Page 41 of Grumpy Bear

“Where’d you go to go out?”

“Edgewood. Mostly to see shows. Down to the bars in Atlanta once in a while when I could catch a ride. Usually with some guests.”

“You felt like you were missing out, living here?”

“Always.”

“Then why’d you stay?”

“Um…” He let out a breath, and his voice grew so soft I could hardly hear it above the waterfall. “Long story. Commitments.”

I nodded my understanding that he didn’t want to say, even though I was dying to know the specifics. “But you like it here now?”

“Once I came to see it for what it is.”

“What’s that?”

Coleman was suddenly having trouble making eye contact with me again. He started to speak, stopped, then finally surrendered with a shy laugh. “You know, after seeing it through your eyes today, I think I can admit it’s a little piece of heaven I’m pretty fucking grateful to have. Even if it does get a little lonely.”

“Lonely? Really? With all these men coming and going?”

He snorted. “Exactly. You nailed it. Coming and going.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer—the one question I wanted to ask more than any other. “Is that why you said nothing was going to happen?” Given the body language between us, it simply didn’t compute that he didn’t want something to happen. Maybe he wouldn’t let anything happen.

Coleman frowned on the verge of playing dumb. I watched him consider some pointless deflection before giving in. He looked for a new response in the trees above and behind me, drops of water sparkling in his beard. “I don’t really do hookups anymore.” He caught my skeptical expression and finally—finally—locked eyes with me. “I mean, I have. Of course. Look where we are. But I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of blow jobs in the sauna, you know? And since I own the place now, crawling in and out of some guest’s tent is not real high on my to-do list.”

“What about”—okay, I was in real danger of overplaying my hand—“the guys who work here?”

His eyebrows shot up, surprised by my directness. “Mostly strays. No offense. I was one too. They left their husbands, left their wives, their families kicked them out. They dropped out, burnt out, just got out of jail. The kind of men who end up living and working here are halfway between some past that blew up and wherever they’re eventually gonna land. This is limbo. It can be a nice limbo, sure, but other than me and Jim and maybe Chef Levi, who quits in a rage at least once a season, it’s not a lot of people’s forever home. It’s fucking Bear Camp.” The twist of his lips implied a shrug. “Even here, it’s still bad business to fuck your staff.”

“So, really, you don’t want to risk getting involved with somebody who’s not going to stick around.” I’d surprised myself by saying that out loud.

Coleman stared at me. When he spoke, his voice was husky and low. “It’s just easier to say I don’t hook up with employees.”

That was my cue to back off.

Even though his body language said his words were nothing more than something easy to say. His eyes were focused on my mouth and his lips were parted. I couldn’t find any more incidental or accidental ways to touch him without touching him. If I wasn’t going to kiss him like this—skinny dipping in a swimming hole by a waterfall, mere inches of space between us—when would I ever?

I could let the moment pass, but I didn’t know how I was going to make it through another night in the same bed with him if I did.

It was like another timer was set ticking—one for when we’d be alone together again and one for when I’d be leaving this place.

Coleman backed away. He kicked off and backstroked toward the rock ledge with our clothes. “I need to radio the guys. Let them know we’re done up here.”

We shared a towel from his pack. He let me dry off first. “Do you think the dam’ll hold?”

He stared at the water. “If the Good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.” He was quoting a lyric.

“Tori Amos?”

“Nope.”

“Little Big Town?”

“Johnny Cash.”

I touched the brim of my invisible hat.