Bearly Together

by Chant, Zoe

  On the outside.

  The bottle of pills in her purse said otherwise.

  What would those lawyers think if they knew that Shelley the Shark was toothless? She had them all fooled into thinking she was powerful and fearless, when the truth was the exact opposite.

  She was broken inside, constantly fighting thoughts of doubt and self-hatred. Her logical mind, so good at unraveling legal issues and finding weaknesses in contract language, seemed to relish pointing out to herself all the ways she’d failed, all her blunders, every stupid statement. She only got where she was by playing on her looks, only succeeded because other people let her, only frightened people because they didn’t know how fearful she actually was.

  Her mate knew, she thought, feeling her chest tighten warningly. Her mate had seen her make a complete idiot out of herself, watched her flinch from a child. His child.

  How could he possibly still want her?

  Tawny found her standing in front of the open refrigerator staring sightlessly at the shelves.

  “Here, sit down,” Tawny told her with a tone of amused tolerance. “I’ll whip you up a little snack and you can tell me why you suddenly want to spend extra time in a town that smells like cows.”

  Shelley sat at the little kitchen table obediently. “Tawny... when you met my Dad...?” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence she’d started.

  Tawny gave her a knowing look. “Did you meet someone?” she asked.

  “Dean,” Shelley breathed, without meaning to. It was his grin that she remembered most, white teeth in that tanned face.

  Tawny laughed. “Green Valley’s most eligible divorcee,” she said approvingly. “You wouldn’t be the first to fall for that handsome face and broken heart.”

  Such a handsome face. “Wait, broken heart?”

  Tawny put a plate down in front of her: sliced cheese, fresh bread, and a tidy pile of vegetable fingers, including carrots. Plain fare, but it seemed like just the right thing. Shelley took a nibble of cheese as Tawny sat opposite from her.

  “Dean James married his high school sweetheart, Deirdre, not long after they both graduated. They... were young. I won’t say the marriage was perfect, but they cared for each other, and they had a darling little boy about five years later.”

  “Aaron,” Shelley said, surprised to find that she had finished the slice of cheese. “We met.”

  “When Aaron was about two, Deirdre left Dean for another man.”

  Shelley promptly hated Deirdre and took a savage bite of the bread.

  “Dean put a really good face on it; the divorce was completely amicable, and they share custody. He never lets anyone say a word against her, or the man she left him for, and to all appearances, they’re all friends. But the light... sort of went out of him when it happened.”

  Shelley blinked at her, trying to resolve Dean as someone the light had gone out of. He was all light, with that amazing smile and those hazel eyes.

  “Every eligible woman in Green Valley and a whole lot of women who aren’t even slightly eligible have offered to be Aaron’s new mom, believe me,” Tawny said.

  And there was the rub.

  “I would not be a good mom.”

  Tawny blinked at her. “You’re thinking that seriously about him?” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh, honey, is he your mate?”

  Shelley’s lioness gave a yearning rumble and Shelley didn’t answer Tawny, only looked down at her plate of food without appetite for it.

  “I don’t want kids,” Shelley said miserably, rolling a cherry tomato around on her plate. “I never did. You saw me with Patricia’s baby, I’m hopeless! How can someone so right for me be so completely wrong?”

  “Well, kids aren’t babies,” Tawny pointed out. “Aaron’s a little past bottles or needing diapers changed.”

  “He’s still a kid,” Shelley pointed out. “In his formative years, and all. I don’t want to screw that up. I have tons of terrible habits and I don’t know the first thing about small people or what to do with them.” Shelley thought longingly of the pills in her purse. She could feel the tightness in her chest, and the way that breaths didn’t feel quite deep enough, her mind already in familiar spirals.

  “No parent ever does,” Tawny assured her. “Everyone who’s ever had a baby has been dumped feet-first into I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing soup. All you can do is muddle through and love them.”

  “What if I can’t love him?” Shelley asked desperately. “What if I never even like him? What if he hates me? Dean won’t want to have anything to do with me if I can’t do that... nurturing mom crap, and I don’t know if I have that in me. Maybe I was just born without it. Maybe I’m... broken.”

  Tawny was laughing, and it was a warm, non-judgmental laugh. “You’re not broken,” she assured Shelley. She reached over and stole a carrot from the edge of Shelley’s plate. “I never particularly wanted children, either. There was a period I went through where I sort of mourned not having them, but I wasn’t really sure if I was just regretting that I hadn’t followed the usual patterns of love and marriage and kids. And now I’ve got you and Shaun, and your father, and I have never been more sure that my life unfolded exactly as it was supposed to.”

  “I’m twenty-seven,” Shelley pointed out. “That’s a far cry from suddenly having a kid who is seven.”

  “All the same rules apply,” Tawny pointed out. “You listen when they talk to you and you learn to love them, because they came from something that you already love.”

  Her smile across the table was direct and Shelley felt an involuntary swell of affection that seemed to loosen the band around her chest. She squirmed, as uncomfortable with topics of emotion as she was with children. “I... I don’t know if I love him,” she said hastily. “I just met him. And oh... he must think I’m a complete idiot.”

  “I don’t think first impressions are everything,” Tawny advised her. “Your father dumped a potluck plate down my shirt when we met and then made a little kid cry.”

  “Remember the sound I took the car in for?” Shelley asked. “The sound I thought was the shocks or something? It was a loose license plate. Dean had to look me in the eyes and tell me that he tightened the license plate bolts for me.”

  Tawny stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “A... loose license plate?”

  “He must think I’m a complete moron,” Shelley said in despair. “And then I acted like his son was... a plague bearer or something.”

  “Fortunately, being seven is not contagious,” Tawny said drolly. “What are you going to do next?”

  “Dinner,” Shelley said, eating the last of the tomatoes from her plate. All that remained now were the detested carrots. “I have to go to that dreadful little diner with the plastic bench seats and try to redeem myself over gravy-laden, greasy spoon food.”

  “Gran’s Grits may not have the oversized square plates with the fancy drizzles,” Tawny said, rather severely. “But they serve good hearty food that will fill your belly at a decent price, and you’ll sleep well knowing that you’ve helped support one of the pillars of our community.”

  It was as close to a scold as Tawny had ever given her, and Shelley was instantly abashed. “You’re right,” she said as graciously as she could. “I will keep that in mind.”

  Tawny softened. “Just keep your heart open,” she suggested, rising and taking Shelley’s plate with the disdained carrots to the counter.

  Shelley rose, too. She needed a long, hot shower. And a different wardrobe. And to be a different person. She paused at the doorway. “Thanks, Tawny,” she said sincerely.

  Tawny’s smile was brilliant. “Trust your instincts,” she said gently.

  But Shelley couldn’t tell what was instinct and what was terror.

  Chapter 8

  It was everything that Dean could do to keep from fidgeting, playing with the menu that he already had memorized, the glasses of ice water, the napkins.

  “Why are we ha
ving dinner with Trevor’s niece?” Aaron wanted to know.

  “Trevor’s aunt,” Dean corrected. “Shelley’s brother is Trevor’s dad.”

  “Oh,” Aaron said, but he was undeterred. “Why are we having dinner with her?”

  “Because I like her,” Dean said, not at all sure how to explain something he wasn’t at all sure about.

  “Does she like you?” Aaron asked avidly.

  “I think so,” Dean said. But he knew that he wasn’t the problem, and he certainly wasn’t going to explain to his son that Shelley was dubious about the baggage that he came with. He would never let Aaron think he was baggage.

  “Is this a date?” Aaron asked, disgust on his face. He had something on his chin and Dean dipped a napkin into his water glass and tried to scrub it off. “Are you going to kiss?” Aaron asked skeptically, trying to squirm away.

  “It’s just dinner,” Dean said, triumphant over the... whatever it had been on his son’s face.

  But the thought of kissing Shelley was deeply disturbing, and he was still helplessly thinking about it when the door to the diner gave a tinkle.

  Andrea was bringing him a new napkin, and she looked over to the entrance.

  “Hey Shelley,” Andrea called loudly. “Dean’s over here!”

  “Thanks, Andrea,” Dean hissed at her.

  “Any time, Sausage.” Andrea grinned at him knowingly, entirely too amused by the entire situation.

  Dean didn’t think that she guessed Shelley was his mate, she was just enjoying the novelty of seeing him out with someone, and was entertained by the idea that Shaun’s prim sister would date a rough-edged mechanic like him.

  Then he edged out of the booth to greet Shelley and got lost in her silver eyes.

  She was tall to start with and with her heels on—who wore heels to a diner like Gran’s?—she looked directly into his face. Everything about her said that she didn’t belong here: her glamorous make-up, her designer blouse, her seductively short skirt, her perfectly highlighted hair.

  And everything inside of him said that she did belong here, with him, in his arms.

  “Hi,” she said, as breathlessly as if she was somehow as enamored with him as he was with her. Dean realized that he’d been staring at her for several moments and wasn’t sure how he was supposed to proceed.

  Aaron climbed into the bench seat behind him. “Are you going to kiss my Dad?” he asked point-blank.

  Dean winced. “Aaron...”

  But Shelley gave a crooked smile that looked like she didn’t practice it as much as her frown or her serene mask. “It’s a valid question.” She looked past Dean to where Aaron was kneeling on the bench seat. “Do you want me to?”

  “Oh, gross, no, ew!” Aaron keeled over on the bench, pretending to throw up and spasm in disgust. Laughter from the few other tables that were occupied only encouraged his antics. “Yuck, yuck, YUCK.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Dean said, embarrassed. He sat down next to Aaron and pushed him over on the bench. “Restaurant manners,” he reminded the boy.

  Shelley sat gracefully across from them. The crooked smile had been replaced by a perfect company smile, but her eyes on Aaron were deeply skeptical.

  Aaron gave one last seizure of disapproval and to Dean’s relief, chose to sit up in his seat rather than test his audience. They’d had a long talk about manners before they left the house, but Dean wasn’t sure how seriously he was taking this.

  Andrea brought a glass of ice water and a straw for Shelley. “Thank you,” Shelley said gravely, and she fastidiously tore off the end of the wrapper and pulled out the straw, leaving a perfect paper tunnel behind.

  Is that what she would do to him? Dean wondered poetically. Would she decide that a mate with a child wasn’t what she was looking for and walk away with his heart?

  And when had he given her his heart?

  Dammit.

  “Can I get you started with some drinks?” Andrea asked, all innocence.

  “Diet cola,” Shelley said.

  “Can I have a pop?” Aaron asked, voice treacherously close to a whine.

  “Too close to bedtime, sorry. Do you want a glass of milk?”

  “I want a pop,” Aaron said stubbornly.

  Keenly aware of Shelley’s neutral expression from across the table and Andrea’s amused observation, Dean asked, “Do you want milk, or just water?”

  “Milk,” Aaron sulked, to his relief.

  “Just water for me,” Dean told Andrea.

  “Coming up, Sausage!”

  “Sausage?” Shelley asked, once Andrea had left. “What’s that about?” Her glance flickered nervously to Aaron, as if she was afraid she’d asked a question that she shouldn’t have in front of him.

  “It’s... a stupid name thing,” Dean said, embarrassed. “Andrea and I went to high school together when we were kids. Dean James, James Dean, Jimmy Dean... the brand of sausage. That was the one that had to stick.”

  Shelley looked amused.

  “We’re not supposed to use the word stupid,” Aaron reminded him, still pouting about the pop.

  “You’re right,” Dean told him. “Sorry about that.”

  Shelley played nervously with her water while Dean dredged for a topic that would work for the three of them.

  “Did you have fun at school today?” Shelley asked Aaron before Dean could come up with anything.

  “Yeah,” Aaron said with a shrug.

  “What’s your favorite topic?” she asked into the unhelpful silence he left her. She was trying so hard.

  Aaron shrugged again. “Recess, I guess.”

  “You like math,” Dean prodded him.

  “Yeah.”

  It would have been an awkward silence if it weren’t for Andrea’s arrival with their drinks. Shelley looked at her gratefully. “Thank you.”

  Aaron muttered his thanks after Dean reminded him, and proceeded to make a paper rocket ship from his straw wrapper.

  “Have you decided what to order?” Andrea asked. “Or do you need a little more time?”

  “I’ll take the special,” Shelley said demurely.

  Dean glanced at the sticky note on the menu. Shelley didn’t seem like the chicken fried steak type, but maybe she would surprise him.

  “Corn dogs!” Aaron chorused, holding up his half-colored paper menu. “Fries! Lots of ketchup!”

  “I’ll take the special, too,” Dean decided.

  Andrea took their laminated menus. “Be about ten minutes,” she said cheerfully.

  Chapter 9

  This whole thing was a terrible mistake, Shelley decided.

  The date, the diner, the clothes she’d picked out, the fact that her mate had a kid...

  But most of all, the chicken fried steak.

  After closer to fifteen minutes of awkward conversation dominated by Aaron’s nearly-indecipherable but very enthusiastic explanations about something called Minecraft (Shelley guessed it was a cartoon she wasn’t familiar with), Andrea brought her a steaming plate... of gravy.

  A cautious poke revealed a sublayer of some kind of deep-fried meat, and there was a side of hashbrowns completely submerged in the lumpy cream-colored goo.

  Keenly aware of the scrutiny she was under from what felt like the entire diner, Shelley sawed off a tiny piece of the mystery meat and prepared for the worst, already practicing her best smile and pretend enjoyment. She was not going to be the snobbish prima donna she knew that everyone must think she was; she was going to choke down the greasy food like it was ambrosia from heaven for politeness sake.

  Dean was busy trying to keep Aaron from upsetting his milk onto his plate as the little boy poured half a bottle of ketchup over his fries.

  Shelley put the bite into her mouth... and was pleasantly relieved to find that it was nowhere near the flavor or texture she was expecting. The lumps in the smooth gravy were little pieces of sausage, popping with flavor, and the meat had been tenderized into something far more chewable than she h
ad feared. The breading was a neutral layer that perfectly complemented the rest.

  A tentative taste showed that the hashbrowns were just as good; fried crispy but not soaked in oil.

  Shelley looked up and accidentally met Dean’s eyes.

  “Like it?” he asked, a smile twitching at his mouth.

  “Yeah,” Shelley said honestly. Did she sound too surprised? “It’s really good.”

  “Old George is the best short order cook in a hundred miles,” Dean said with satisfaction. “Gran’s Grits may not have the fanciest menu, but what they serve is always great.”

  He reminded Aaron not to talk with his mouth full of food and took a generous bite from his own plate.

  As good as the food had turned out to be, Shelley was suddenly hungry for something else altogether.

  He was so handsome, and every move he made was graceful and strong. Shelley had never considered eating particularly sexy until she was watching him draw a fork from between his lips, and she had to blink carefully and make herself eat several mechanical bites before she could look up and meet his eyes.

  Those hazel eyes were dancing again and Shelley realized with chagrin that he knew exactly what he’d done to her. His next bite was deliberately slow and he actually licked his lips afterwards.

  Shelley knew a challenge when she saw one, and two could play that game. Her next bite was just as slow as his, and she closed her eyes and gave a little shiver of pleasure.

  “Glad to see you’re enjoying your meal,” Andrea said, and Shelley’s eyes flew open as her cheeks turned scarlet.

  “My... uh... compliments to your chef,” Shelley said in a squeak.

  “Can I get you guys anything?” Andrea asked drolly. “Like, a room?”

  “More milk!” Aaron said enthusiastically, thankfully oblivious to anything else happening at the table. Somehow his plate was already mostly empty.

  “How do you ask?” Dean reminded him, still grinning at Shelley.

  “MayIpleasehavemoremilk?” Aaron asked.