Page 35 of The Bear's Blooming Mate

As he spoke about the rhythms of the vineyard, the seasonal cycles that governed their work, the pain in her eyes gradually receded, and she picked up her fork and began to eat.

Tonight is not the time, is it?his bear asked.

To tell her about us?Philip replied.No.

Instead, tonight was a night of sharing a part of themselves. The raw, vulnerable parts—and the parts that were precious for so many reasons.

The rest could wait.

Chapter Ten – Elsbeth

Elsbeth woke to the now familiar sounds of Rose Farm. Every time she heard the name mentioned, she’d remember her mom, remember the promise that had brought her here.

It would be as if her mom truly were walking this new path with Elsbeth.

She really did need to thank Philip again for making the suggestion. Elsbeth doubted she would have come up with the idea on her own. It would have felt too…raw.

Oh, Philip.

For a long moment, she simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the memory of last night play through her mind.

Their dinner had been simple, pasta and homemade sauce, crusty bread, and that exquisite Thornberg wine, yet somehow more intimate than any elaborate restaurant meal she’d ever shared. The way Philip had looked at her across the candlelit table, as if memorizing every feature of her face... The fond look in his eyes when he’d spoken of his family... And the way he had listened when she spoke of her mom.

Elsbeth swallowed down the lump of emotion forming in her throat. She hadn’t meant to speak of her grief, hadn’t planned to let her guard down so completely. But something about Philip made vulnerability feel like strength rather than weakness.

“What are you doing to me, Philip Thornberg?” she whispered to the empty room.

Whatever it was, she liked it.

She rolled to her side, eyeing the clock on her nightstand. 6:17. It was early, but the sun was up, the birds were singing, and there was work to do. Elsbeth sat up, pushing her hair back from her face, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in her muscles from yesterday’s work. With a contented sigh, she reached for her mother’s flannel shirt and pulled it on. The worn fabric against her skin felt like a hug, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone. After pulling on a pair of well-worn jeans, she padded downstairs in bare feet.

The kitchen still carried the aroma of last night’s meal, garlic, tomatoes, and herbs. Her gaze drifted to the sink where two wine glasses stood side by side, a reminder of the wine they had shared.

How different this morning would be if he were here now. She could almost picture him leaning against the counter, sleep-rumpled and smiling, coffee mug in hand. They would share breakfast and a quiet conversation about the day ahead. Maybe, just maybe, his lips would find hers in a gentle good morning kiss...

Elsbeth shook her head firmly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she muttered. “It was one dinner. One evening.”

Despite the connection she felt, despite the way his eyes had lingered on hers, he hadn’t actually said anything about seeing her again. Not romantically, anyway.

There had certainly been no mention of dating.

For all she knew, Philip was this generous with his time with every newcomer in town.

Now that was a sobering thought!

What she needed now was coffee. After she filled the coffeepot with water, Elsbeth measured the coffee grounds into the filter and set the pot to brew.

While it percolated, she leaned against the counter and stared at the growing light outside the window. Her mother had always said coffee time was thinking time, a time to enjoy the stillness before the day began. As she glanced around the kitchen, she imagined her mom sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

If only.

But her mom wasn’t there. With a deep breath, she brushed the thought aside and went outside to the porch. The morning air was cool and sweet, with dew still clinging to the grass. Birds called to one another from the trees that rustled in the morning breeze.

This was why she’d come here. This peace, this connection to the land. The farm—Rose Farm—was her priority now. The rest would follow. Or not. Either way, she had a business to build.

Because that was why she was here. To build a business. If she failed, she would have no choice but to leave Rose Farm, and that would break her heart all over again when it had just started to heal.

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