Page 25 of Bear and Book

I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t really, but Leo cut in before I could finish.

“That’s a great idea,” Leo said. “He could even bring a book to read while the bread’s baking. You’ve got that corner table no one ever uses.”

Beau grinned. “It’s a date, then.”

I must have looked horrified, because Leo burst out laughing. “Not like that,” he said quickly. “Beau’s happily mated.”

“Extremely happy,” Beau confirmed. “But I stand by my offer.”

They stayed another ten minutes, chatting with Leo about the turnout and teasing him about some inside joke I didn’t understand.

Cassian bought the book he was looking at without bargaining on the price, and Beau promised to stop by the shop later in the week.

When they left, I found myself exhaling like I’d been holding my breath.

“You okay?” Leo asked, adjusting the display so the spines lined up perfectly.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

Leo gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me for a second, but he let it go.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of polite conversation and small transactions. Leo handled most of it.

He fetched change, wrapped books in paper, charming customers into buying one more thing than they’d planned.

I caught myself watching him more than once, the way he leaned in when people spoke, how his laugh seemed to ripple out and pull people closer.

When a customer asked about my favorite book in the stack, I nearly said something sarcastic, but Leo beat me to it with a quick, “Ask him about the poetry. He’s got opinions.”

The customer laughed, and before I knew it, I was actually talking about the merits of a particular small-press anthology.

It was easier than I expected, and I suspected that had less to do with the festival and more to do with the broad-shouldered, sunshine-eyed volunteer who roped me into this.

* * *

By midday, the square was even busier. The band had started playing on the makeshift stage near the fountain. The smell of barbecue drifted over from somewhere behind the raffle tables.

Leo came back from a quick break with two paper cups of lemonade.

His cheeks were flushed from the heat and his shirt clinging to the line of his back in a way that made my brain stall for a dangerous second.

“Here,” Leo said, handing me a cup. “Cold enough to keep you from combusting.”

“I’m not the one running around like a Labrador,” I said, taking a careful sip.

“True,” Leo said, grinning. “You’re more like a fox hiding in his den, wondering why the world is so loud.”

It was disturbingly accurate.

I was still thinking about that, and about the way his fingers had brushed mine when he passed the cup, when a new voice broke in.

“Hey there,” a man said, leaning on the table like it was suddenly the most interesting spot in the square.

He was tall, tanned, with the kind of bleached smile that probably came from both genetics and expensive dental work.

Tourist, definitely. His shirt was unbuttoned a little too far, and his eyes were fixed entirely on Leo.

“I saw you earlier,” the man said. “You with the bakery booth?”