Page 4 of Bear My Heart

"It's cheese." Shanti glanced up with her muted smile again. "Like mozzarella sticks but better. I'll order some, if you've never had any. And some…soup, maybe."

Pete hesitated, torn between wanting to reassure her that she could order anything she wanted and he'd buy, and not wanting to be the kind of man who commented on what women chose to eat. After a moment's internal struggle, he settled on, "I don't know how they could be better than mozzarella sticks, but I can't wait to try them now. I'm going with…the maple bacon cheeseburger, maybe. It's my treat," he added, meaning to sound firm but suspecting he sounded more hopeful.

"Are you sure? That's nice, thank you." Shanti tilted a dark eyebrow upward. "Oh. I'm not ordering soup because I'm trying to be cheap. I just know that if I get an appetizer I can't eat a big dinner afterward no matter how hungry I think I am now."

She'd seen right through him, which made Pete chuckle. "It's my treat anyway, if you don't mind. I asked you to dinner, after all."

"You asked me to coffee, which costs a lot less than dinner," Shanti pointed out. "But if you're sure, yes, that's okay. I'll buy next time," she offered, then once more looked surprised at herself while joy sparked in Pete's heart.

"It's a deal."

The waitress returned as he spoke, and they both put their orders in, then exchanged glances as she asked about drinks again. Shanti shook her head, saying, "A ginger ale would be nice, but that's all," and Pete ordered a soda of his own. The waitress scurried off again and Shanti said, "I don't mind if you have a beer or something, if you want. I just don't drink."

"Me either, so it's fine." They eyed each other a moment before Pete couldn't stop a quick laugh. "Okay, I'll go first. Too much addiction in my family history and culture. Smarter to stay dry."

"I honestly wasn't going to ask," Shanti protested. "It's none of my business."

"No, I know, and I don't care why you don't, either. It's just that it always feels like everybody else does drink, so two people on one date both not drinking is surprising."

Her sweet, half-hidden smile shone again for a moment. "Yes, exactly. And it's sort of religious on my part, although I'm not very religious. But culturally my family wouldn't drink, and I never developed a taste for it, so I just don't. It's not a moral stance or anything."

"It's strange how people who do like alcohol feel like it is a moral stance if you don't want to drink, isn't it? I've never really understood that, but it happens a lot. So that's two random things we've got in common," he added. "No alcohol, and a love of railroads. Off to a good start?"

Of course you're off to a good start, his bear said almost impatiently. You're mates.

Shanti doesn't know that, though. I'm just some stranger who asked her on a date. She was so beautiful that on one hand, Pete could hardly imagine that random men didn't ask her on dates regularly. On the other hand, her surprise at both him asking and her own agreement made him suspect that despite how he felt, she wasn't asked out all that often.

And honestly, she still sounded surprised as she smiled and said, "Off to a very good start."

CHAPTER 3

Peter Baranov was easier to talk to than anybody Shanti had ever met in her life. She didn't know if it was because he was breathtakingly attractive or if his large, solid presence was simply incredibly reassuring, but not only had she agreed to come to dinner with him, now that they were sitting and talking, she was having a hard time not just telling him everything about herself immediately. She squashed the urge, because she was sure the last thing a big, kind, good-looking man like Pete wanted was to hear all about her sad-sop life, but the fact that the urge existed made her feel almost like a different person.

But they were off to a good start, even if she couldn't quite believe the implication behind 'good start'. It suggested he was already thinking ahead to more dates. In fact, technically, they'd already set one up, since she'd said she would buy dinner next time. For a moment, sitting there in the warm, noisy, friendly pub, across from a handsome, charming man, Shanti really did feel like someone else entirely, and wondered whose life she'd stepped into.

Whosever it was, she would probably have to give it back soon, so she seized onto the chance to keep being somebody else right now and said, "So do you still live in Alaska, and just travel around for work, or…?"

"I'm still a resident there, but I haven't been home in a while now. There's a boom in the rail industry and it's keeping me busy. I miss it, though. What about you?" Peter's brown eyes shone with interest. "Is Nepal home, or is Virtue?"

Shanti hadn't meant for the question to get turned around on herself, and stuttered through her answer. "I'm—oh. I, well. Virtue is home. I grew up here. My parents, Mom was from Nepal, Dad was from here. They met when he was traveling during college, and…my grandparents said it was love at first sight. They didn't think they could make it work, but Mom ended up applying to the college here so they could be together, so I was born here."

"I believe in love at first sight," Peter said with a smile, but he'd been listening more closely than most people did, because he also, very gently, said, "Your grandparents said?"

Shanti folded and unfolded her hands a couple of times, watching her fingers tangle with each other before glancing up at Peter with a brief, resigned smile. "Mom and Dad were killed in a car wreck when I was nine. Dad's parents pretty much raised me."

Peter exhaled like he'd expected something like that from her phrasing, and nodded. "That must have been really difficult."

Shanti waited a beat for the I'm sorry that always came along with that kind of thing, then found herself relaxing very slightly as he didn't say it. After another moment she said, "It was," and then, feeling awkward, mumbled, "Thanks for not saying 'I'm sorry.' I never really know what to say after that, because it's not okay, but also, 'thanks' feels like such a strange thing to say to 'I'm sorry?' 'Thanks, me too?' It just feels like the wrong response."

"I'm not sure there's ever a response that really feels like the right one," Pete said, but he was nodding. "There's also the thing about how we use 'I'm sorry' to mean two different things, right?"

"Right," Shanti said, almost in relief. "Sometimes it's sorry because I did something wrong and I'm apologizing, and sometimes it's sorry because you experienced that thing I had nothing to do with, but we use it for the first one so much it usually feels like people are trying to take responsibility for my parents dying, kind of. And unless they're the deer that jumped out onto the road that night, it's not their fault."

Pete gave a startled little flinch and Shanti ducked her head, embarrassed. "Of course, the poor deer got killed, too, so probably nobody I've talked to since is it. Not that they would be anyway, but…"

"Oh, you don't—so you don't⁠—"

She looked up again to see Peter's dark eyebrows pulled down, his expression odd. Shanti waited, curious, while that expression—confusion and surprise, mostly—flickered across his face until he got it under control. She tilted her head, even more curious. "What?"