Octo BEAR fest (Renaissance Shifters #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

T he smart thing to do was not go to coffee with Gwen. The smart thing to do was go figure out how to deal with the fiasco he'd instigated. But first off, Bill didn't want to do the smart thing, and second, even if he had, the hopeful look in her ice-blue eyes would have convinced him otherwise under basically any circumstances. He melted. He knew he was melting.

His bear looked at him curiously. You're not melting.

Trust me. I'm melting.

The bear examined him even more carefully, radiating dubiousness, but it didn't say anything else. That was helpful, because Bill could barely manage one conversation, never mind two, when Gwen was looking up at him with that sweet blue gaze. He managed to say, "Your truck or mine?" and was stunned when she gave a delighted squeal and bounced, clapping her hands together.

"Yours! I've never ridden in a monster truck before. Oh, but wait. You're not going to kidnap me or anything, are you?"

The thought of running off into the woods with her forever, and not dealing with the real world at all ever again, briefly glowed in Bill's mind like it was the goal of all goals. His bear perked up again, eager for that endgame. But reality reasserted itself, and Bill said, "No," wryly. "Even if I tried, everybody in town knows who I am and I'd get turned in to my family before I managed to get you halfway kidnapped."

"Excellent." Gwen gave him a merry smile and went around to the passenger side of his truck, bouncing to see him over the hood. It was, he had to admit, a ridiculously big vehicle. Unfortunately for him, he'd once been forced to shift into a bear while in a Honda Civic, and ever since, the idea of a small car gave him the heebie jeebies.

His bear sent a sad image of itself stuffed into the Honda, fur and feet sticking out everywhere, through the windows, into the footwells, against the horn, which blared like a Fourth of July parade while it tried to cover its ears with its paws. It hadn't succeeded. So no more small cars for Bill. He just drove incredibly carefully with his stupidly huge truck. He unlocked the doors, nodded at Gwen, and grinned a bit as he watched her clamber up the chrome runner boards to climb in and sprawl against the leather seats. "You look like you belong in a monster truck."

"It's my viiiiibe, baby." Gwen did a hang-loose wobble with her hand and threw an arm across the back of the seats. "This is amazing. I think I can see Denver from here. Also, are those ants on the ground, or children?" She made a show of looking out the window, peering at the parking lot asphalt.

Bill, who hadn't thought he could feel like laughing after running into Laurie, found himself chortling, at least. "It's not that high."

"You're starting from nine inches farther off the ground than I am in the first place," Gwen informed him. "Trust me, it is that high! Now, are we going for coffee or to check out the clubs your brother mentioned?"

"Uh." Bill felt his jaw fall open, and did his best to crank it back into place. "Uh?"

"Coffee, then," Gwen said decisively. " Then clubbing."

Bill, faintly, said, "But," and then decided that fate had thrown him a fast ball and he should do his best to catch it. Or run with it. Something like that. "Okay."

It was only a few minutes' drive to Candy's Coffee. It was Bill's favorite coffee shop in the area not just because the coffee was genuinely good, but because Candy, who was in her sixties and an old hippie at heart, had defied the city council and personally financed solar panels to cover her small parking lot with. The entire strip mall had eventually thrown in and now the parking lot was seventy percent covered by the panels, which provided all the power for the mall and put some back into the grid. Gwen said, "Oooh," in delight when she saw them. "That must keep the parking lot cooler in the summers, but doesn't it snow here? How do they keep them clear in the winter?"

"They've got self-powered heating elements in them," Bill said with a smile. "Melts the snow off."

"Oh, damn, that's clever! I love it!" Gwen swung out of the truck like she'd been in and out of monster trucks her whole life, and swaggered toward the coffee shop. It was definitely a swagger, too. Bill had never seen anybody move like that. Like a rock star. He trailed a few steps farther behind than necessary, admiring everything about that swagger. Her strong legs, her fine ass, the confident set of her shoulders, the way she tossed her hair… everything. God, he'd never met a woman as perfect as she was.

She stopped dead a couple steps inside Candy's, with its linoleum floors, brightly painted walls, and surprisingly cozy booths, then turned to him with an accusing look. "You said it was a coffee shop. You didn't tell me there was ice cream!"

Bill glanced beyond her at the two long freezers of home made ice cream that was Candy's other speciality, and back at Gwen. "You said you wanted coffee!"

"I didn't know ice cream was on the table!"

A sly grin crawled across his face. "I think you should eat it out of a bowl."

Gwen laughed out loud. "Oh my God, you're one of those. A bad jokes dude."

His eyebrows rose. "Aren't they usually called 'dad jokes?'"

"They are." Gwen ordered an ice cream sundae that he knew would be as big as her face, and a coffee almost equal in size. "I don't like that phrase, though. There's already this whole idea in society that women aren't funny, and I think calling those silly, easy quips 'dad jokes' plays into that. Everybody makes them."

"Whoa. I never thought of it like that." He followed her to a table, sitting down as they waited for their orders to be called. "Right. No more dad jokes, just bad jokes."

She flashed a smile. "My hero. So, look, do you—" She broke off as their coffee orders were called. "Wow. Fast. Hang on."

"I can get them!" Bill rose swiftly, feeling like he should be a proper gentleman and carry things. Gwen gestured like 'be my guest,' and he went to the counter, getting the tray that held his reasonable-sized coffee, and Gwen's gigantic sundae and mocha. He came back to the table, placing them in front of the appropriate seats, and Gwen's eyes widened.

"I didn't know I was ordering the Mount Everest of ice cream sundaes. Are you sure you didn't mix ours up?"

" I, " Bill emphasized, " know better than to order a sundae called an 'Avalanche.'"

"You know you're going to have to help me eat this."

Bill grinned. "That's why I didn't order my own, yeah. You have excellent taste in ice cream, by the way." She'd ordered a five-scooper with dark chocolate, raspberry, and cherry ice creams, plus Candy's own hot fudge and raspberry coulis toppings, whipped cream, and no fewer than five cherries on top.

"Thank you. Please proceed to be impressed with how much of this I'll be able to eat." Gwen dug in and groaned with delight at her first bite. "Oh my God, that's really good…everything. Ice cream. Most chocolate ice cream is lacking, but that's amazing. And the hot fudge!"

"I know," Bill said, pleased, as if he was personally responsible for the concoction. "Candy's been running this place for forty years and she wins best ice cream competitions all over the world. The coffee's also really good." He took a sip of his own, watching Gwen enjoy her ice cream with a smile.

She got more than halfway through the huge sundae before nodding at him. "Okay, you can help now. What a gentleman, waiting for me to gorge."

Bill laughed. "That's not how I would have put it!"

"Because you're a gentleman," she said with a sage nod. "So do you want to talk about it?"

He froze with a spoon halfway to the sundae. "Talk about…?"

Gwen waved her own spoon in the general direction of the brewpub. "The whole thing with your family and the pub. There's clearly a lot going on there for you on a, like, personal level. Who better to unburden yourself to than some random rock chick who's gonna be gone at the end of the weekend?"

A crash of real dismay smashed through Bill's chest, making his hand tremble until the spoon actually wobbled. He put it down, not wanting to look—weak, he thought, and momentarily closed his eyes. That was exactly what Gwen was talking about, even if she didn't exactly know it. And in her case, it was the idea that she would be gone in a few days that he could barely stand to imagine. A little part of him protested that she couldn't just up and leave! He'd just found her! She was his fated mate!

But she was also a person with a career of her own, and throwing it all away to watch him struggle with the family business was certainly not on her list of things to do. Even if it suddenly was somehow on that list, Bill would have to be a world-class jackass to keep her from her own dreams.

World-class bear, his bear rumbled reassuringly. Not jackass.

A breath of air escaped him, nowhere near a laugh, but flavored like one. Yeah, buddy. A world-class bear. Which was another thing he'd have to explain at some point.

Maybe not now, though. Not with those pale blue eyes studying him with a concern Bill wouldn't expect from a stranger.

Not a stranger, his bear said, still rumbling and reassuring. Our mate.

Still a stranger, Bill argued, but without heat. Aloud, uncertainly, he said, "Look, none of it's your problem, and I'm sure you don't really want to hear about a ton of family politics."

Gwen put her hand on top of his. Her fingers were cold from gripping a metal spoon that had been diving into ice cream, but the coolness felt good, and he had a sudden, deeply inappropriate thought about where else those cool fingers might feel good. Fortunately, she said, "I actually do. I saw how you were holding back a couple of times at things your brother said, and we only talked to him for about two minutes. There's clearly a lot going on there. Unburden yourself. That crack he made about me taking over your job, that landed. How come?"

A burst of rough, unhappy laughter erupted from Bill's chest so hard it startled him. "Because I'd love for somebody to take over. Or at least fucking help!"

Horror washed through him as he realized how angry he'd sounded, but before he could apologize, Gwen took a deep breath and let it out on a soft, "And there we have it."

"I didn't mean you!" Bill blurted, mortified, and got the softest, kindest smile he could imagine in return.

"No, obviously, of course you didn't. But seriously, you've got the vibe of a guy who's been carrying it all alone for way too long, and nobody's noticing. I know I'm a flash in the pan in your life, but I'm noticing, okay? So what's the deal? Parents started the business, you're the oldest, so it falls to you to continue it whether you want to or not?"

"It's not even that I don't want to!" Bill slumped, then lifted the spoon again and began fiddling at the edge of a scoop of ice cream, not really sure he should eat some of her sundae while also unburdening himself to Gwen's sympathetic shoulder. It seemed rude, somehow. "Mom and Dad are retired, move-to-Arizona-live-the-good-life retired, and after running the place for a few years, I can't blame them. But Laurie and Jon have no idea how much work it is, and it doesn't matter how often I ask them to help out. They'll do the one thing I ask, and that's it. They run the faire stuff," he admitted to the sundae. "But the rest of it, it's all on me. And we're losing business," he said even more quietly. "I'd hire an assistant manager, but I don't have the budget. So instead, I screw up and hire Gwen Booker, rock star, instead of Gwendolyn Brooker for our jazz festival opener. And you," he said, lifting his gaze, "let it go earlier. When I said I had everything under control. Why'd you do that?"

Her gorgeous eyes widened a bit. "Your brother wanted to tease you, and you were having a bad moment, and I thought arguing would give him more ammunition for a fight you didn't need."

A little flare of something happened in Bill's heart, like a cut was healing. "Are you always this empathetic?"

"Nah. Only toward huge, gorgeous guys who look at me like I'm a mix of their hottest dream and worst nightmare." Gwen laughed as Bill felt dismay slide over his face. "Oh, come on, big man. Am I wrong?"

"Well—no—but—" Bill spluttered, then shoved a big bite of ice cream into his mouth so he had time to come up with a decent response. He hadn't thought he'd been so obvious about either of those things, but from Gwen's grin, he clearly had been. When the ice cream was gone, he sighed. "Sorry."

"For what? Thinking I'm hot? Under the circumstances I get why I'm your worst nightmare, but I've got no problems with being your hottest dream, too. Seriously, man," she added more quietly. "Your brother's kind of a brat, but have you sat the family down and told them how much you need help?" She paused, examining his expression, then nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Arright, well, look, I'm not going to be the rando who comes into your life and pushes you around, then leaves you wondering what happened to that manic pixie dream girl. But if you'll let me, I will try to help you get through this weekend successfully."

" Why ?"

"Because it's good for me, too?"

That was hard to argue with. Bill chuckled and fiddled with another bite of ice cream before finally meeting Gwen's eyes and nodding. "All right. Yeah, I'll take your help. Thank you, Gwen Booker, Accidental Talent."