Page 4 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
You promised,his bear reminded him, the implications settling in.That means not even the family. Not even Alfie, or Stanley, or any of them.
Finn felt the weight of that promise settle across his shoulders. His family was close-knit, their lives intertwined. Keeping a secret like this—finding his mate and not telling them—would be nearly impossible.
But as he looked at Wren, at the way she held herself, shoulders squared like someone always bracing for impact, he knew he had no choice. This was his mate, and her trust mattered more than anything.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I promise.”
Chapter Two – Wren
This was not exactly how she’d expected to spend her afternoon at Rowan Cottage. Not that she minded the intrusion. Anything to distract her from her songwriting.
Or lack of it.
Her creative well had truly run dry.
Each morning she opened her notebook, stared at the empty page, and waited for words or music to come. Most days, all she found was silence and an ache in her chest, a hollow left by something she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was broken for good.
What she needed was a little inspiration.
And perhaps this unexpected visit from Finn Thornberg was just exactly that.
Wren leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Finn settled into the chair across from Mrs. Abernathy and the plate of scones. His movements were careful, deliberate, but also a little awkward as he was hyperaware of her. But then she often had that effect on people. Especially men.
Starstruck, her mom called it. And she was right.
Sometimes, she felt like she was living in the shadow of someone else. A version of herself assembled out of glossy magazine interviews, staged photographs, and tabloid rumors. The real Wren, the one who burned toast and snorted when she laughed and felt music in her bones, had always been harder for people to see. Harder to trust anyone with.
And that often led to disappointment.
For both of them.
But Finn Thornberg…there was something about the way his hand brushed the back of a chair before sitting, how he set his portfolio down with care instead of tossing it on the table that was reassuring. As if he cared about the small things.
Or was she projecting her own thoughts and desires onto this man she had only just met?
The yellow paint stain on his jacket shoulder caught her eye, an oddly endearing imperfection that made him seem more...human.
And then there was the way he made her stomach flutter. She’d felt it the moment she’d opened the door. It was like an electric current threading through her veins.
It still lingered now, humming beneath her skin, making her acutely aware of his presence. She pressed her thumb against the pendant at her throat, a nervous habit she’d developed since everything with Vince fell apart.
No. She wasn’t going there again. Not with anyone, certainly not with this stranger who’d appeared on her doorstep.
The last thing she needed was to develop a ridiculous crush on the first friendly face she’d encountered since fleeing to Rowan Cottage. Her life was still in shambles from Vince’s betrayal, the tabloid headlines still fresh enough that she sometimes woke up with their words scrolling behind her eyelids. She couldn’t risk letting someone get close enough to ruin her all over again. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“So, have you been in Bear Creek long?” he asked, the low timbre of his voice stirring something deep inside her, testing her resolve.
“A few weeks,” she said, the words clipped, automatic. Her standard deflection.
“Do you like it here?” he asked as if he hadn’t noticed her tone.
“It’s quiet.”
He nodded, seemingly unbothered by her brevity. “That’s what most people come here for. The quiet.”
Wren felt a twinge of guilt at her curtness. He was only making conversation, after all. But every question felt like it might be a trap, a way to extract information she wasn’t ready to share. She’d learned the hard way how quickly casual words could become headlines.
The silence stretched a beat too long before Mrs. Abernathy swallowed a mouthful of scone and then took a sip of her coffee. “Wren is here to finish her album.”
