What happened that I?—
Heat floods my face as implications sink in—that something occurred beyond multiple rounds of lovemaking, something significant enough that forgetting it is noteworthy.
"What do you mean, remember what?" The question emerges higher-pitched than intended, embarrassment competing with genuine confusion.
Bear opens his mouth—clearly prepared to elaborate, to explain whatever I'm missing—when my stomach interrupts with a growl so loud it echoes through the quiet room.
Traitor.
Betrayed by my own digestive system.
My entire face burns crimson—mortification at the timing, at the volume, at the way Bear's eyes absolutely light up with amusement.
His laughter is warm, fond, completely lacking in mockery despite my humiliation.
"Why don't we start with getting you fed?" He suggests, amusement evident in every syllable. "Rain check on the news until you've eaten something substantial."
News.
What news?
What am I missing?
But my stomach growls again—agreement delivered through biological demand, body insisting that food takes priority over answers.
"Deal," I concede, because apparently I'm starving enough to table my curiosity. "Because I'm seriously hungry."
Beyond hungry.
Ravenous in ways that suggest I haven't eaten in a significant timeframe.
How long was I asleep?
Bear shifts carefully, preparing to stand while keeping me secure in his arms. The movement is practiced, controlled, and involves speaking to someone accustomed to carrying weight while maintaining balance.
"Kitchen's this way," he murmurs, already moving with me still cradled against his chest.
Not going to let me walk, apparently.
Treating me like I'm precious cargo rather than a grown woman capable of independent locomotion.
I should probably protest—assert my capability, maintain independence, refuse to be carried like a damsel requiring rescue.
But his arms are warm, his scent is comforting, and honestly, I'm not entirely confident my legs would support me reliably given the persistent exhaustion making my body feel heavy.
Just this once.
Let someone else handle logistics while I gather strength.
Temporary surrender that doesn't establish a permanent pattern.
Right?
As Bear navigates through the unfamiliar space, I let my head rest against his shoulder, breathing in the maple-chestnut scent while my mind cycles through fragments of missing memory.
Something happened.
A significant event?
