Page 4 of The Bear’s Matchmaking Mix-up Mate (Bear Creek Forever:Thornberg Vineyard #6)

Wren had always loved this time of day, before the world fully awoke.

It always seemed quieter, peaceful, as if her fears and worries were far away.

Being out here on the mountain made everything feel even more magical.

The crisp air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath, savoring the earthy scent of pine and morning dew.

Wisps of fog still clung to the ground, dancing between the trees like playful spirits.

Wren glanced at Finn walking beside her, his profile outlined against the brightening sky, and an ache of longing bloomed in her chest. She couldn’t imagine sharing this moment with anyone else.

“I’ve always loved mornings like this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Before everyone else is up. It feels like...borrowed time.”

Finn smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Like you’ve discovered a secret the rest of the world is still sleeping through?”

“Exactly.” Their footsteps fell into a synchronized rhythm on the packed dirt trail. “When I was touring, I’d get up early just to have a moment to myself. Sometimes it was the only quiet I’d get all day.”

The memory didn’t sting as much as she expected. Maybe it was the mountain air. Maybe it was the company.

She glanced at Finn again. Yeah. It might well be the company. There was something about this place, this man, that felt almost…unreal.

Or too real.

“That’s your cabin?” Wren asked as the trail opened to a small clearing, revealing a stunning log cabin that seemed to grow naturally from the mountainside.

Sunlight caught on the windows, making them gleam like amber against the weathered wood.

The surrounding landscape flowed seamlessly from wild forest to cultivated beauty—wildflowers mingling with thoughtfully placed stones, a small brook winding its way through native grasses.

Finn stopped walking, his gaze fixed on the cabin below. Pride radiated from him as his shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly.

“Yes, this is me. Home sweet home,” he murmured.

“It’s stunning,” she whispered, meaning it completely. The cabin looked like something from a dream, the kind of place she’d imagined when writing songs about belonging.

When she glanced at Finn, she found him already looking at her. Their eyes locked, and for a disorienting moment, Wren could have sworn she heard his voice in her head, clear as day, so are you .

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she ducked her head, feeling foolish. She was imagining things. The mountain air, the lack of sleep, the unexpected intimacy of this moment, it was all making her dizzy.

Finn cleared his throat. “Come on, I’m starving.” He nodded toward the cabin, breaking the strange tension between them.

They made their way down the winding path, Wren’s heart still fluttering oddly in her chest. The feeling only intensified as they approached the cabin and she took in the wide, wrap-around porch with its comfortable-looking chairs angled to catch the sunrise.

An unbidden image flashed through her mind of herself and Finn sitting there with mugs of coffee steaming in their hands, shoulders touching, as the sun rose over the mountains. The vision felt so real, so possible, that it sent a jolt through her.

“I just need to grab something from my truck,” Finn said and jogged away to his vehicle.

“Sure,” Wren said, grateful for a moment alone to compose herself. Meeting Finn had stirred up emotions she’d long buried. Hopes she had abandoned.

“Got it!” Finn called, returning with a worn notebook tucked under his arm.

Something about his easy smile, the cabin behind him, and the surreal beauty of it all made Wren’s throat tighten unexpectedly. She blinked rapidly and looked away.

What was he doing to her?

“I met my brother Alfie earlier this morning to talk over plans for the fundraiser we’re organizing,” he explained as they climbed the porch steps.

“Sounds like a good cause,” she said absently as he opened the cabin door.

“It is,” he said as he stepped inside. “Make yourself comfortable.”

That wouldn’t be too hard. The interior of the cabin felt welcoming, with the sunlight casting everything in a golden glow.

The living area was open and inviting, with the large windows giving the space a light and airy feel.

The furniture was rustic and tasteful, blending perfectly with the exposed beams overhead, while a stone fireplace dominated one wall. Perfect for those long winter nights.

“I’ll get breakfast started,” Finn said, setting his notebook on the kitchen table.

Wren hovered near the door, suddenly unsure. This wasn’t something she did, following men she barely knew into their homes. But something about Finn made her feel safe.

A soft meow drew her attention to a sleek black cat watching her from the back of the sofa.

“That’s Midnight,” Finn said, pulling ingredients from his refrigerator. “She’s the boss around here. The orange one hiding under the coffee table is Rusty, and the gray one…” he paused, looking around, “…who’s probably still asleep in the bedroom is Shadow.”

“I didn’t take you for a cat person,” Wren said, carefully extending her hand toward Midnight, who sniffed her fingers regally before allowing a gentle stroke.

As Midnight deigned to allow her to tickle her chin, the tension in Wren’s shoulders eased another notch. She’d always trusted animals’ judgment more than people’s.

“I wasn’t,” Finn laughed, the sound as warm and inviting as the cabin. “My brother Stanley runs the pet store in town. He had these three that needed a home together after their owner passed, and somehow convinced me I needed cats.” He cracked eggs into a bowl. “Turns out he was right.”

“They must be good company when you live all the way out here on your own,” Wren said and then winced. That sounded like a roundabout way of asking if he was single.

“Ah, I like the solitude,” he said as he busied himself making coffee. “And anyway, when you have five brothers and countless cousins, you rarely have the time to be lonely.”

Wren wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table, watching as he moved with practiced ease around the kitchen. “Your family is close-knit?”

“We are.” Finn’s face softened. “It gets chaotic sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He chuckled as he went back to preparing breakfast. “There’s always someone to help you move a sofa or eat all your leftovers.”

For a heartbeat, Wren let herself imagine what that would feel like, having a family close enough to rely on, but not suffocating. It was something she’d never really had.

As he mixed pancake batter, Finn glanced up at her. “I owe you an apology, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not having recognized you yesterday.” A flush crept up his neck. “I came home last night and looked you up. Listened to your music.”

Wren tensed, waiting for the inevitable flattery, the sudden change in how he saw her.

“It’s beautiful,” he said simply. “Like stories set to music. I especially loved the one about the lighthouse keeper’s daughter.”

A surge of happiness flowed through her. He’d actually listened to her songs, not just the hits, but the deeper ones she’d poured her heart into.

“That one never charted,” she admitted. “It’s not a radio song.”

“Their loss.” Finn shrugged, pouring batter onto the hot griddle. “It was my favorite.”

He said it with a matter-of-fact sincerity that made her want to cry and laugh at the same time.

Rusty emerged from under the coffee table and approached cautiously, his orange tail twitching with curiosity.

“He wants to be friends,” Finn said, “but he’ll pretend he doesn’t care if you ignore him.”

Wren laughed, extending her hand. “I know the type.”

To her surprise, Rusty butted his head against her palm, then quickly retreated as if embarrassed by his own affection.

For the first time in what felt like months, Wren realized she felt normal. Like she’d made contact with her true self once more.

As Finn cooked, he filled the silence with stories.

Tales of growing up in Bear Creek, about his brothers’ antics, about the vineyard his family had run for generations.

She let the stories flow over her, letting her brain conjure up images of children running wild over the mountains, of harvesting the grapes from the vines, of sharing a bottle of wine with the one you love.

She wanted to ask a thousand questions about his life, and none at all.

“Here we go,” Finn said, setting a plate of golden pancakes before her, topped with fresh berries and maple syrup. “Thornberg family recipe.”

“It looks amazing,” she said, suddenly aware of how hungry she was.

The first bite melted in her mouth, sweet and buttery. “Oh my goodness,” she moaned. “These are incredible.”

Finn’s smile was warm with pleasure as he poured her more coffee. “Glad you approve.”

As they ate, Wren’s gaze drifted to the notebook on the side table. “What’s the fundraiser for?” she asked, surprising herself with her interest.

Finn’s eyes lit up. “It’s for the community garden project. My brother Alfie runs the garden center in town, and we’re expanding the program to include education for kids, cooking classes, that sort of thing.”

He grabbed the notebook and flipped it open, showing her sketches of garden layouts and event plans. “We’re organizing a benefit concert to raise money for the expansion.”

Wren stiffened, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. Here it came—the ask. The moment when she’d become useful to him, when her name and talent would eclipse whatever genuine connection they might have been building.

But Finn just continued talking about the project, his enthusiasm infectious as he described the impact it would have on the community. Then he set the notebook aside and refilled her coffee cup before sitting down across from her once more.

“Sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “I get carried away talking about this stuff.”

“No, it’s...” Wren searched for the right word. “Nice. The way you care about it.”

Finn’s cheeks colored slightly. “My family’s been in Bear Creek forever. This place, these people, they matter to me.”

The way he spoke about his family, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he described his mother’s legendary Sunday dinners and his father’s quiet wisdom, made something ache inside Wren’s chest. It had been so long since she’d felt part of something real, something that couldn’t be bought or sold or exploited.

She wanted to know his family stories, to sit around their table, to belong. She ached for it in her bones.

“The vineyard sounds beautiful. I’d love to see it sometime.” The words slipped out before she could overthink, and she felt her heart race at her own impulsiveness.

Finn’s face brightened. “Really? I could give you a tour. There’s this spot on the eastern ridge where you can see the whole valley. It’s incredible at sunset.”

Had she really just invited herself over to the vineyard? She was supposed to be keeping a low profile.

Noticing her hesitation, he added quickly, “It would just be us. You wouldn’t have to meet my family if you’re not comfortable with that. Private tour.”

Wren felt the familiar tension return, the instinct to protect herself from new connections, new vulnerabilities. But as she looked at Finn, she found herself wanting more, not less.

“That would be wonderful,” she said, surprised by how much she meant it.

“I’ll set it up,” Finn said. “I’ll figure out a time when there won’t be many people around. I think I heard my brothers are attending a winemaker’s conference this week, so that might be ideal.”

However, as they finished their breakfast, Wren realized with a start that she wasn’t sure a private tour was what she wanted anymore.

The way Finn described his family, with their laughter, their teasing, and their unconditional support, made her want to know them.

To be part of that world, if only for a little while.

The more time she spent with Finn, the more she felt something awakening inside her, something she’d thought was lost for good. Not just music, but the courage to be herself. To belong.

Here in Bear Creek, with this man who looked at her and saw past the fame to the person underneath, Wren felt the first tentative notes of a new song taking shape in her head. And in her heart.