Page 43 of The Bear's Blooming Mate

“We have,” Hugo confirmed. “When we were younger, we went out into the world to sample the various wines, from different countries and different regions,” Hugo explained. “We took a little inspiration from here, and a little from there, and made something of our own.”

“And the house reflects that,” Leanne added as she returned to the oven, checking its contents. “Now, dinner is ready. Let’s eat and drink, and then Philip must show you the vineyard.”

Elsbeth nodded, still trying to process the flood of emotions washing through her.

Philip appeared at her side with a glass of deep red wine. “Here you go,” he said, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her the glass. That familiar spark jumped between them, and Elsbeth knew from his slight intake of breath that he felt it, too.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a sip to steady herself. The wine was exquisite, rich and complex with notes of blackberry and something earthy she couldn’t quite identify.

“Do you like it?” Hugo asked, watching her reaction closely.

“It’s wonderful,” she replied honestly. “I’m still learning about wine, but this is...special.”

Hugo beamed with pride. “It’s from our reserve collection. From vines Philip helped plant when he was just a boy.”

“Really?” Elsbeth turned to Philip, who ducked his head modestly.

“I wasn’t much help back then,” he admitted. “More of a hindrance, probably.”

“Nonsense,” Hugo countered, clapping his son on the shoulder. “You’ve always had a gift with the vines. Even then.”

Leanne began bringing serving dishes to the table. “Enough shop talk for now. Let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

They settled around the table, which had been beautifully set with mismatched ceramics that somehow worked perfectly together. Candles flickered in the center, casting a warm glow over their faces.

“This looks amazing,” Elsbeth said as Leanne served her a portion of garlic chicken and roasted vegetables.

“Family recipe,” Leanne replied with a wink. “Philip mentioned you enjoyed cooking.”

Elsbeth glanced at Philip, touched that he’d shared such details about her. “I do. My mother taught me.”

“She taught you well, from what I hear,” Hugo said, passing her a basket of freshly baked bread.

“Philip is being kind,” Elsbeth replied as she helped herself to bread.

“That’s how we raised him,” Leanne said with an adoring smile at her son. “Now, tuck in.”

A comfortable silence fell as they began to eat. Elsbeth couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so...at home. The Thornbergs had welcomed her as if she’d always been a part of their lives, not like someone they’d just met.

“So, Elsbeth,” Leanne said after a few moments, “Philip tells us you’re turning the Old Larson place into a flower farm.”

“Yes,” Elsbeth nodded, warming to the topic. “I’m calling it Rose Farm, after my mother.”

“What a beautiful tribute,” Leanne said.

“Philip suggested it, actually,” Elsbeth admitted, glancing at him. Their eyes met briefly, and she felt that now-familiar flutter in her chest.

Hugo nodded approvingly. “The name suits the place. That land has been waiting for someone to bring it back to life. It’s been abandoned for years. Just waiting for you.”

“I hope I’m up to the task,” Elsbeth said, taking another sip of wine. “There’s so much to do.”

“You’ve already made remarkable progress,” Philip interjected. “The irrigation system is nearly complete, and we found that spring, which changes everything.”

“You found the water,” Elsbeth said, not wanting to take the credit away from Philip.

“Philip has always had a knack for finding water,” Hugo chuckled as he glanced at his wife.

“It’s true!” Leanne insisted. “Although when he was younger, Philip finding water usually meant he came home dripping wet from head to foot.”

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