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The signon Amber The Mender’s door is still that of a sleeping bear, saying:Come back soon. I can’t remember ever having to come here at midnight before. I guess there’s a first time for everything. The odds would probably say the reason should’ve been for Mrs. Jackson, but reality says I’m doing it for one hell of a gorgeous man.
Once inside, Rob crosses his arms and rubs his biceps—which must be at least four times the size of mine. It is a bit chilly tonight.
“Sorry, the heating doesn’t work in this room. Let’s go in the back, it works fine there.” I switch on the lights.
“I’m okay.” He looks around, perusing the shelves of teddy bears and dolls on display.
“There’s a blanket, too, if you need one.”
“I’ve got a sweater in my car, don’t worry about me.” He keeps looking, and then picks up a bear in a Navy uniform from a shelf. “Did you make this?”
“Yeah. Captain Beau.”
Rob chuckles softly as he places the bear back on the shelf. “Such a cute shop.”
“Thanks.” I unlock my workroom.
“Should I wait here?”
“No, come on in. I can work while I’m talking.” I smile at his understanding.
I lay Bjork on my work bench, along with his severed arm. “Hey, do you have his ear?”
“Uuuh…” Rob rummages in the bag where the bear’s arm was. “Yes.” He hands over a half-circle shape.
I’m glad. I don’t have an exact match to Bjork’s fur, so recreating his ear would mean an uneven color. But more importantly, the iconic ‘button on ear,’ which all Steiff bears have, is intact. “Do you know this bear is called the Papa Bear?”
“No. I guess it does look like a big, wise bear, though.” He himself looks like a big, wise bear when he smiles like that.
“The originals were made in 1903. This is a replica, probably from the 1980s.”
“Is that right?” His blue irises light up. I’m not sure if it’s because of my knowledge, or me.
I shoot down ideas about Rob that spring into my head, reminding myself that he is my customer, so I should treat him just like any other. Like Mrs. Jackson.
Only he isnother.
I grab my iPad, researching the details of the bear to make sure I reconstruct Bjork correctly. After discovering what I need to do, I go into the stock room looking for matching threads, fabric, a new eye, and a joint set for his arm.
“This is really delicious,” he says, sipping his latte macchiato. His prominent Adam’s apple dances on his burly neck.
Dear angels in heaven.How can a man look so hot when drinking coffee?
“Italians make great coffee.” I keep my eyes on my iPad, fearing for my dignity.
“How did you start up Amber The Mender?”
By stealing from my asshole boyfriend who put me in the hospital for three months.
“Well, I went to Germany to work at the Steiff factory in Giengen. After Giengen, I moved to Geneva and went to the university there. It was where Sasha Morgenthaler went to study. She was a famous doll maker.”
I look at Bjork, who’s staring right back at me. I pat the teddy’s head and whisperyou’ll be alright, partly to the bear and partly to Matthew somewhere. His snout is his least severe injury, so I start there.
Rob asks, “You were in Geneva? When did you move to Santa Maria?”
“Three years ago,” I respond as I start stitching Bjork’s snout. I pull the bear closer to me, exaggerating my focus in the hope that Rob will stop the conversation about Europe. I’ve given out too much information already.
When I steal a glance up, I catch him nodding a few times. He then wanders around the room.
