Bear With Me: A Clearwater Werebear Romance by Tara Gill

Author:Tara Gill [Gill, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Jasmine

Not caring if Reuben saw me in my underclothes or not, I undressed and fell into the bed, feeling dizzy and weak.

The bedclothes were so soft. I let out a sigh of enjoyment. I’d made such a mess of everything. The plan was to walk in, share the facts with Reuben, inform him it was his choice to be in the baby’s life and I needed nothing from him, then sweep out majestically.

Instead, I found a damaged man licking his wounds.

And then what did I do? Instead of allaying his fears or even sharing my news, I fell apart. He spotted me puking my guts out, lying on the floor near the toilet, wishing I were dead. Not exactly a turn-on for any man.

To be honest, I was barely able to string two coherent thoughts together. I’d been having these random moments when I was exhausted and just had to take a nap. Even reading a magazine was too much at these times.

Now was such a moment. I dozed off. My cell phone rang and in a haze, I picked it up. It was Max.

“…did it go well?”

“Sick. Sleeping. Took pill,” I managed to whisper. “Talk Reuben tomorrow.”

Max’s worried voice said something. I caught “…need me to come down?”

Beyond that I didn’t recall anything. My phone slid down to the carpet, and I slept.

*

It was still dark when I woke up, craving doughnuts with cheese. I sat up and as I did, there was a knock.

“Come in,” I murmured. My voice was raspy with sleep, pushing my heavy hair from my face. The light switched on. Reuben looked in and held out my overnight bag. He must have gotten it from the car.

“It’s midnight, and I thought you might like something to eat. Pull on something and come to the kitchen.”

He vanished. I cleaned up and then pulled on my pajamas and rushed to the kitchen, stomach rumbling.

“Mmm. Something smells good.” The kitchen had high ceilings, shiny white surfaces everywhere, an accent wall made of reclaimed wood. Recessed and pendant lights over the white granite island at the center of the kitchen left shadows at the edges. One wall was covered with storage cabinets, and at the side, a small door led to the pantry, I assumed. At the far end, Reuben stood at the stove, stirring something on a pan.

I sat on a stool at the island. Cheek on hand, I admired Reuben’s broad back, the clean masculine lines, his tight butt in the well-worn and close-fitting jeans. Barefoot, he wore a plain navy-blue T-shirt that hugged his biceps. I could get used to Reuben cooking for me.

“Don’t move a muscle. Here, drink this.” He placed a cup of hot chocolate on the island and stepped away.

Not wanting to stay in my line of sight, maybe? That wouldn’t do at all.

Still, I sipped the hot chocolate with a tiny inner glow that he remembered my favorite nightly drink. I brushed a finger over the handle of my mug. It had a picture of a snowman on it.

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