Page 1 of The Bear’s Matchmaking Mix-up Mate (Bear Creek Forever:Thornberg Vineyard #6)

Alfie has the subtlety of a grizzly in a China shop, Finn muttered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he wound his way through the mountain roads.

Pines blurred past as sunlight flickered across the dashboard, but his thoughts kept circling back to his brother’s latest attempt to accidentally play matchmaker again.

Yeah, another day, another mis-sent text courtesy of our well-meaning brothers, his bear grumbled, then quickly shifted to amusement. Next time, dodge left.

Thanks for the advice. Finn shook his head, glancing down at the yellow paint stain that stubbornly decorated the shoulder of his jacket.

The latest souvenir of his brothers’ interference.

Alfie had accidentally sent a DM to Finn—meant for Finlay, his cousin’s teenage stepson—which had landed him smack in the middle of the local paintball club’s weekend tryouts.

He’d barely stepped out of his truck before he was pelted by a barrage of neon paintballs.

No amount of scrubbing had removed the stain, and Finn was about to meet a new client looking every bit like the loser of a brawl with a rainbow.

If only Alfie’s matchmaking blunder had actually led him to his mate instead of a paintball ambush, maybe he’d be more forgiving. The truck jolted over a pothole, and his coffee sloshed dangerously, threatening to add another stain to his jacket.

He sighed. His brothers’ hearts were in the right place—they’d all found happiness with their mates, and Finn knew they only wanted the same for him.

But lately, every time his phone chimed, he braced for another setup: a Jazzercise class, a birdwatching walk, a moonlit poetry reading… There seemed to be no end to it.

Being the last unmated Thornberg was starting to feel less like fate and more like a cosmic joke he didn’t want to hear the punchline to.

I’d quite like a moonlit poetry reading, his bear said, surprising him.

Better than the paintball firing squad, Finn had to agree.

Or maybe we just need to convince them there’s only one master of matchmaking mix-ups. You.

Finn snorted. “That’ll be the day,” he muttered aloud, but the truth was, the endless matchmaking mix-ups were wearing thin. He was ready for something real, something fate, not family, would send. He just wanted to meet his mate, no drama, no accidents.

He stared out at the incredible view before him, with the creek winding its way through the valley below like a silver thread.

I just wish they’d... Finn lost his train of thought as something rippled through him, a sensation like static electricity dancing across his skin. The hair on his arms stood up.

His bear suddenly surged forward in his consciousness, alert and eager, crowding his thoughts with a single certainty: She’s close.

Finn’s heart stuttered in his chest. The certainty he felt was undeniable, a pull that tugged at something deep within his soul. For a moment, he forgot why he was here as the nearness of his mate robbed him of his senses.

Something was waiting for him at the end of this winding mountain road. Something, someone, who would change his life forever.

As if to confirm this, the strange tingle intensified, prickling down his spine like ice water.

His bear prowled restlessly beneath his skin. She’s close. So close.

Finn’s grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened as he fought the urge to press his foot down on the gas. The need to see her, to meet her, was so intense it threatened to overwhelm him.

Was this how his brothers had felt when they sensed their mates for the first time, thanks to his matchmaking mix-ups? It was primal and instinctive, a certainty that hummed in his blood.

Could it really be? After all the failed set-ups, all the well-intentioned but misguided attempts by his family, could fate have simply led him here?

No mix-up required, his bear chuckled.

The truck rounded the final bend, and a small cottage came into view. It nestled against the hillside as if it had grown there, weathered stone and dark timber blending with the landscape. Finn pulled up beside a neatly stacked woodpile and cut the engine.

Grabbing his leather portfolio from the passenger seat, Finn stepped out of the truck.

The mountain air felt different, charged somehow.

He straightened his jacket, grimacing at the yellow paint stain, and walked up the stone path.

He’d barely taken three steps toward the cottage when the front door swung open.

A woman stood in the doorway, bristling with defensiveness in an oversized sweater that covered her curves.

Her eyes were storm-dark with suspicion, and her auburn hair peeked out from beneath a beanie.

The moment their eyes met, Finn felt the world shift beneath his feet.

Our mate, his bear said.

“You’ve got the wrong place,” she said, her voice cold and clipped.

Finn blinked, momentarily stunned by the intense hostility radiating from the woman before him.

Say something, his bear said. Tell her we are exactly where we are meant to be.

“I’m Finn Thornberg,” he managed, his voice steadier than he expected. “I’m here for the landscaping consultation?”

The woman’s posture tightened further. She angled her body to block more of the doorway, her knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the door.

“You’ve made a mistake,” she said, already beginning to close the door.

“But the address...” Finn fumbled with his portfolio, pulling out the work order. “Rose Cottage, Pine Ridge Road. That’s here, right?”

“No,” she shook her head. “This is Rowan Cottage.”

“Rowan…” Finn sucked in a breath. He’d made his own matchmaking mix-up, and it had led him right to the door of his mate.

Who is going to slam said door in your face if you don’t act fast, his bear said.

Finn opened his mouth to explain, but then he sensed it: someone else approaching along the mountain road. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” his mate said, looking past him with growing anxiety.

“It’s okay.” He took a protective step toward her.

“I don’t hear anything or see anyone,” she said, suspicion growing in her voice.

“It’s…” He pushed out his shifter senses. “Mrs. Abernathy…”

What’s she doing here? his bear asked with a sinking feeling that the situation was about to get much worse.

Yeah, Mrs. Abernathy. Of all people. The name alone conjured memories of detention slips and disappointed frowns.

Mrs. Abernathy had taught history at Bear Creek High for thirty years, and while she’d adored most of his siblings, Finn had never quite measured up in her classroom.

She’d had a particular talent for calling on him precisely when his mind wandered to the forest beyond the classroom windows.

“She’s my godmother,” his mate said, her voice still guarded but marginally softer.

Her godmother, Finn’s bear repeated with a gulp.

Mrs. Abernathy’s car appeared around the bend, and Finn could almost feel her eyes on him as she parked her car next to Finn’s truck.

He held his breath as his old teacher cracked open the door and climbed out, a canvas tote swinging from her elbow.

Her hair might have a few more silver streaks, but her posture was still as straight as a ruler.

Her sharp eyes flickered between them, suspicion evident in the slight raise of her eyebrows.

“Finn Thornberg,” she said, her tone measured as she approached. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Mrs. Abernathy,” he nodded, suddenly feeling fourteen again, caught passing notes in class.

She studied him for a long moment, then her gaze shifted to her goddaughter, and something in her expression changed. Understanding dawned as if she could see the invisible thread that connected them, pulling taut with each passing second.

“Wren,” Mrs. Abernathy said, her voice gentling as she approached the door. “I see you’ve met Finn. He’s one of the Thornberg boys.”

Wren. His bear savored the name.

It tastes as sweet as honey, Finn swooned.

“Finn is one of my former students,” Mrs. Abernathy went on as she walked toward Rowan Cottage. “Although history was not one of his strongest subjects.”

Finn felt heat creep up his neck. “No, ma’am. I was more interested in what grew outside the classroom than what happened centuries ago.”

A ghost of a smile touched Mrs. Abernathy’s lips. “And now you shape the earth for a living. I guess you always knew where your heart lay.”

It lies right here, now, his bear said dreamily. At our mate’s feet.

“He says he’s come to the wrong address,” Wren said, still clutching the door like a shield.

Mrs. Abernathy chuckled. “Well, he was never very good at directions. Or dates. Or handing in homework on time…”

Oh boy, his bear cringed. What will our mate think of us?

“I thought he might be a reporter,” Wren said.

“No. I can vouch for him.” Mrs. Abernathy half-turned to look at Finn over her shoulder. “He’s as honest as they come.”

Wren’s shoulders lowered slightly, the fierce guardedness in her posture easing. After a moment’s hesitation, she let the door swing open just a little wider.

Finn offered a grateful smile, sensing the shift in tension. “Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy.”

“Well,” Mrs. Abernathy said, setting her tote bag down by the door, “since you’re already here, Finn, why don’t I introduce you properly?

” She turned to Wren with a gentle smile.

“This is Finn Thornberg. His family owns the vineyard on the other side of the valley, and despite his abysmal performance in my history class, he’s grown into one of Bear Creek’s most talented landscape architects. ”

Finn felt his cheeks warm at the unexpected praise. “Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy.”

“And Finn, this is my goddaughter, Wren,” she continued, carefully omitting any last name. “She’s staying with me for a while, enjoying some peace and quiet.”

The emphasis she placed on those last words wasn’t lost on Finn. Wren’s earlier fear of reporters suddenly made more sense. She was hiding from something—or someone.

“It’s very good to meet you, Wren,” he said, keeping his voice soft, non-threatening.

Wren nodded, a small, guarded movement. “Sorry about earlier.”

“No need to apologize,” Finn said quickly. “I did show up unannounced.”

“Yes, you did.” Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes gleamed with a sudden spark that Finn remembered all too well from his school days. It was the look she got right before assigning a particularly challenging project.

“You know, Finn,” Mrs. Abernathy said, her tone deceptively casual as she set her tote just inside the door, “if you have spare time, perhaps you could take a look at the garden here at Rowan Cottage? It’s been rather neglected these past few seasons.”

Ah, there it is, his bear chuckled. The price of admission.

“I’d be happy to,” Finn replied, trying to sound casual but shooting her a wary look.

His history teacher had a knack for making small requests snowball into epic projects.

The last time he’d offered to ‘help out a little’ at school, he’d ended up building a whole miniature colonial settlement for the spring fair.

Still, if saying yes meant being near his mate—even just for a while—he’d promise her the moon and stars.

Mrs. Abernathy’s lips twitched with satisfaction. “Splendid. And perhaps…” she said, glancing pointedly at Wren, “you could also see what might be done with my garden? I live across the street from June’s Aunt Barb, you know.”

“I do,” Finn replied.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “Nothing extravagant. Just a touch to make it feel more welcoming.”

Promise her anything, his bear urged. Free garden makeovers for life, if she wants them.

Finn hesitated, just for a heartbeat. “I think we could work something out,” he said, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.

Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes crinkled in amusement, and as she turned to lead the way inside, she leaned close to Finn and murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “Free of charge, of course. Consider it…teacher’s privilege.” She winked.

Finn almost laughed. Now he had a co-conspirator, whether or not he’d asked for one.

Mrs. Abernathy bustled ahead, announcing, “I’ve brought scones from the local bakery and homemade strawberry jam.”

Finn’s bear perked up, a delighted rumble in his chest. Food and mate in one place? Best. Day. Ever.

They stepped into the cottage’s inviting kitchen. As Mrs. Abernathy unpacked her tote, she turned serious, voice dropping low. “There’s just one more thing, Finn.” She leaned forward, her eyes intent. “No one knows Wren is here. And we need it to stay that way.”

Finn blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in her voice. “Okay.”

Mrs. Abernathy met his gaze; all mischief vanished. “I’m serious. You can’t tell anyone she’s here. Not your family, not your friends. No one, Finn.”

His bear bristled at the idea of keeping a secret this big from their family, but Finn nodded slowly. “I promise.”

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.”