Page 8 of The Bear’s Matchmaking Mix-up Mate (Bear Creek Forever:Thornberg Vineyard #6)

Wren wasn’t sure how she felt when she parked her car outside Mrs. Abernathy’s cottage.

Her emotions warred within her, confusion, jealousy, and disappointment swirling together like a toxic cocktail.

The image of that woman—blonde, confident, gorgeous—running her hands over Finn’s body replayed in her mind on an excruciating loop.

The way her perfectly manicured fingers had lingered on his arm, trailed down to his stomach, the familiarity of the gesture was unmistakable.

And Finn had just stood there, letting it happen.

Wren’s cheeks burned hot with humiliation.

How could she have been so na?ve? She’d actually believed there was something special between them.

Had she truly imagined all those shared glances, the electricity when their hands touched, the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the world?

Yes, it had all been in her head. Just like with Vince. Just like every time before.

She heard the crunch of gravel as Finn’s truck pulled in behind her car. Her stomach twisted into knots. She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to act like everything was fine when she felt so utterly foolish.

“Get it together,” she whispered to herself, squeezing the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. “It’s not like you were dating. It’s not like he owes you anything.”

It’s not like you haven’t been through worse. She blinked back tears at that stinging thought. She had been through worse. Much worse, and she had survived. And she would survive this.

But the rational voice couldn’t quiet the hurt pulsing through her veins. She’d let her guard down, started to trust him. And for what? To watch him flirt with some gorgeous blonde while she sat in her car like an idiot?

Wren blew the air out of her cheeks and pushed open her car door before Finn could reach it. She needed to maintain whatever dignity she had left. Grabbing her bag from the passenger seat, she stepped out, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

“Listen,” she said, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears. “Mrs. Abernathy’s can wait if you need to take that special fertilizer over to the vineyard.”

Finn’s smile faltered as he took in her rigid posture. “Wren, about what happened back there…”

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” she cut him off, unable to bear hearing him try to justify what she’d seen. She turned toward the garden gate, desperate to put some distance between them. “We’re just...friends after all. It’s not as if I’m going to be sticking around for long...”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Friends. As if that’s all she’d been feeling these past few days.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” Finn said, following close behind her. His voice had an urgency to it that made her heart stutter traitorously. “Donna is…”

“Donna,” Wren repeated, the name settling like a weight in her stomach. Of course, he knew her name. “Look, it really doesn’t matter.”

No wonder he’d been so keen to go and collect the fertilizer from the agricultural store.

It made perfect sense now. Wren bit her lip hard, tasting the faint metallic hint of blood.

Philip had asked his brother to go get the fertilizer because he knew that Finn and Donna had a thing for each other.

And Wren had been stupid enough to follow him there like an eager puppy.

“Wren, please,” Finn said, his voice dropping lower as he reached for her arm. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

She stepped back, avoiding his touch. Not wanting to feel that delicious sense of connection between them, because it was a lie. “I get it, okay? I’m just the famous singer hiding out in your small town. A novelty. Something to pass the time with until...”

“That’s not true.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Donna means nothing to me.”

Wren finally looked up at him, really looked, and what she saw made her breath catch. Pain etched deep lines around his eyes, and there was a desperate sincerity in his expression that made her chest ache. The wall she’d hastily constructed began to crumble at the edges.

“Then why didn’t you stop her?” The question came out softer than she intended, all her hurt distilled into those six words.

“I was trying to be polite. I didn’t want to make a scene.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in tufts. “I know how that sounds, but I swear, Wren, there’s nothing between us. There never has been. There never will be. Ever.”

She believed him. How could she not when his voice was filled with such raw emotion?

She touched her hand to the pendant at her throat as she turned to face him, fighting the warmth that threatened to melt the ice around her heart. His eyes held hers, open and earnest in a way that made her chest ache.

“It’s really not my business,” she said, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

“But it is,” Finn insisted, taking a step toward her. His voice caught, and for a moment she thought he might say something bigger. “Because I…”

Whatever he was about to say was cut short as the front door burst open and Mrs. Abernathy came out to greet them.

“I was not expecting you so soon.” As she approached, her eyes lingered on her goddaughter’s face.

“Is everything all right? Has someone recognized you? I saw John Davis at the farmers’ market.

If he saw you and has threatened to expose you, just let me know and I will cut him off in his tracks. ”

Mrs. Abernathy sliced her hand through the air, and Wren had an irresistible urge to laugh. It started as a giggle and grew until it bubbled up inside her. “Sorry.” She covered her mouth with her hands.

“Never apologize for laughing,” Mrs. Abernathy said as she slid her arms around Wren and held her close. “It’s the best sound in the world and the best medicine.”

“It is,” Wren said breathlessly as her laughter subsided.

“Good, then let’s go and take a look at the garden, shall we?” Mrs. Abernathy stepped away and went around the side of the house to the garden gate, obviously expecting Wren and Finn to follow.

“I’m sorry I overreacted,” she said, offering Finn a weak smile.

“I’m sorry I gave you a reason to overreact,” he replied with a crooked smile. “Are we good?”

“We are,” Wren said and reached out and squeezed his hand, reveling in the sense of connection. “But we won’t be if we don’t makeover my godmother’s garden.”

“You’re right. Believe me, I do not want to get on her wrong side,” Finn said with a wink.

“Are you coming?” Mrs. Abernathy called.

“We are,” Wren said and tugged Finn’s hand.

“Right, let’s get started.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you would like and we’ll go from there,” Finn said, his attention completely focused on Mrs. Abernathy’s words as she launched into her vision for the garden.

Wren loved how he leaned in slightly, listening to Mrs. Abernathy’s suggestions, and asking clarifying questions about soil conditions and sunlight patterns.

He wasn’t just humoring her godmother; he genuinely cared about creating something she would love.

How could she not be charmed by a man who cared this much about someone else’s dreams?

“I’ll draw up some plans,” Finn promised, pulling a small sketchbook from his back pocket. “Something that balances beauty with practicality.”

Mrs. Abernathy beamed at him, then at Wren. “Perfect! Now, why don’t you two get started while I make us some tea? Nothing like a good cup of Earl Grey to fuel the creative process.”

With a wink that wasn’t nearly as subtle as she probably thought, Mrs. Abernathy bustled back inside, leaving them alone among the tangled flower beds and neglected borders.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant call of a buzzard and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Finn cleared his throat.

“Wren, I really am sorry about earlier.” He dropped his gaze to his hands, then looked up, vulnerable. “I just… I don’t want anything to come between us, especially not something that doesn’t matter.”

Wren wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warm spring air. “It’s okay. Really.”

“No, it’s not.” Finn took a step closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. “I need you to know that there’s nothing between me and Donna. Or anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice made something twist in her chest. How many times had Vince apologized with the same earnest expression, only to break her trust again and again?

But Finn wasn’t Vince. The thought surfaced unbidden, surprising her with its certainty. She wanted to believe him. She almost did. But a part of her held back. Once bitten, twice shy.

“Let’s just focus on the garden,” she said, not quite ready to let go of her defenses.

Finn nodded, respecting her boundaries without pushing. He flipped open his sketchbook and gestured toward the far corner of the yard. “What do you think about putting the wildflowers there? The afternoon light would be perfect.”

As they discussed the garden layout, Wren found herself drawn into the conversation, intrigued by Finn’s process as he sketched quick, fluid lines, creating a rough outline of the space.

“What would you put here?” he asked, pointing to a blank area near the fence.

“Maybe lavender?” Wren suggested, surprising herself with her eagerness. “It would attract bees, and the scent is so calming.”

Finn’s face lit up. “That’s perfect. And it would complement the wildflowers without competing.” He added it to the sketch, then pointed to another area. “What about here?”

Before she knew it, they were kneeling together in the grass, heads bent over the sketchbook, debating the merits of different plants and layouts.

Finn listened to her ideas, incorporating her suggestions into his drawings, asking for her opinion on everything from stone pathways to the height of garden borders.

The more they talked about sunlight and soil and color, the more Wren felt something stirring inside her—a familiar creative energy she hadn’t felt in months.

And with it came a melody, faint at first, then growing clearer with each moment spent in Finn’s company.

The tune that only seemed to come alive when he was near.

Their eyes met over the sketchbook, and for a moment, everything else fell away, the misunderstanding at the store, her doubts, her fears.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Mrs. Abernathy observed as she came out carrying a tea tray, which she set down on a weathered garden table. “I take it the planning is going well?”

Wren caught herself smiling, the earlier tension all but forgotten. “Finn sure does have a knack for making people’s dreams come alive.”

“So I see.” Mrs. Abernathy’s knowing smile as she poured the tea made Wren duck her head, suddenly self-conscious about how easily she’d let her guard down again.

But when Finn handed her a steaming mug, his fingers brushed hers in a way that sent warmth spreading up her arm, and she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not just for the tea.

Finn’s eyes met hers, understanding and relief clear in their depths. “You’re welcome,” he said, and she knew he meant more than just the drink.

And that made her heart sing.