Page 18 of The Bear’s Matchmaking Mix-up Mate (Bear Creek Forever:Thornberg Vineyard #6)

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 swarmed like 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.

“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Abernathy asked, scrutinizing Wren closely. Those sharp eyes missed nothing; they never had, not since Wren was a little girl with skinned knees and secrets.

“I was passing and thought I’d pop in and say hello,” she lied. But she suspected her godmother didn’t buy that. The raised eyebrow said as much.

“Tea?” Mrs. Abernathy asked, setting down her hedge clippers.

Wren nodded, “Yes, please.”

“I have some pastries from the farmers’ market.” They went inside the house, and the familiar scent of lemon furniture polish gave Wren a sense of comfort and security.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Abernathy bustled about making tea. Wren grabbed the plates for the pastries, soothed by the simple task.

“Help yourself,” her godmother said, pushing the plate of pastries toward Wren.

“They look delicious,” Wren said, taking a bite of an apricot Danish and setting it on her plate. The flaky pastry dissolved on her tongue, sweet and buttery, but she barely tasted it. Her stomach churned with anxiety, making it hard to swallow.

But if she noticed, her godmother didn’t mention it.

Instead, as she sat down and drank tea, Mrs. Abernathy made small talk.

As they ate the pastries, she spoke about her hopes for her garden, about the new family that had moved in down the street, and about the upcoming summer festival.

Wren responded with appropriate noises, but her mind kept circling back to the post, to Finn, to the sickening sense of betrayal that wouldn’t quite fade.

But eventually, Mrs. Abernathy set down her teacup with a decisive clink. “So, are you going to tell me the real reason you are here?”

Wren blushed and looked down at her half-eaten pastry. The flaky crust had scattered across her plate, a mess she couldn’t quite contain, much like her emotions.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, tracing a finger through the crumbs.

“My dear, I’ve known you since before you could tie your shoelaces. You’ve never ‘just happened to be passing by’ in your entire life.” Mrs. Abernathy’s voice was dry but gentle. “Now, what’s troubling you?”

Wren took a deep breath, steeling herself. “It’s Finn.”

Mrs. Abernathy’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted, becoming more alert. “What about him?”

“I saw a social media post from the garden center. About a special guest star at the fundraiser for the communal garden project.” The words tumbled out faster now, gaining momentum.

“And after everything that’s happened between us, after he promised to keep my secret, I can’t believe he’s planning to expose me, to use me for publicity just like. ..” She trailed off, unable to finish.

“Just like Vince did,” her godmother finished for her, her voice softening.

Wren nodded, blinking rapidly as tears threatened again. “I know I might be overreacting. I know it might not even be about me. But I’m scared that Finn is no different. And that he doesn’t understand how important my privacy is to me.”

Mrs. Abernathy was quiet for a long moment, studying Wren’s face. The silence stretched until Wren had to fight the urge to fill it with more words, more explanations.

“And what exactly has happened between you and Finn Thornberg?” Mrs. Abernathy finally asked, one eyebrow arching knowingly.

Heat climbed Wren’s neck, settling in her cheeks. “We’re...close.” She swallowed hard, remembering the warmth of his body against hers, the tenderness in his eyes when he’d told her they were mates. “Very close.”

“I see.” Mrs. Abernathy’s lips twitched. “And did he tell you about his...unique heritage?”

Wren’s head snapped up. “You know? About the...” She glanced around, lowering her voice to a whisper. “About the bear ?”

“Of course I know. All the Thornberg boys are bear shifters, just like generations of Thornbergs before them. You think I wouldn’t notice when half my class disappeared during full moons?” Mrs. Abernathy snorted. “The Thornbergs have been around since before Bear Creek had its name.”

Wren sat back, stunned. Of course, her godmother knew. Mrs. Abernathy seemed to know everything about everyone in Bear Creek. And everyone in it.

“So he told you that you’re his mate?” Mrs. Abernathy asked, reaching for the teapot to refill their cups.

Wren nodded, a flutter of something—joy, fear, wonder—stirring in her chest at the word. “Yes.”

“And do you believe him?”

“I...” Wren hesitated, caught off guard by the directness of the question.

Did she believe him? The memory of his eyes, so earnest and vulnerable as he’d shifted before her, surfaced in her mind.

The raw honesty in his voice when he’d said, “You’re the only one for me.

” The way her own heart had recognized the truth of it, even before her mind could catch up.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I believe him.”

Mrs. Abernathy nodded, satisfied. “Then why are you sitting in my kitchen instead of talking to him about this post?”

The question hit Wren like a slap. Why hadn’t she just called him? Asked him directly? Because deep down, she was afraid of the answer. Afraid that even Finn—steady, honest Finn—might have an agenda she couldn’t see. That he might blindside her and destroy her trust in him.

“I guess I’m afraid of being wrong about him,” Wren admitted quietly. “Of being played for a fool. Again.”

Mrs. Abernathy reached across the table and covered Wren’s hand with her own. Her skin was cool and paper-thin, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

“Listen to me, Wren Hayes. Finn Thornberg is many things…stubborn, occasionally foolhardy, and far too much of a dreamer for his own good…but he is not a liar. And he is not Vince.”

The words brought such relief to Wren that she could cry. But they would be tears of joy, not sadness.

“If he told you that you’re his mate, then that’s exactly what you are. And a Thornberg would cut off his own paw before he’d betray his mate.” Mrs. Abernathy squeezed Wren’s hand once before releasing it. “Talk to him. Ask him about the post. I suspect there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

Wren nodded slowly, feeling foolish and relieved all at once. “You’re right. I should talk to him.”

“Of course I’m right,” Mrs. Abernathy said crisply, but her eyes twinkled. “I always am.”

Wren smiled, the knot in her stomach loosening. “Thank you.”

“For what? Telling you what you already knew?” Mrs. Abernathy stood, gathering their empty plates. “Now, you should run off and find that bear of yours.”

Wren laughed; the sound surprised her with its lightness. “I’ll help with the dishes. He can wait a little longer.”

Mrs. Abernathy placed a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Wren, he is a bear shifter, and you are his mate. He’s been waiting for you his whole life.”

“Are you saying I should go to him now?” Wren asked cautiously.

“What does your heart tell you?” Mrs. Abernathy asked.

“Thanks for the tea and talk.” She kissed her godmother on the cheek and ran for the door. Because her heart was telling her to find Finn.

More than that, it was telling her never to doubt him again because they were true mates. Destined by fate to be together.

And who was she to argue with fate?