Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Anyway, the lights come on, and when Mont angles to the side, I look over his shoulder and—holy shit, a bear.
I scream. Right into his ear.
And he screams. Right into mine.
He doesn’t drop me. Instead, he takes off like the floor is lava and races around the massive open area. Correction. It’s not that open. There aren’t walls, but it doesn’t mean there isn’t furniture interspersed throughout the place—a huge fairy tale kind of wardrobe, a huge desk with a big wooden chair, and a massive bed that could have been ripped right from medieval times. How does anyone have a bed like that? Shouldn’t those things only exist in museums?
Right. The bear. Focus.
There’s a bear in here!
That just screamed into my head and didn’t come out of my mouth. I try, but my voice comes out crackly and hoarse. I guess fear will freeze a person right up. “There’s a bear in here!”
“Where?” Mont hurtles around. I’m still in his arms, but he executes a perfect drop stance. I hope he doesn’t forget I’m here and then end up using me as a defense weapon.
“There!”
He whips around.
“No! There!”
Finally, he’s facing the right direction. How the ever-loving crabshakes did a bear get into this condo? Into the building? Into the middle of the city?
I must be really tired, and that hornet sting has gone straight to my brain, or okay, it was probably that I’ve been kissed utterly senseless because Mont relaxes in an instant, and I realize, as I feel his muscles slacken, that the bear isn’t alive. It’s stuffed. A taxidermy bear. It’s just been put into one of those scary, on its haunches with teeth bared, eyes glowing, ready to fuck shit up, positions. Rawwwrrrrrr. That’s what it’s silently saying. The paws are extended menacingly, the sharp, long claws ready to shred.
“Oh my…”
“I’m sorry. I should have prepared you. That’s Stewart. He was here when I bought the building. It’s a wild thing to have a bear in here, but the last owner moved out and left almost all the old furnishings. I guess they didn’t want to deal with them anymore or didn’t have a place to put them. I’m surprised they didn’t sell a lot of the stuff off, but maybe they hoped half the charm of the building was getting some of the antique furnishings.”
“Maybe they just didn’t care. It’s sad. A lot of people seem to be that way now.”
“I care. I care about this place. I cared about restoring it, and all the furniture was either saved and put into the units that sold so they were partially furnished, or I found them good homes with people who would cherish them. Some were collectors, and some just wanted to score some great pieces at good prices. Either way, they were thrilled. A few people who bought condos also said they were in love with the furniture and thought it was great that they came already nearly ready for them to move into. I asked around to see if any museums or galleries would take Stewart, but no one wanted him. It’s hard. You have to have paperwork and such, and I don’t have anything from the last owner. So, here he stays. Inherited and loved. When I get lonely, I sometimes throw a hat on him or a button-up shirt, and we have conversations.”
“You don’t,” I say in shock.
“Why? Because you think it’s great or because you think it’s creepy and weird?”
“Because I think it’s great.”
“Then yes, I do,” he replies with a grin.
“Do you buy him his own shirts? With fun prints on them? Like flamingos and tropical flowers?”
“I haven’t, but that’s a great idea. I have to order them online in a double extra-large, but I could make it happen.”
“Mont?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me. Kiss me again, please. And do it on that huge museum bed.”
“It’s not old. Someone was making historically accurate Viking-style beds at a market I went to a few years ago, and I had to have one. It’s all hand carved.”
“Oh my god, you should have gotten a longship.”
“Except that, generally, when you go to sleep in one of those, it’s permanent, and people are sailing you away and firing burning arrows at you or burying you in the ground.”
He sets me down on the sprawling, intricate work-of-art bed and kisses me senseless again. I hold on tight to him throughout the onslaught. His bed is super soft. Maybe too soft. Isn’t that bad for the spine? Then again, it’s got some fluffy duvet on it that I’ve sunk half a foot into. Unless this place is mega airconditioned, feather-down duvets are too heavy for how hot it is here all year round. Maybe he likes the press of a heavy blanket. Or maybe he likes his place sub-zero, so the blanket is necessary. Perhaps it’s just for show, and it gets stripped off every night.