Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 17637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
“Just trying to give you a fighting chance. Good luck, sloth boy,” he teases, his tone laden with brotherly mischief.
“Sloth boy?” I can’t stop a chuckle from erupting past my lips.
“You move slower than a goddamn sloth on melatonin.”
I wince at the crazy analogy. “Did you make that up all on your own?” I tease him.
“Yep, I spent my morning working on it instead of all the work covering my desk. You’re welcome.” I can already see I’m going to love being a part of this crazy family.
As the call ends, I huff a laugh, shaking my head at the unexpected yet oddly endearing intervention from the Bearly brigade. I try to refocus on my cooking, but the cake idea is firmly lodged in my brain.
With my sauce simmering away, I make a quick call to Honey Buns II and end up talking to the bakery owner. She laughs when she hears my request and promises to set aside her famous chocolate cake.
Feeling surprisingly prepared, I turn my attention to getting ready for tonight. After a quick shower, I pull on a soft knit sweater, well-worn jeans, and my favorite pair of boots.
After a quick shave and a last appraisal in the mirror, I’m all set. My bear’s been surprisingly cooperative today since I finally started listening to his orders. With everything in order, I head out into the cool mountain air, feeling an exciting nervous edge flitting about my thoughts.
I hop into my massive four-wheel drive and head down to Glacier Pass to pick up my secret weapon.
Chapter 5
Gianna
After a busy morning at Rise and Grind, I finally wave goodbye to Alice and Esther, feeling like a toddler on a sugar high. My inner grizzly is buzzing with excitement.
The moment I step inside my small home, Minnie, my plucky feline companion, greets me with an indifferent flick of her tail, her usual aloof welcome.
“Hey, Minnie,” I say, letting my bag fall unceremoniously onto the nearest chair. “I have a date tonight.”
She replies with a lazy yawn, perfectly indifferent to the human social rituals I’m about to embark upon. As long as she has her special food and favorite treats, all is perfect in her feline world.
First things first, I head for a much-needed shower to wash the smell of coffee off of me. The steam rises around me, a warm, swirling cocoon that washes away some of the tension running through my body.
As I bask under the hot water, my mind flits through tonight’s date with Sawyer, and my inner hussy bear makes all kinds of plans for my new mate.
Post-shower, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and tread to my closet. The decision of what to wear looms large, laughing in the face of my usually straightforward fashion sense. I need to strike the right balance of casual yet subtly flirtatious. Unassuming yet unambiguously dazzling, the kind of look that says, “I just threw this on,” when in fact, it required strategic planning akin to a military operation.
I rummage through my massive walk-in closet without much success. This is more challenging than I’d anticipated. Each time I grab a garment, my inner bear grumbles, “Too summery, too bulky, or too old lady,” until I’m beyond frustrated and still completely naked.
I’m knee-deep in clothing chaos when my phone buzzes on a nearby shelf. It’s a FaceTime call from Grant’s human mate, Lennon, a fashionista with a knack for styling that verges on sorcery. She has saved me from countless fashion faux pas, and I silently thank the universe for sending her my way at this critical moment.
I throw on my trusty pink robe and accept the call. "Hey, girl! I hear you have a big date tonight!" Her voice practically buzzes with enthusiasm.
"And I have absolutely nothing to wear," I reply, gesturing helplessly toward the clothing explosion around me.
Lennon laughs, that musical, airy sound so characteristic of her. "Let’s see the options. Show me what we're working with."
I angle the camera toward the chaos, and she immediately delves into fashion triage mode. Lennon has this way of seeing potential where I see despair, turning disorganized piles into curated collections.
After a few minutes of her quick-fire critique, including a playful scolding for owning too many plain, “old lady” outfits, Lennon suggests my slim black leggings that tightly hug all my curves, paired with a fuzzy emerald-green sweater that looks great with my light blonde hair. It’s an ensemble that balances charm with just a touch of ferocity.
“Gianna, you’ll look amazing,” Lennon assures, her approval a seal of excellence. “Go knock him off his feet. In a metaphorical sense. Less injury, more flirt.”
I giggle, grateful not just for her guidance but also for her positivity. “Thanks so much.”
“Always happy to help you. A little bird told me Dillon is giving your intended advice, so you’re going to need all the help you can get,” she teases before hanging up with a grin and wink.