Page 45 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
The road to Rowan Cottage seemed longer than ever before, each curve and bend an obstacle between him and Wren. But as he drew closer, his heart sank.
I can’t sense her,Finn said.
She might be on a walk,his bear suggested, but the uncertainty in his tone betrayed his doubt.
Finn pulled up in front of the cottage and cut the engine, staring at the empty space where her car should have been. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the soft ticking of his cooling engine.
If her car was gone, she might have driven somewhere nearby. The grocery store, perhaps. Or to visit Mrs. Abernathy. But a deeper fear gnawed at him—what if she’d left Bear Creek entirely?
We would know if she left for good,his bear insisted, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.We would feel it.
Finn circled the cottage, peering through windows, searching for any sign that she planned to return. Through the kitchen window, he spotted her coffee mug on the counter, her notebook open beside it. Relief threaded his veins; she wouldn’t leave those behind. Not willingly.
But where was she?
He pulled out his phone, checking again for a response to his text. The screen remained stubbornly empty. He tapped out another message:Where are you? I’m worried. Please call me.
His thumb hovered over the send button. Would that just push her farther away? Would she see desperation in his words? He sent it anyway, unable to bear the silence.
Finn put his head in his hands. The morning that had started so perfectly now felt like it was crumbling around him. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly?
Chapter Eighteen – Wren
The music had stopped flowing, and the words wouldn’t come. And no amount of tapping her pencil on her notepad or strumming her guitar helped. The thought that after all that had happened between her and Finn, he would expose her like that drummed in Wren’s head, pushing out all other thoughts, and damming her creativity.
She stared at the social media post again; the words blurring as tears threatened to spill. “Special guest star appearance.” The phrase mocked her from her phone screen, a digital betrayal that stung worse than any tabloid headline.
Had she been wrong about Finn? Had she misread everything? The connection, the tenderness, the way he’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. Had it all been a calculated move to secure a famous performer for some small-town fundraiser?
Wren buried her face in her hands, feeling like a fool.
But dwelling on it was doing her no good. She needed to get out of there. Get some fresh air.
And maybe some perspective,a small voice in her head said.
Was she overreacting? The social media post might have nothing to do with her. Had she jumped to a wrong conclusion because of her past experience with Vince?
Vince’s face flashed in her memory. The practiced sincerity in his eyes as he’d promised never to use her songs, her story, her pain for publicity. Two weeks later, he’d given an exclusive interview about their “tortured relationship” to boost album sales.
If her perspective was skewed, maybe what she needed was some good, solid advice, courtesy of her godmother, who had never been afraid to tell Wren how it was. It was one of the things she loved about her.
Wren finished the cup of coffee she’d been drinking in the hope that the caffeine might kick-start her creativity, grabbed her phone, and headed out of the cottage, pausing to breathe in the mountain air and taking in the view. The tension in her body eased; there was something about being surrounded by nature that calmed her.
The mountains stood sentinel in the distance, unchanged by human drama, unbothered by broken trust. Would they still be here, solid and enduring, long after her heart had mended from whatever this was?
She walked to her car, got in, and threw her phone on the passenger seat. Starting the engine, she drove away from Rowan Cottage, the window rolled down. The wind whipped through her hair, carrying away the lingering scent of Finn that still clung to her skin.
As much as she wanted to talk this over with her godmother, she also felt a little foolish. The more she thought about it, the more she believed she might be overreacting. After all, the post hadn’t mentioned her by name. There could be dozens of explanations that had nothing to do with her.
Was she acting like a scared little girl? The thought stung, but it held enough truth to make her wince. She’d spent so long protecting herself that maybe she’d forgotten how to trust, even when trust was warranted.
She reached her godmother’s house, parked on the street, and sat for a moment, still not sure if this was a good idea. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel as doubts swarmedlike bees. What if Mrs. Abernathy thought she was being ridiculous? What if she sided with Finn?
But then her godmother appeared, with a pair of hedge clippers in her hand. She was dressed in gardening clothes, her silver hair tucked under a wide-brimmed hat. But then she saw Wren and stalled, leaning forward, peering closer.
“Wren?” she called out and waved.
“Morning,” Wren said and got out of the car, smoothing her rumpled shirt as she walked up the path.
