Page 8 of Teddy Tea Time

“This is perfect, Clara. Put in an offer for whatever you think is fair, but I would like to hear back on this as soon as possible. I need to have things settled within a few weeks if at all possible.”

That should give me enough time to get squared away for social services.

Clara does a little happy dance and skips over to her car after locking the shop back up, making me struggle to hold back my own giggles. While it’s nice to have one thing checked off my list, I have about a hundred more things to take care of.

“One micromovement at a time, Jason. That’s the trick. It doesn’t look like much at first but when you put all those teeny tiny steps together, you can move mountains.”

The memory slams into me as I swing a leg over my bike. Ron was one of the better foster dads I had over the years. The time spent in his garage working on his stop-motion film shorts make up a lot of the happier memories of my early teenage years. He was the person who encouraged me to pay attention to how things moved and fit together. Between him and my middle school shop teacher, I can’t decide who played a bigger role in shaping my career.

His words of wisdom – despite originally referencing making a toy car drive around a miniature set – have kept me going when things get too overwhelming over the years.

And right now? I am taking the tiniest possible steps so that I don’t fuck up my little brother’s life, too.

The car dealership is a short ride from the shop. The next step is to get an actual vehicle. My bike has been my primary mode of transportation since I turned twenty-one. Before that, I just borrowed Jackson’s car. Even now, I borrow something with four wheels when I need something that my motorcycle can’t accommodate. But that changes with Gerry. I need a vehicle to take him to and from school and the doctor’s office. I need something with air bags and crash test ratings.

Fuck it all. I also need something that I can transport finished pieces in. Before, I was able to have clients pick up the finished products. Technically, I still could – especially with the new shop – but I want to know where my custom restraint systems are ending up now. So, the new vehicle should be something that can haul a few hundred pounds of metal, leather, and wood in addition to people.

In the end, they talk me into a Honda Odessey – a minivan of all things. Between the safety ratings and the sliding doors, it just makes sense. With an SUV, I am limited to only using the hatch to load or unload. With a truck, my deliveries would be subject to the weather.

Plus, with the minivan, if Gerry wants to do an outing with friends, I can drive everyone without having to worry about limiting to one or two friends.

Shit, I am actually starting to look like an upstanding citizen.

I hope it is enough to keep social services from breathing down our necks once I bring Gerry home.

8

ASH

I should have asked more questions when Jace came over the other night. The last thing I expected to see when I stepped out to get the mail yesterday was a silver minivan sitting in the driveway between our homes. At first, I thought nothing of it because the guy has always needed to borrow a vehicle for his sculptures and custom kink pieces. You can’t exactly fit a spanking bench on the back of a motorcycle.

But when it was still there this morning, I took a closer look and noticed the temporary license plate.

For what fucking reason would my big bad biker teddy bear need a soccer mom car?

With my mind still reeling long after my coffee became an iced coffee, I decide to fire off a few more applications. Some of the online forums suggest putting in keywords even if they are not relevant. Others say to hide prompts for AI review in my resumé in order for my application to pass onto a human review.

I’m starting to sound like my father with cursing out all of the machines and “damn robots taking over”.

The sound of a car on the gravel outside has my inner nosy white bitch coming to the surface again. Honestly, after hours of answering the same questions over and over again, the distraction is very welcome. Plus, I really should make a fresh cup of coffee, so I carry my mug into the kitchen and discretely pull back the curtain from the window above the sink.

Okay, so that car definitely does not belong to anyone here. The guy who gets out of the car also does not belong here, judging by the rumpled suit jacket and tattered backpack that he pulls out through the passenger side window. He takes a minute to verify something against his phone screen and then heads for the porch next door – Jace’s front door to be exact.

My coffee is forgotten when I hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel. My hip is hiked on the railing of my little deck before I can even recall going outside, and I watch messy suit guy walk a circle around my friend’s home. When he tries to open the back door, my patience runs out.

“Breaking and entering is a crime, ya know.”

Is it wrong to smirk at the asshole falling off Jace’s back steps? Maybe. Truth is, he has no business trying to enter anyone else’s home.

Unfortunately, my mother raised me to be both a gentleman and a lady, so I guess I should help him out of the bushes before he ends up with tetanus or something.

“Thanks,” he manages to squeak out when I get him back on his feet. “Is this the home of Jason Whitetower?”

He points at Jace’s place, and I start shaking my head before the name registers. I have been helping with payroll and the office work at Mac’s for the last few weeks for some extra hours since Eli took pity on me. Jason Whitetower is Jace’s legal name. Not very many people are aware of that fact. To everyone else, he is just Jace Franklin.

“What do you need with Jace?” I demand, ready to call in the calvary if our teddy bear is in some sort of legal trouble. I am pretty sure I have a card for Justice somewhere in my junk drawer, and he really doesn’t take kindly to people going after his family.

Most people don’t think I am very intimidating. Part of it comes from being unable to really put on any kind of meaningful weight. Part of it comes from my wearing rather effeminate clothing at times. My five foot, ten inches only really puts me ahead physically around guys like Lucky and Toby who are teeny tiny. Even Jackson at his five foot, seven – on a good day – is more intimidating than I am most days. Still, Burglar Bradley over here looks like he is about to piss himself when I step into his personal space.