Page 20 of Bear and Order

"Yes."

Mrs. Collins frowns. "How can you possibly remember that?"

Because I remember all of them. Every order, every customer, every cancellation, every loss. Some memories don't let go.

"Your order was important," I say quietly. "You placed a large purchase for your church event."

Her expression softens. "That's right."

Brock studies me for several seconds, long enough to make me uncomfortable. "You remember all of them?"

I shrug. "Most."

"That's impressive."

The compliment catches me completely off guard, especially coming from him. Heat rises into my cheeks, which is the last thing I need. I look away. "It's not impressive."

"It is," he says, matter-of-fact, the way someone states a thing they're simply certain of. Oddly enough, that makes it feel more genuine than any deliberate praise would.

Mrs. Collins watches the exchange with something suspiciously amused in her eyes. I choose to ignore it, for my own survival.

Brock returns to the receipt. "The timestamps don't match."

"Which means somebody is lying," I say.

The room goes quiet — purposeful this time, weighted. A puzzle piece. The first real crack we've found in all of this. Brock closes the folder, asks a few final questions, and then we leave.

The afternoon air feels cooler outside. Neither of us utters a word; we're both still thinking through it.

Then Brock glances at me. "You were right."

I look over. "I know."

His eyes narrow. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"The ego."

I gasp, mostly for effect. "I do not have an ego."

"You absolutely do."

"You spend too much time around me," I tell him.

"That's becoming apparent," he replies, so dryly that real laughter escapes me — the kind I haven't managed much lately. Brock looks momentarily startled by the sound, and then something in his expression shifts. Softens. Just slightly.

The sight makes my heart stumble. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

We continue walking back toward town, the investigation still hanging over us — the complaints, the forged warnings, the missing inventory, all of it still unresolved. Yet in what feels like forever, I don't feel completely alone carrying it.

Somehow, that matters deeper than I expect.

BROCK

The complaint files cover nearly half the library table. Juniper claims that's excessive. I claim she's wrong.