Page 33 of The Bear's Blooming Mate

Elsbeth laughed, but she did it, breathing in slowly. “Smells...like berries. And something warming?” she asked.

“Black cherry, maybe. Bit of oak.” He paused, watching her face as she inhaled again, slower this time. “That warmth is from where it’s aged in the barrel. It helps add depth.”

She lowered the glass and looked at him with a small, proud smile. “Not bad for a beginner?”

“Not bad at all,” he said, and suddenly his voice felt too thick, the air too charged.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other.

Not as friends. Not even as new acquaintances.

But as two people very much aware that the space between them was shrinking, that something real and full of promise had taken root and was about to come into full bloom.

Now,his bear whispered.Kiss her.

No,Philip told him firmly, even as the longing threatened to choke him.Not yet.

Instead, he raised his glass. “To new beginnings,” he murmured.

She smiled. “To dirt and sweat and sore muscles.”

“And maybe,” he added, “a little wine at the end of it.”

“And good company.”

“And good company.” He touched his glass to hers and then took a sip.

She lifted the glass to her lips and took a small sip, closing her eyes as the flavors unfolded across her tongue. Philip watched, entranced, as a smile slowly spread across her face.

“Oh,” she breathed, opening her eyes. “That’s...that’s wonderful.”

“You sound surprised,” he said.

“I am. I always thought wine was just...wine.” She took another sip, more confidently this time. “But this tastes like…” she paused, searching for words, “I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“You don’t have to,” Philip told her. “Not everything has to be distilled down to words. Sometimes, feeling is enough.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, holding his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “Speaking of feelings, this pasta is going to be overcooked if I don’t serve it now.”

She set her glass down and turned to the stove, lifting the pot of pasta to drain it in the colander she’d prepared in the sink. Steam billowed up, momentarily veiling her face, and Philip took the opportunity to steady himself.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked, finding his voice.

“You could light the candle,” she suggested over her shoulder.

Philip’s bear practically purred with satisfaction.Candlelight dinner with our mate. Perfect.

He struck a match and touched it to the wick, watching as the flame caught and grew, casting a warm glow over the simple table setting. The wildflowers—those bachelor’s buttons—seemed to shimmer in the flickering light.

“There,” Elsbeth said, bringing two plates to the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Philip said as he sat down at the table across from her and picked up his fork. Despite Elsbeth’s fears that the pasta might be overcooked, it was perfectly al dente, and the sauce was beautifully seasoned. “This is delicious.”

You could say love at first bite,his bear said with some amusement.

“Thank you.” She smiled, twirling pasta around her fork. “I’ve always found cooking relaxing. My mom taught me that good food doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“My mom says the same thing,” Philip replied. “Although with five hungry sons, she learned to cook in large quantities.”

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