. “So how did your presentation go?”

The guys release each other, and Jax smiles at me. “Really well.” He leans down, and this time, I know I’m going to get kissed. “Black raspberry, yum.” Jax’s lips meet mine, and I open up to it—because this is how it’s supposed to happen.

When we stop, Jax says, “I’ve got to run. Practice is in a half hour.” He turns to Keith. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Keith’s eyes flash with something not quite real, and a chill down my spine makes me shudder.

I say, “I’ve got to get moving, too. Thanks so much for coming.”

“You’re welcome.” Keith reaches for my napkin and wads it up with his to toss it in the garbage can near the bench. “What are your plans for the summer?”

“Don’t know.” I pick up my bag, and the weight of the strap is heavy on my shoulder. “After finals, I’ll be looking for a job. Maybe I’ll go to Boothbay Harbor and wait tables with my sisters.”

“Don’t. Come work for me.”

I blink quickly. “Ah. Are you sure about that?” My heart hops up and down in a jig.

“Yes. If you can’t stay in the dorms, I can help you find a place to live. I think you’d love Maine in the summer.”

Whoa.
First he won’t kiss me, and then a little get-even ploy on my part makes him want me to stick around? I don’t know about this.

“Thanks for the offer. I’ll think about it. I really do need to go.” I start to walk backward and say, “I’ll text you. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

I turn away and avoid shaking off the heat I feel from his gaze as he watches me.

A
nnie

S
ometimes I amaze myself
. I twirl slowly around the pale-pink room that now has three single beds, three dressers, and three bookshelves waiting for little-girl things. I toss a sequin-adorned pillow on one of the beds and want to squeal. I’m about to get three little girls to raise as my own.

I didn’t get this much joy out of decorating Tristan’s mother’s room, and at the moment, I’m ignoring the anxiety I feel about meeting her in less than an hour. The beep of the timer on the stove begins, and it’s incessant, so I make my way downstairs to pull out the blueberry cake I made for the new members of my family.

Tristan sends me a telepathic message.
“Just got off the interstate. Be there soon.”

“I’m ready. Anything I should know?”

“They’re tired but seem happy. Tonight should be fine.”

I take a deep breath. That’s good news, and I pull out plates, glasses, and the brightly colored plastic cups I purchased for the girls. I hope they like homemade lemonade, and I wonder if that’s something they drink in the arctic.

The leftover heat from the cake wafts toward me when I open the oven to put the lasagna in to bake for dinner. It’s my go-to meal for welcoming people to my home, and I’ve yet to come across someone who didn’t like it.

I glance at the bottle of red I have on the counter. I never thought to ask Tristan if his mother drinks. I shake my head, remembering the wine last night that had turned and decide it might be an omen, so I grab the thin neck of the bottle and move it to the pantry. It’s slimy, and I wipe it with a towel quickly. I can always pull it out if we want it later.

When I check on the guest bathroom for the third time, I finally hear the rumble of our Hummer coming up the drive.
They’re here.
I step out the front door and wait on the porch. Grass is beginning to sprout, and it appears as a faint-green haze hovering over the dirt.

The car stops and ticks for a bit before Tristan opens his door. I move forward to greet my new family members. Three small girls get out in a tangle; they gain their footing, and I notice how thin they are. My nurturing side can’t wait to fatten them up. A woman with hair void of any color takes Tristan’s hand as she stands. She takes me in slowly, and I reach out to her. She appears to be much older than my mother, and she’s not what I expected. Although while I thought her frail, her grip says otherwise when she grasps my fingers and gives me a powerful squeeze. I say, “Mrs. De Rozier. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Call me Helga. Thank you for having us.” She turns to the children. “Girls, introduce yourselves.”

I smile at them as little voices tell me their names. I reply, “Welcome, Ellie, Echo, and Eva. Come on inside and have some lemonade.” Their necks are craned as they stare up at our house. I turn to follow their gaze and imagine my home through their eyes. It does look a bit like a fortress with three stories and oversized doorways to accommodate the height of my fiance and his clan. Even the windows appear impenetrable with the decorative wrought-iron grates.

As we walk up the steps, I turn and ask, “Do you like blueberries?” I get nods and wonder if they’re shy. “Good. Because after dinner, I have blueberry cake for dessert.” And I plan to whip some fresh cream to get more calories into the wee things.

I imagine the kids are hungry, and I offer them a snack as they settle in to play with coloring books and their dolls in the great room. Tristan, Helga, and I retreat to the kitchen. I ask Helga, “Have you ever been this far south?” A plastic tray is slick in my hands as I pull it out for the girls’ food.

“No. This is the first time I’ve travelled a great distance from my home. The scenery is wonderful.”

“I suppose getting used to all these trees will take a while.”

Tristan says, “I think you’ll like it, Mom. There’s so much to look at, and I know how you’ll be fascinated by the detail.”

He says to me, “My mother’s a painter. She does lovely watercolors.”

The older woman smiles. “You’re kind. They’re nothing special. Just something I do for fun.” Her glass scrapes on the wood table as she twirls it around, and I watch and wonder why she’s fidgeting. She notices and asks, “Is there anything I can do to help for dinner? I’m terribly antsy.”

Tristan scowls at her, and I say, “Sure. I could use help with the salad.”

“I’ll take you for a run after dinner, Mom,” says Tristan. His tone is cool as if he’s scolding her.

The cutting board thuds on the counter, and I hand her cucumbers and a knife. Helga says, “Yes. I think I’ll need that, too. Thank you.”

I glance at Tristan to see if he wants to explain what’s going on, but he avoids my gaze, so I bring peanut butter crackers to the children. When I return, I stare in amazement at Helga chopping the vegetables as if she’s in a race. But when she starts to hum and move to the beat of her song, her happiness is contagious, and I join in and grab a tomato to dice. I’m not sure what Tristan meant by his mother being difficult, because right now she’s very pleasant.

Dinner is a delight. The girls are polite but answer my questions when asked. Helga makes us laugh with her funny stories, and I wonder if the death of her difficult husband has allowed sunshine back into her life. I’m pleasantly surprised that this is not the woman I expected from Tristan’s veiled warnings. I smile with relief that she’s going to be a positive addition to my family.

After dinner, Tristan takes his mother out into the woods, and I run a bath for the girls in my oversized tub. I let them each have a special scrub puff and pour in lavender bath salts so they’ll feel pampered. When I lift their thin bodies in one by one, I’m startled by their bony frames. Tears of despair burn my eyes. If I’d known they were starving, I’d have forced Tristan to call for them sooner.

When the kids are in their pajamas and their hair has been dried, they climb into their beds. Ellie says, “Granny says you’re going to marry our daddy.”

“I am.”

She lies down, and I pull the covers over her and tuck them under the mattress to make them tight.

Echo asks, “Are you going to wear a pretty dress?”

“I sure hope so.” I work on tucking her in. “Would you like to wear one, too? I think I need three flower girls.”

She asks, “What’s a flower girl?”

“You know when the bride walks down the aisle to the groom?” Three little blond heads nod, and I make a note to teach them to say yes instead. “Well, before she does, the bridesmaids walk down. But even before them, we need little fairy princesses”—I point to each one as if I have a magic wand—“to get things ready.”

Eva asks, “And we get to carry flowers?”

“Yes.” I move to her bed as I give them a secretive smile. “But wait until you hear the best part. You get to pluck the petals off the flowers and drop them for the bride to walk on.”

Echo looks horrified while Eva and Ellie clap their hands with glee.

I ask, “Echo, what’s wrong?”

“The poor flowers. Imagine if I pulled your petals off,” she finishes with a frown.

I give her a serious look. “I see what you mean.” I tap my chin. “What should we do instead?”

“We should give everyone a flower.” Her voice rings true as if she knows all.

“That’s a lovely idea.” I glance over at Ellie and Eva in their beds. “What do you say, girls?”

Ellie’s eyes are droopy, and she yawns while Eva says, “Okay.” But she’s just as tired and rolls over. I walk slowly to the door and flip off the light. I turn to gaze at the three beautiful children who will soon be my daughters. Tears fill my eyes as I realize I’m living the dream I was afraid could never be mine.