Page 5 of The Bear’s Matchmaking Mix-up Mate (Bear Creek Forever:Thornberg Vineyard #6)

His mate was here, in his kitchen, and Finn couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. Maybe because it was still hard to believe after waiting so long to meet her, a part of him was still afraid he’d dreamed her into existence.

No, she is real, his bear said happily as Wren absently tapped her foot against the tiled floor. A soft, unconscious hum occasionally slipped from her lips, fragments of melody that touched him in a way music never had before.

Perhaps we’ve inspired her, his bear rumbled with satisfaction. We unlocked the music within her.

And she’d unlocked something in him, too. A deep contentment, a happiness like he’d never experienced before.

Then let’s tell her the truth, right here, right now, his bear suggested.

Not yet, Finn replied, afraid to ruin what they had. If she freaked out and ran, he might lose her forever. And that was unthinkable.

His bear rumbled reluctantly in agreement as Finn busied himself with washing the breakfast dishes, afraid that if he stared directly at her, the spell might break.

“I like the tune,” he said, risking a glance over his shoulder.

“Tune?” She looked at him, bewildered.

“The tune you’re humming,” he said.

Wren’s fingers immediately flew to her lips, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Was I? Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s nice.” He dried his hands on a dish towel. “Is it new?”

She smiled, a small, private smile that made his chest ache. “It’s something I have been working on for the last couple of days.”

Since she met us, his bear said smugly.

“It sounds great,” Finn said, leaning back against the counter. He watched as Midnight leaped onto the chair beside Wren, butting her head against her elbow until she received the pets she clearly thought she deserved.

“Your cat has decided I’m acceptable company,” Wren said, scratching behind Midnight’s ears.

The sight of his standoffish cat curling into Wren’s touch sent a wave of tenderness through him. Even his animals recognized what she was to him.

Of course, Midnight knows. Just like Mrs. Abernathy knew, his bear said smugly. Everyone can see she belongs with us.

Finn reached for the coffeepot. “Refill?”

“Please.” Wren pushed her mug toward him. “This is fantastic coffee, by the way. Much better than what I’ve been making.”

“It’s my mom’s special blend,” he said, then winced internally at mentioning his mother again. “She gets beans from this tiny roaster in Wolf Creek and mixes in cinnamon and vanilla when she grinds them.”

“Cinnamon,” Wren repeated, her expression brightening. “That’s what I’ve been tasting. I love cinnamon in everything. Coffee, tea, apple pie. There was this little bakery near my old apartment that made these cinnamon knots with orange glaze that I used to get every Sunday morning.”

Finn filed away this detail like a treasure. Cinnamon. Orange. Sunday mornings. He made a silent vow to learn how to bake cinnamon knots, or at least track down the best ones for her. If it made her smile, it was worth it.

“I’ll ask Alfie to ask Welland, who runs the café at the garden center, if he can bake some,” he said.

“You don’t have to go to any trouble,” she began, but the smile on her lips told him she appreciated the thoughtful gesture.

“It’s no trouble,” Finn insisted. “He could bake some for the fundraiser; we’re planning a cake stall. I mean, who doesn’t like cake? I’m partial to his honey cake myself.”

“Maybe we could go over there sometime. My treat. As a thank you for breakfast,” she said, color flushing her cheeks.

“I’d like that,” Finn replied as Rusty emerged from wherever he’d been hiding and wound between Wren’s ankles, his orange tail flicking with uncharacteristic friendliness.

“Your cats are very affectionate,” Wren said, reaching down to stroke Rusty’s back.

“They don’t usually warm up to strangers this fast,” Finn said, watching Rusty purr as Wren’s fingers found just the right spot behind his ears.

“They seem to sense you’re not a threat,” Finn said, watching as Shadow finally emerged from the bedroom, padding over to investigate this new person who had somehow won over his usually aloof housemates.

His bear preened with satisfaction. Of course, they like her. She’s ours.

Or theirs, Finn chuckled. Cats had a way of claiming their territory and their people. He’d often suspected that his three cats saw this cabin as theirs and he was simply their manservant, supplying food and pets when required.

But this felt different. It was as if they sensed what Wren meant to him. As if they knew that one day soon, Wren would live under the same roof, and this was their way of telling Finn they approved.

“I think they know you’re special,” Finn said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I mean, they have good instincts about people.”

Wren glanced up, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made his heart thump against his ribs.

The air between them seemed to shimmer with something unspoken, something that made Finn’s bear pace restlessly beneath his skin.

Wren’s lips parted slightly, as if she might say something, but the moment stretched too long and she looked away, her cheeks flushing pink.

Finn’s pulse hammered in his throat. He’d almost said too much, revealed too much. The urge to tell her everything—about mates, about the pull he felt, about how she’d changed his world simply by existing in it—pressed against his chest like a physical weight.

Then Shadow finally approached, his gray form slinking closer with typical feline caution. When he rubbed against Wren’s leg, purring loud enough to fill the kitchen, Finn felt the tension ease.

“Aren’t you beautiful,” Wren murmured to Shadow.

“Well, that settles it,” Finn said, grateful for the distraction. “You’ve been officially accepted into the household.”

Wren laughed. “I’m honored.”

But Finn was the one who felt honored. The realization struck him with sudden clarity as he watched Wren cradling Shadow against her chest, the cat’s eyes half-closed in bliss.

This extraordinary woman—talented, kind, beautiful—was his mate.

The universe had somehow decided that she belonged with him, of all people.

What had he done to deserve her?

Found all your brothers’ mates with your matchmaking mix-ups, his bear said with smug satisfaction.

“Is that the time? I should probably head back to Rowan Cottage,” she said, glancing up at the kitchen clock.

Every cell in his body wanted to find an excuse to keep her here. Another cup of coffee, a walk, a story he’d forgotten to tell, a question he needed to ask. But he bit his tongue.

“I can drive you,” he offered immediately, then forced himself to add, “Or I could walk with you partway, if you’d prefer.”

Wren slid off the stool, stretching slightly. “That’s sweet of you, but I think better when I’m alone.”

“At least let me pack you some of these pancakes to take with you,” Finn said, already reaching for a container. “They reheat well.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to that. They were possibly the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

“High praise,” he said, carefully wrapping the leftovers. “I’ll have to tell my mom her recipe won over a professional musician.”

You mentioned Mom, again, his bear said with a roll of his eyes.

“Your mom sounds wonderful,” Wren said, a wistful note in her voice that made Finn wonder about her own family.

He handed her the container, their fingers brushing. The brief contact sent electricity dancing up his arm, and he saw her eyes widen slightly. She felt it, too.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said, her voice unsteady as she stepped toward the door. “And for...not making a big deal. About who I am.”

“You’re just Wren to me,” Finn said, the words coming out more intense than he’d intended. Because she was so much more than that to him. But not in the way she thought.

Her smile was soft, almost shy. “I like being just Wren .”

He walked her to the door, fighting every instinct that demanded he keep her close, safe, his. The morning air was crisp as they stepped onto the porch, the forest alive with birdsong.

Wren is our songbird, his bear said, wanting her to stay.

“The trail gets steep about halfway down,” Finn said, pointing toward a fork in the path. “If you take the left branch, it’s a gentler descent.”

“I’ll remember that,” she promised. “Thanks again, Finn.”

“Anytime,” he said, and meant it more than she could possibly know.

She tucked the container of pancakes under her arm and headed down the steps.

Finn stood on the porch, watching her walk away, the distance between them physically painful. His bear paced restlessly beneath his skin.

Follow her, his bear urged. Just to make sure she’s safe.

No, if she sees us, she might think we’re stalking her, Finn replied, even though every part of him wanted to shadow Wren home.

Only when she disappeared from view did he force himself to go back inside. The cabin felt emptier than it ever had before, as if the very air had lost its vitality when she left.

Midnight sat on the counter, tail swishing as she stared at him with what felt like judgment.

“I know,” he told the cat. “I already miss her, too.”

He gathered the remaining breakfast dishes, replaying every moment of the morning in his mind.

The way she’d laughed when Shadow had finally emerged from the bedroom, bleary-eyed and demanding attention; how she’d closed her eyes in appreciation at the first bite of pancake; the soft, unconscious way her foot had tapped out rhythms only she could hear.

Finn pulled out the fundraiser notebook, determined to focus on work, but his thoughts kept circling back to Wren. Her voice. Her smile. The way she’d said “cinnamon” with such simple pleasure.

Cinnamon.

He paused, pen in hand, as an idea began to form.

“The farmers’ market,” he said aloud. Midnight blinked at him slowly. “Henderson’s stand has the best pastries. Maybe even some cinnamon knots with orange glaze.”

His bear perked up immediately. Yes! Ask her to go with us!

Finn grabbed his phone, his mouth dry as he composed a text to Wren. The farmer’s market tomorrow morning has the best pastries. Care to join me?

His thumb hovered over the send button, suddenly hesitant.

Too much? Too soon?

Ask her, his bear insisted. If she says no, at least we tried.

Finn hit send before he could overthink it further, then set his phone down as if it might burn him. He paced the kitchen, anxiety and hope battling in his chest.

When his phone buzzed less than a minute later, he nearly knocked over a chair in his rush to check it.

Not sure about crowds. I don’t want to be recognized.

Of course. He should have thought of that. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

We can go at sunrise, just as they’re setting up. Hardly anyone there then. Plus, I know all the back ways between stalls. And you could wear your beanie. I promise to keep you safe.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. Finn held his breath.

You make a compelling case for early-morning pastries. Okay, I’m in. Where should I meet you?

Finn let out a whoop that startled all three cats, his bear rumbling with satisfaction. She said yes. She’s coming with us.

He quickly texted back details about where to meet, fighting to keep his tone casual when all he wanted was to tell her how the thought of seeing her again made his heart feel too big for his chest.

As he set his phone down, a smile spread across his face. Tomorrow morning couldn’t come soon enough.