Page 27 of Grumpy Bear

I heaved myself out of bed and quickly tucked my morning wood back through my fly where the head was peeking out.

He woke with a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” I said at a defiantly normal volume, heading to the fridge.

Luke slid up against the headboard, blinking slowly and yawning, his hair tumbling around his face. All traces of the sleeping king were gone.

I didn’t want to ask him how he’d slept. What was the point? We’d both slept like wooden mannequins on the edge of a mattress, and I was especially terrible at making small talk in the morning.

The true irony was I’d always been a morning person. Nobody ever guessed. The men didn’t talk to me in the lodge at breakfast. Most of them were usually hungover, or they assumed from my lack of chitchat and my resting scowl that I was one of those don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee people.

Jim was the one person who always talked to me first thing in the morning. He didn’t care if I wanted him to or not. He was always talking to me. If we were both awake and in the same room, he had something to tell me. When we were apart, there were walkie-talkies and cell phones.

I grabbed two bottles of water, set one on the butcher-block cart for Luke, and guzzled mine while reaching for the coffee pot. At least I could grind beans without having to worry about waking him up.

He yawned around a “Good morning” as he stood and stretched, pulling his hair back into a ponytail and securing it with the band around his wrist.

I looked away from how my basketball shorts hung from the edges of his hips. They were a little too big, and it appeared that only the bulge of his package was keeping them up.

I distracted myself by pouring a third bottle of water into the pot. “Coffee’ll be another minute or two.”

“Thank you.” He took the water I’d left for him on the counter. “So… what do you do when you need to go pee?”

“Out back. Or…” I pointed with a spoon. “See that huge-ass pickle jar in the corner beside the armoire?”

He blinked at my redneck chamber pot. “I can hold it for a bit.”

“Not all the cabins are this primitive. Mine’s the roughest.” I placed a mug on top of the butcher-block cart next to a small carton of milk and a bowl of sugar. “I don’t require as many amenities as a paying guest.”

Luke took the coffee and placed it on the floor next to his guitar case. He squatted in front of it, his back to me. I held my breath as he opened the case and began to assess the damage, turning the guitar carefully, running his fingers along its surface.

“How bad is it?”

He didn’t answer for the longest time, and when he did, his voice was faint as if he were muttering to himself. “I need to remove the strings so there’s not any tension pulling against the braces and joints.”

I had only a vague idea of what that meant, and not being able to see his face, I couldn’t read his reaction. “You think it’ll be okay?” Fuck. Nobody deserved this kind of luck.

Luke finally turned around with a wry smile, but he couldn’t hide his devastation. His face was blood-red. “Do you have a fan I could set in front of it?”

“Sure.” I jumped at the chance to do something to help. I grabbed the box fan sitting on the floor beside the armoire and brought it to him. He pointed silently to a few places on the guitar where there were faint cracks on the thick finish. “That doesn’t look too bad.” I was trying my damndest to sound upbeat.

He shook his head. “It’s going to need to dry out. A lot. Like, for a few days at least.” He flashed me an unconvincing smile. “I’ll take you up on that shit ton of rice.”

“You got it. I’ll grab you some from the kitchen first thing.”

He blew out a long breath. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” He stood, groaning when his knees popped. He scratched his belly beneath my T-shirt, stirring possessive thoughts in me that had nothing to do with my clothes. “Do we have time to shower?”

“I don’t usually take mine until the middle of the day or late afternoon before dinner. I spend most of the day working outside, and the oils on your skin are actually a good base level protection against sunburn. It’s also packed in the bathhouse before breakfast. Not in the good way.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll wait until later too. I took one before dinner last night, and then I got soaked in the rain—” Shit. The rain. I needed to assess the damage. He misread the sudden change of expression on my face. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. It just hit me how much extra cleanup we’re going to have to do after that storm.” I closed my eyes and sent up a silent little prayer. “I’m afraid to even check on the pool, but we’ve gotta get on that situation before guests start arriving.” It was my turn to wonder about the funny look on his face. “What?”

“Um.” Luke lifted his arms and looked down at himself.

“You don’t have any dry clothes to work in.”

He winced and cast a forlorn look at his disaster of a backpack. “I didn’t think to take them out and hang them up somewhere to dry. I wasn’t thinking straight last night.”