Page 15 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
Found all your brothers’ mates with your matchmaking mix-ups,his bear said with smug satisfaction.
“Is that the time? I should probably head back to Rowan Cottage,” she said, glancing up at the kitchen clock.
Every cell in his body wanted to find an excuse to keep her here. Another cup of coffee, a walk, a story he’d forgotten to tell, a question he needed to ask. But he bit his tongue.
“I can drive you,” he offered immediately, then forced himself to add, “Or I could walk with you partway, if you’d prefer.”
Wren slid off the stool, stretching slightly. “That’s sweet of you, but I think better when I’m alone.”
“At least let me pack you some of these pancakes to take with you,” Finn said, already reaching for a container. “They reheat well.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to that. They were possibly the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”
“High praise,” he said, carefully wrapping the leftovers. “I’ll have to tell my mom her recipe won over a professional musician.”
You mentioned Mom, again,his bear said with a roll of his eyes.
“Your mom sounds wonderful,” Wren said, a wistful note in her voice that made Finn wonder about her own family.
He handed her the container, their fingers brushing. The brief contact sent electricity dancing up his arm, and he saw her eyes widen slightly. She felt it, too.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said, her voice unsteady as she stepped toward the door. “And for...not making a big deal. About who I am.”
“You’re just Wren to me,” Finn said, the words coming out more intense than he’d intended. Because she was so much more than that to him. But not in the way she thought.
Her smile was soft, almost shy. “I like beingjust Wren.”
He walked her to the door, fighting every instinct that demanded he keep her close, safe, his. The morning air was crisp as they stepped onto the porch, the forest alive with birdsong.
Wren is our songbird,his bear said, wanting her to stay.
“The trail gets steep about halfway down,” Finn said, pointing toward a fork in the path. “If you take the left branch, it’s a gentler descent.”
“I’ll remember that,” she promised. “Thanks again, Finn.”
“Anytime,” he said, and meant it more than she could possibly know.
She tucked the container of pancakes under her arm and headed down the steps.
Finn stood on the porch, watching her walk away, the distance between them physically painful. His bear paced restlessly beneath his skin.
Follow her,his bear urged.Just to make sure she’s safe.
No, if she sees us, she might think we’re stalking her,Finn replied, even though every part of him wanted to shadow Wren home.
Only when she disappeared from view did he force himself to go back inside. The cabin felt emptier than it ever had before, as if the very air had lost its vitality when she left.
Midnight sat on the counter, tail swishing as she stared at him with what felt like judgment.
“I know,” he told the cat. “I already miss her, too.”
He gathered the remaining breakfast dishes, replaying every moment of the morning in his mind. The way she’d laughed when Shadow had finally emerged from the bedroom, bleary-eyed and demanding attention; how she’d closed her eyes in appreciation at the first bite of pancake; the soft, unconscious way her foot had tapped out rhythms only she could hear.
Finn pulled out the fundraiser notebook, determined to focus on work, but his thoughts kept circling back to Wren. Her voice. Her smile. The way she’d said “cinnamon” with such simple pleasure.
Cinnamon.
He paused, pen in hand, as an idea began to form.
