Philip parked his truck outside Rose Farm and cut the engine. He could sense his mate inside the house, and all he wanted to do was go to her.
But he didn’t. Instead, he sat there for a moment, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he stared at the potted vine sitting on the passenger seat. It was one of his special hybrids, hardy, resilient, with grapes that would produce a complex, rich wine unlike any other. He’d been working on this particular strain for years.
Maybe I should have bought flowers instead, like a normal person? he asked his bear as doubt crept in. His mate liked flowers, their colors, their perfumes…
She’ll like it, his bear assured him. She’ll see this gift for what it is—personal. To you. As if you are entrusting a part of yourself to her.
Philip screwed up his face. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She might think it’s too much.
Make your mind up, his bear replied lightly. Is it too much, or not enough?
I’m overthinking this, aren’t I? he asked.
Yep, his bear chuckled. But what’s new?
Our relationship with our mate, Philip said, and with a deep breath, he grabbed the pot and climbed out of the truck.
And that was the problem, their relationship was so new that they didn’t know enough about each other to choose the perfect gift.
But we know enough, his bear said. We know we are mates. And that is all that matters.
We know, but Elsbeth does not, he reminded his bear, as if his bear needed reminding. On the drive over here, his bear had been quite vocal about how tonight was the perfect opportunity to tell her their secret.
If the opportunity arises, I’ll tell her, Philip said, reiterating the same reply he’d given countless times.
We make our own opportunities in life, his bear said, sounding like their father.
I don’t think I have ever been this nervous, Philip said as he approached the farmhouse, with the vine tucked under one arm.
When he’d gotten back to the vineyard after the visit to the garden center, he’d rushed through his chores. He’d worked with focused intensity. So focused, in fact, that he had been completely unaware of Kris talking to him. Only when Kris placed a hand on Philip’s shoulder, making him start, did he realize his brother was there.
When Philip explained to Kris that he’d been invited over to Elsbeth’s for dinner, his brother had offered to finish the rest of the chores, which mostly involved tying in some of the new vines and making sure they had a good watering.
He’s a good brother, Philip’s bear said appreciatively.
He is, but then it helps because he knows exactly how this feels, Philip replied, remembering the look of understanding in Kris’s eyes.
Yes, he knows exactly how we feel, his bear said.
You mean excited and terrified all at the same time? Philip asked.
Kris had assured him that once they had told their mate about shifters and the mating bond, it would be easier, but until then...
The farmhouse door swung open before he could knock, and there stood Elsbeth, framed in the doorway. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and she wore a simple blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. The sight of her stole the breath from his lungs.
And when she smiled, his terrors dissolved in an instant.
“I was worried you might not come,” she admitted, as she tilted her head to one side.
“I said I would,” Philip replied. “And I am a man of my word.”
“I believe you are,” she said with a small smile, her gaze switching from his face to the pot in his hand.
“Oh, I brought you this.” He thrust it out to her. “It’s one of the new ones I’ve been working on. The grapes will make amazing wine.”
“Really?” Elsbeth’s eyes widened as she looked at the plant. Then she smiled and gave a short laugh. “I love it.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I do,” she said, and stepped forward and placed a light kiss on his cheek, leaving him feeling flustered. “You are spoiling me. First the wine and now the vine.”
She deserves it, his bear said happily.
“Dinner smells good,” Philip said, as he tried to keep his cool, even though his skin tingled where her lips had touched his cheek.
“It’s nothing special,” she said modestly, stepping back to let him in. “Just a simple pasta with herbs from the garden and tomatoes from the greenhouse.”
Philip followed her inside. The table had been set for two, with a single candle waiting to be lit beside a small vase of wildflowers…bachelor’s buttons, he realized with a smile.
“Where would you like me to put this?” he asked, still holding the potted vine.
“Right here,” Elsbeth said, clearing a spot by the kitchen window where sunlight would stream in during the day. “It’s perfect. I’ve never grown grapes before. I will need all your best advice to help it thrive.”
“They’re not hard,” Philip said, setting the pot down carefully. “Just a little care and attention.” He straightened, and their eyes met as something unspoken passed between them.
“Like most living things.” Elsbeth caressed the leaves with her fingertips.
His bear rumbled contentedly inside him, wishing he could shower her with all the care and attention she deserved.
“I’ll take good care of it,” she promised, turning to face him. “And someday, we’ll taste the wine it makes. Which I will also need help with.”
The casual way she spoke of the future, their future, gave him hope. Hope that when she learned the truth about him, about their bond, that she would understand.
“I’d like that,” he said. “Although my brother Kris is the wine-making expert.”
His bear groaned. Don’t sell yourself short.
But Philip had never been one to boast about his skills, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. He wanted—needed—Elsbeth to get to know the real him. Not some persona he’d put on to impress her.
Elsbeth moved to the stove, stirring the sauce, which smelled divine. “Would you open the wine? Glasses are in that cabinet.”
Philip retrieved two glasses and opened the bottle, letting it breathe. As he poured, he noticed the bracelet on her wrist catching the light, a delicate silver chain with a small rose charm.
“That’s beautiful,” he said, nodding toward it.
“It was my mother’s,” Elsbeth replied, her expression softening. “I thought... I thought she should be here tonight, in a way.”
For this, his bear said solemnly. The beginning of our life together.
“I wish I could have met her,” Philip said truthfully.
“She would have liked you,” Elsbeth said, turning back to the pasta. “She always said you could tell a person’s character by how they treated growing things.”
Philip chuckled. “Your mother and mine would have gotten along well.”
“I hope I get to meet your mother soon,” Elsbeth said, then flushed slightly. “I mean, to thank her for the wine. And I would love to see your vineyard.”
“Oh, she cannot wait to meet you,” Philip said, a little too enthusiastically.
“Really?” Elsbeth looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes as she reached for the wooden spoon to give the sauce a final stir.
Philip’s bear groaned. Now you’ve done it.
He cleared his throat, realizing his slip. “Well, you know, the whole mix-up with Finn’s texts...”
“Oh, of course,” Elsbeth said, sounding a little disappointed.
This is a minefield, Philip said to his bear.
Well, you’d better tread carefully then, his bear replied.
Philip passed Elsbeth her glass with care, resisting the urge to let his fingers linger against hers.
She stared into the glass, swirling it slowly. “I should probably admit something,” she said, glancing up at him through her lashes. “I don’t really know anything about wine.”
Philip’s mouth curved. “Good thing I do.”
His bear perked up immediately. Teach her. Teach her everything. Start with wine. End with forever.
“Want a crash course?” he asked, swirling his own glass gently.
She nodded, and he leaned forward slightly, keeping his tone light even as his pulse picked up.
“First step. Hold the glass by the stem. Keeps your hand from warming the wine.”
She adjusted her grip, imitating his. “Like this?”
Philip nodded in approval, struggling to tear his eyes away from the way her fingers curled around the glass stem. An irresistible desire surged through him, a longing to feel the heat of her touch on his skin.
He cleared his throat. “Next, give it a swirl,” he said, demonstrating. “Not too fast. Just enough to let it breathe.”
She did, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Now,” Philip said, “stick your nose in the glass. Seriously. Don’t be shy.”
Elsbeth laughed, but she did it, breathing in slowly. “Smells...like berries. And something warming?” she asked.
“Black cherry, maybe. Bit of oak.” He paused, watching her face as she inhaled again, slower this time. “That warmth is from where it’s aged in the barrel. It helps add depth.”
She lowered the glass and looked at him with a small, proud smile. “Not bad for a beginner?”
“Not bad at all,” he said, and suddenly his voice felt too thick, the air too charged.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other.
Not as friends. Not even as new acquaintances.
But as two people very much aware that the space between them was shrinking, that something real and full of promise had taken root and was about to come into full bloom.
Now, his bear whispered. Kiss her.
No, Philip told him firmly, even as the longing threatened to choke him. Not yet.
Instead, he raised his glass. “To new beginnings,” he murmured.
She smiled. “To dirt and sweat and sore muscles.”
“And maybe,” he added, “a little wine at the end of it.”
“And good company.”
“And good company.” He touched his glass to hers and then took a sip.
She lifted the glass to her lips and took a small sip, closing her eyes as the flavors unfolded across her tongue. Philip watched, entranced, as a smile slowly spread across her face.
“Oh,” she breathed, opening her eyes. “That’s...that’s wonderful.”
“You sound surprised,” he said.
“I am. I always thought wine was just...wine.” She took another sip, more confidently this time. “But this tastes like…” she paused, searching for words, “I don’t know how to put it into words.”
“You don’t have to,” Philip told her. “Not everything has to be distilled down to words. Sometimes, feeling is enough.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said, holding his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “Speaking of feelings, this pasta is going to be overcooked if I don’t serve it now.”
She set her glass down and turned to the stove, lifting the pot of pasta to drain it in the colander she’d prepared in the sink. Steam billowed up, momentarily veiling her face, and Philip took the opportunity to steady himself.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked, finding his voice.
“You could light the candle,” she suggested over her shoulder.
Philip’s bear practically purred with satisfaction. Candlelight dinner with our mate. Perfect.
He struck a match and touched it to the wick, watching as the flame caught and grew, casting a warm glow over the simple table setting. The wildflowers—those bachelor’s buttons—seemed to shimmer in the flickering light.
“There,” Elsbeth said, bringing two plates to the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” Philip said as he sat down at the table across from her and picked up his fork. Despite Elsbeth’s fears that the pasta might be overcooked, it was perfectly al dente, and the sauce was beautifully seasoned. “This is delicious.”
You could say love at first bite, his bear said with some amusement.
“Thank you.” She smiled, twirling pasta around her fork. “I’ve always found cooking relaxing. My mom taught me that good food doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“My mom says the same thing,” Philip replied. “Although with five hungry sons, she learned to cook in large quantities.”
“I can only imagine,” Elsbeth said.
He chuckled, remembering the chaos of dinnertime at the Thornberg house. “It was always chaotic growing up. The noise, the fighting over the last dinner roll, everyone talking over each other.” He shook his head, smiling at the memories. “I used to hide in my room sometimes, dreaming about what it would be like to be an only child.”
Really?” she asked.
“Yeah.” His expression grew serious, his eyes meeting hers across the candlelight. “But honestly? I couldn’t imagine my life being any other way. My brothers drive me crazy sometimes, but they’re also my best friends. They’ve always been there, through everything.”
“I often wonder what that would be like,” Elsbeth said softly, her fork pausing above her plate. “Having siblings. A big family around the table. Someone to share everything with.”
Philip could hear the loneliness in her voice, see it in the slight droop of her shoulders. His heart ached for her.
Wait until she knows she’s part of our big, chaotic family now, his bear said with satisfaction.
Philip chuckled at his bear, only to quickly realize that he had laughed out loud. It wasn’t quite the right moment, given how serious their conversation had been.
“What’s so funny?” Elsbeth asked, tilting her head at him.
“Oh, nothing.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I was just thinking that being part of the Thornberg clan might scare you more than...” He trailed off, realizing what he’d almost said.
More than learning you are a bear shifter and she is our mate, his bear finished.
“More than what?” she prompted.
“More than anything else you might encounter in Bear Creek,” he finished lamely.
“Sounds nice, actually,” Elsbeth said quietly, looking down at her plate. “Having people who care about you.”
Philip studied her face, noticing how the light seemed to have dimmed in her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, pushing her pasta around her plate.
“You don’t need to be fine,” Philip said gently. “Not here. Not with me.”
Something in his voice must have reached her, because she set down her fork and took a deep breath. When she looked up, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears.
“My mom was my whole world,” she whispered. “We were a team, just the two of us against everything. And then she got sick, and I watched her slip away a little more each day.” A tear slid down her cheek. “The worst part was knowing that when she was gone, I’d be alone. Really alone.”
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Sometimes I wonder if it would have hit me so hard if I’d had a sibling. Someone who understood exactly what I was losing, someone to share the grief with.”
Philip reached across the table and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold, and he wrapped both his hands around hers, warming them.
“She’ll always be with you,” he said softly. “Not just in your memories, but in the way she shaped who you are.” He glanced at her bracelet. “And in the things she left behind.”
Elsbeth lifted her other hand, touching the small rose charm on her bracelet.
“Sometimes I think I can feel her presence,” she admitted. “But it’s just my imagination.”
He wished he could fix things for her, take away her pain, and replace it with joy. But some wounds needed time to heal, and all he could do was be there while they did.
There is nothing you can fix, his bear said gently. All you can do is be there for her. To help her dreams grow.
Philip reached for his wine glass, lifting it in the soft glow of the candle. “To family,” he said solemnly. “May they always be in our hearts.”
“To family,” Elsbeth echoed with a shuddering breath, raising her glass to meet his. “So,” she said, visibly pulling herself together, “tell me more about the vineyard. I’d love to hear about how it all works.”
Philip recognized what she was doing. Steering the conversation toward safer ground, he respected her need to shift away from the raw emotion of the moment. He launched into a description of Thornberg Vineyard, painting a picture of the sprawling property with its neat rows of vines climbing gently sloping hills and the hacienda-style house that sat at the center of it all.
As he spoke about the rhythms of the vineyard, the seasonal cycles that governed their work, the pain in her eyes gradually receded, and she picked up her fork and began to eat.
Tonight is not the time, is it? his bear asked.
To tell her about us? Philip replied. No.
Instead, tonight was a night of sharing a part of themselves. The raw, vulnerable parts—and the parts that were precious for so many reasons.
The rest could wait.