Page 6 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
Wren found herself leaning in, captivated by the images his words painted. She could almost hear the rush of water, feel the cool mist on her skin.
“And the wildflowers will be starting soon,” Mrs. Abernathy added. “The mountain meadows turn into a sea of color. Ah, bluebells, Indian paintbrush, wild lupine.”
“My mom says that each season has its own song,” Finn said, his eyes distant.
“There’s no place like it,” Mrs. Abernathy murmured. “The air is so clear.” She reached her hand across the table and touched Wren’s.
“That’s why I came here,” Wren admitted, surprising herself with the disclosure. “I needed somewhere to hide out for a while. Somewhere I could breathe again.”
“Everyone needs that sometimes,” Finn said simply, no judgment in his voice. Just understanding.
She studied him over the rim of her mug. Then she felt it…a tiny, tentative spark.
She could almost hear a tune, faint and half-remembered. For a moment, it felt like a song was waiting for her, just on the other side of silence.
Then, just as quickly, a memory intruded: Vince rolling his eyes as she’d played him a new chorus. “Too sentimental,” he’dsaid, dismissing her with a sigh. “No one wants that soft stuff anymore. You need to reinvent yourself, or your career will die.”
Just as their love had died.
The music faded. Wren blinked and looked down at her hands, suddenly unsure again.
“Oh, is that the time already?” Finn glanced at his watch, a reluctant note in his voice. His chair scraped softly against the floor as he stood. “I should really get back to work. I still have to head over to Rose Cottage.”
Wren smiled, feeling oddly disappointed that his visit was ending. “I’ll walk you out,” she offered, folding her napkin and setting it aside with more care than was necessary.
As they headed for the door, Wren noticed the rhythm of their footsteps, the soft duet of her bare feet and his boots. A quiet, companionable sound that felt almost like music.
Then Finn paused and turned to face her. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something more—something important—but he only offered a gentle, warm smile.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” he said, “even though I showed up uninvited and disturbed your peace.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Wren admitted, a small, unguarded smile curving her lips. “My godmother vouched for you, so I figured you couldn’t be all bad.”
“High praise indeed,” he said, with a playful warmth in his eyes. “I’ll come back in a day or two to look at the garden, if that’s okay? Maybe bring a bottle or two of Thornberg wine.”
His voice lingered in her mind, the cadence of his words echoing like the last note of a song. A song she wanted to play on repeat.
She surprised herself with how quickly she answered. “Yes. That would be…nice.” Her voice sounded lighter than it had in weeks.
Finn hesitated, and once again she thought he was going to say more. Then he gave a little wave as he made his way down the steps, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he strode to his truck. She watched him climb into the driver’s seat, glance back once, and then drive off down the winding lane, sunlight catching in the dust behind him.
As the sound of the truck faded and the quiet returned, Wren lingered in the doorway watching the dust settle. Then it hit her.
Her foot was tapping against the wooden threshold to a steady, insistent rhythm, like the beginnings of a chorus that wanted to be written. The sound felt foreign and familiar at once, the kind of thing that would have made Vince sigh in annoyance but now made her heart lift.
“You’re tapping,” Mrs. Abernathy observed quietly from behind her, a smile in her voice.
Wren’s foot stilled for a second. However, as she looked back at her godmother, her foot picked up the beat once more. “I guess I am,” she whispered, almost afraid to break the spell.
Mrs. Abernathy joined her in the doorway and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “See, what did I tell you? This is where you need to be. This is where you will find yourself again,” she urged. “Don’t be afraid to let it in.”
Finally, Wren let herself hope—really hope—that the music inside her might not be gone for good.
Chapter Three – Finn
Morning mist clung to the Bear Creek community garden like a lover reluctant to leave, wrapping around the newly turned soil and fresh green shoots.
Finn’s bear sighed,I would like to be a lover reluctant to leave our mate.
