Page 10 of The Bear's Reluctant Mate

But instead, we got our mate,his bear roared inside his head. Which was not off-putting at all.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Finn said, not taking his eyes off his brother. The look was penetrating, and assessing, and Alfie had the uncomfortable feeling that his brother was putting pieces together far too quickly.

“No problem,” Marion replied, her voice carefully polite. “We enjoyed the garden center, didn’t we, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded, distractedly eyeing the other people surrounding them who were now beginning to organize themselves into work groups. “The butterflies were cool,” he offered absently, then seemed to remember Alfie was there and added, “Hi.”

“Hi, Charlie,” Alfie said gently, giving the boy a small smile before his attention was inevitably drawn back to Marion.

“Yes, a definite mix-up,” Finn said, glancing between Marion and Alfie with increasing interest. “Still, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it, Alfie?”

Alfie nodded. “It did.”

Was he that obvious? He could see that Finn suspected something. His brother’s eyes had taken on that sharp, calculating look he got when he was figuring out a particularly complex design problem.

“I didn’t know you were coming to the garden project,” Marion said, and there was a definite accusation in her voice. Her chin lifted slightly, a defensive gesture that made his bear whine.

“I...” Alfie began, scrambling for an explanation that wouldn’t make him sound like a stalker.

“I texted him,” Finn interrupted smoothly, though his eyes danced with barely suppressed amusement. “Asked him to bring some extra tools from the garden center. We’re short on trowels.”

Alfie shot his brother a grateful look, even as he knew he’d be paying for this favor later. Finn’s grin widened infinitesimally.

“Though I don’t see any tools,” Marion observed, her gaze flicking to Alfie’s empty hands.

“Oh,” Alfie said quickly. “I wanted to find Finn first, see where he needed them.”

It was a flimsy excuse, and from the skeptical arch of Marion’s eyebrow, she wasn’t entirely buying it. But Charlie tugged on her sleeve before she could pursue it further.

“Aunt Marion, can we start?”

“Of course,” she said finally. “Where do you want us, Finn?”

“I’ve assigned you plot twelve,” Finn said, consulting his clipboard with exaggerated professionalism. “It’s one of the sunnier spots, perfect for those tomatoes. Alfie, why don’t you show them where it is? I need to check on the group working on the irrigation system.”

Before anyone could protest, Finn strode away, calling out to someone about water pressure. But not before shooting Alfie a look that clearly saidyou owe meandwe’re definitely talking about this later.

Alfie stood there, suddenly alone with Marion and Charlie, the morning sun warming his back and his mate within arm’s reach. His bear practically purred.

“Plot twelve?” Marion prompted, her tone carefully neutral.

“This way,” Alfie said, gesturing toward the eastern side of the garden. As they walked, he kept a careful distance, hyperaware of every movement Marion made. The way she kept Charlie close, how her eyes tracked the other families working nearby, the tension in her shoulders that spoke of someone stuck in fight-or-flight mode.

“So,” she said as they reached the freshly tilled plot marked with a wooden stake labeled ’12.’ “Tools?”

Heat crept up Alfie’s neck. “Right. I should go get those.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Marion set down the bag she’d been carrying and pulled out some gardening gloves. “Charlie, honey, can you start clearing those little rocks from the soil?”

Charlie dropped to his knees eagerly, apparently happy to have a task. Marion straightened, fixing Alfie with a look that made him feel like a butterfly pinned to a board.

“You don’t have any tools in your truck, do you?”

The question was soft, almost conversational, but there was steel underneath it. This was a woman used to people disappointing her, and lying to her. A woman protecting not just herself but the precious boy now humming tunelessly as he picked stones from the dirt.

Tell her the truth,his bear urged.

“No,” Alfie admitted, the word escaping before he could think better of it. “I don’t.”

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