Page 17 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
She could not help the smile that spread across her lips. He had that kind of effect on her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him that made her feel lighter. It was something so subtle but so undeniable…
Then she spotted him, and her smile faltered.
Finn stood near a row of flower stalls, talking with a man whose polished look and camera bag tugged at her memory. With a cold jolt, she realized where she’d seen him before. When she got to Bear Creek, she’d done a search of the local press to make sure she could spot and avoid a local reporter on sight.
And Finn was here talking to one of them. John Davis, if she recalled correctly.
Damn it! How could he?
Heart hammering against her ribs, Wren froze, instinctively pulling her cap lower. Every cell in her body screamed at her to turn and run. This was exactly what she’d feared. With her identity exposed, the sanctuary she’d found in Bear Creek would be ruined. Her throat tightened, and she had to force herself to breathe slowly, fighting back panic.
Had Finn really told a local reporter about her? After he’d promised?
For a split second, the old hurt threatened to take over. The ache of betrayal, of being used, pierced her heart.
But why? Why would Finn do this to her? Oh! The fundraiser for the community garden. This was one sure way to get some attention for the town and the fundraiser. Once word got out that she was here, the town would be flooded with her fans.
As if sensing her presence, Finn looked up. Their eyes met across the growing crowd, and something passed between them. A silent current that seemed to reach across the space. The invisible thread that always seemed to draw her toward himpulled taut. Something in his expression reassured her, even as uncertainty and disappointment warred in her chest.
Without missing a beat, Finn placed a protective arm around the reporter’s shoulders and steered him away. She watched as he led the man in the opposite direction, their heads bent in conversation that carried them farther from where she stood.
For a moment, she didn’t know whether to cry or laugh in relief. Whether to run or stay. But with a mind of their own, Wren’s feet stayed rooted to the ground, though her pulse still raced with adrenaline. Her trust was shaky, a fragile thing still healing from old wounds, but she forced herself to stay, wanting, needing to believe in Finn.
Minutes stretched like hours as she waited, pretending to browse a display of local honey. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up a jar, reading the label without absorbing a single word. Just as her courage began to fray at the edges, a familiar presence appeared at her side.
“Hey there,” Finn said softly. His arrival was so quiet she jumped, though her racing heart had less to do with surprise than with how good it felt to be near him.
She turned to find him looking mortified, a flush creeping up his neck as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I am so sorry,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I somehow sent the market details to the wrong person, and John—he’s with the local paper—must have gotten them by mistake. I swear I didn’t tell him about you.”
The sincerity in his eyes made her want to believe him, even as caution whispered its familiar warnings.
“He had a camera,” she said, hating how small her voice sounded.
“He always does. He’s covering the market for next week’s edition.” Finn stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of cedar and coffee that seemed to cling to him. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about you, and I meant it. This was just a stupid mix-up.”
“I thought maybe you’d sold me out,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could catch them.
“Never,” Finn said, the certainty in his voice such that she let go of the last of her fears. He smiled then, that crooked, hopeful smile that made her stomach flutter. “Now, what do you say we find those pastries I promised you? They’re worth facing a reporter or two.”
Despite herself, Wren laughed, feeling the tension slip from her shoulders as easily as a discarded coat. “Lead the way.”
They set off together through the bustling stalls, Finn close at her side, his presence both exciting and steadying. The market was coming fully alive now, locals greeting each other with easy familiarity, the morning air filled with the mingled scents of fresh bread, flowers, and coffee.
As the noise and movement swelled around them, Wren felt a momentary wave of panic at the press of bodies and a sudden flash of someone raising their phone for a photo. But Finn gently reached for her hand, his fingers warm as they entwined with hers.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, close enough that only she could hear. “I’ve got you.”
The simple touch anchored her, grounding her in the here and now. They wandered from stall to stall, sampling cheeses and breads, Finn pointing out his favorite vendors and telling stories about each one. At the Henderson’s bakery stand, hebought them both cinnamon-orange pastries still warm from the oven.
“Oh my god,” Wren moaned at the first bite, sugar and spice melting on her tongue. “This might actually be better than the ones I used to buy.”
“Fate must have brought us here,” he said, the look on his face indecipherable.
They continued through the market, Finn helping her select fresh vegetables and a jar of wild berry jam the vendor swore would change her life. Wren caught herself smiling more than she had in ages, her old defenses quietly dissolving in Finn’s company.
“The honey is better,” Finn insisted as they debated the merits of fresh honey versus wild berry jam. “Trust me on this.”
