I should have just called Aidan. Why did I think coming to Honeypot was a good idea? It’s not a good idea. It’s a horrible a idea.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a little wooden sign on the side of the road that says BEAR’S BAKERY. There’s an arrow pointing down a little dirt road and I realize that I could really, really go for a slice of pie right about now.
I turn sharply and head down the bumpy dirt road, silently chastising myself for driving too fast at first. Morris Creek is a small town, but Honeypot is even smaller. It’s going to take some getting used to.
There are trees on either side of the road and I can’t see a damn thing but the road. Finally, it curves to the right, and there’s a cute little building. I stop in front of it and get out.
It’s a little blue cottage with white shutters and a big white door. The sign on the front says Bear’s Bakery and there’s a little wooden cut-out of a white polar bear on the door. I’m guessing the owner is a bear shifter, but despite the obvious nature of the building, I can’t help but think it’s adorable. What a charming little place.
About 30 yards behind the cottage is a bigger house that perfectly matches the cottage. I’m guessing that’s where the owner lives. I’m picturing a cute little retired polar bear man with his polar bear wife and their polar bear babies.
This is the perfect place to retire and bake. It’s the perfect place to relax after being in the city.
It would be the perfect place to raise a baby.
I can’t get ahead of myself, though. I don’t even know if Aidan is going to want to be involved in our baby’s life. I can’t be that presumptuous. There’s always the chance that he’ll tell me to get lost, that he won’t want to be bothered with something as mundane as raising a child.
Still, a little part of me hopes he’ll be willing to be part of our child’s life. There’s so much I won’t be able to understand when it comes to raising a shifter baby. Having Aidan around to explain things, at least some of the time, would be perfect.
But it was just one night.
It was never meant to be serious.
Before I burst into tears again, I realize I’m just standing in front of the building, so I head up to the door and push it open. The smell of freshly baked goods overwhelms me, and my stomach growls.
“Just a minute,” a voice from the back calls out, but my heart goes cold. It’s not the voice of an old, retired bear.
It’s the voice of Aidan.
Aidan is the polar bear.