Nero had not slept so soundly for a long, long time. Usually, his nights were spent in his workshop, where he was consumed by his work. Even when he collapsed into bed, his mind still spun with designs that glittered like a million tiny stars.
But not last night.
After dinner with his mate, he’d fallen asleep almost instantly and slept like a log.
Now it was morning. His senses reached for Sophie before his eyes even opened. She was still here. Still asleep. He lay back against the pillows and simply...wallowed in her presence.
His bear chuckled. I don’t think wallowing is something you want to share with our mate.
I’m allowed to wallow, Nero retorted.
You can wallow and I will bask, his bear said.
Basking is good, too, Nero agreed.
But then everything was good this morning, because she had stayed. Nero smiled into his pillow. Despite the fake proposal fiasco, the snooping journalist, and the ache of her recent heartbreak, Sophie had chosen to stay at The Lookout. At least for now.
Our mate is here, under our roof, his bear added helpfully. Now would be a good time to tell her the truth.
Nero sighed, letting his arms flop out to either side of the mattress. We’ve been through this. I can’t just blurt out, “Good morning, by the way, I’m a bear shifter and you’re my destined mate,” over scrambled eggs.
Why not? his bear countered. It would save time. And the longer you wait, the harder it will be to explain why you didn’t tell her sooner.
She’s just getting over a betrayal, Nero replied, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. The last thing she needs is another man hiding things from her.
He padded barefoot to the window and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight spilled across the mountainside, turning the pines to gold and the mist to threads of light. It was a perfect day.
She made risotto for us last night, his bear reminded him unnecessarily. The best meal we’ve had in this house, maybe ever.
“I know,” Nero murmured aloud, his smile widening at the memory.
Sophie had moved through his kitchen with the confidence of someone born to create.
Her hands had worked magic with simple ingredients, transforming them into something extraordinary.
And the way she’d explained each step, her eyes lighting up with passion for her craft, he could have watched her forever.
We could watch her forever, his bear said. If you’d just tell her the truth.
Nero shook his head and moved to his closet. As he dressed, Nero found himself listening for sounds of movement from the guest room. Was she still asleep? Did she regret her decision to stay? Had the guest bed been comfortable enough?
Relax, his bear grumbled. You’re overthinking again.
Right, Nero muttered, buttoning his shirt. Breakfast. I’ll make her breakfast.
The idea clicked instantly. Sophie had cooked for him; now he’d return the gesture. He wasn’t exactly a culinary genius, but he could manage scrambled eggs and coffee. And berries. Yes, fresh berries from the garden.
Nero made his way downstairs, each wooden step creaking familiarly beneath his feet.
The morning light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the living room floor.
He paused for a moment, struck by how familiar and yet how different the house felt with Sophie in it. Warmer somehow. More alive.
She’s brought us to life, his bear said.
Because meeting Sophie has made our life complete, Nero replied.
Only if she accepts us and the mating bond, his bear reminded him.
But after yesterday, that no longer concerned Nero. It’s all going to work out just fine.
Well, aren’t you the chipper one this morning, his bear said.
How can I not be when our mate is here? Nero replied as he entered the kitchen and set about preparing coffee, measuring the grounds with the same precision he applied to his jewelry work. The rich, earthy aroma filled the air as the machine gurgled to life.
That smell will wake her, his bear predicted with approval.
Then I’d better get breakfast going. Nero opened the refrigerator, surveying its contents with a critical eye.
Thanks to Sophie’s grocery shopping yesterday, the usually barren shelves now boasted a colorful array of fruits, vegetables, and dairy products.
He pulled out a carton of eggs and a block of cheese.
“Scrambled eggs,” he decided aloud. “I can manage that.”
It’s practically the only thing you can cook, his bear pointed out.
Which is why I’ll get it right, Nero countered, reaching for a bowl.
He cracked the eggs into a bowl, adding a splash of milk and a pinch of salt before whisking them together.
As he stirred, he pictured Sophie in the kitchen last night—her sleeves pushed up, her smile easy, her hands skilled.
Watching her had stirred something deeper than attraction.
She’d made the house feel like a...home.
“Berries,” Nero said suddenly, remembering the raspberry bushes at the edge of his garden. “Fresh berries would make it special.”
A breakfast fit for a king, his bear agreed. Or a mate.
Nero set aside the egg mixture. He grabbed a bowl and stepped outside. The air was cool and clean, laced with pine and wildflowers. Birds chirped lazily overhead. The raspberries glistened with dew.
He picked slowly, carefully selecting only the ripest fruit.
He could see her in this garden. Talking to the herbs. Digging her hands into the soil. Laughing at his crooked tomato stakes. This place could thrive under her care. So could he.
It could be real, his bear whispered. If you’re honest.
Soon, Nero told his bear for what seemed like the hundredth time. When she’s ready.
His bear huffed but didn’t argue further.
Back inside, he rinsed the berries and arranged them in a ceramic dish, a simple one his mother had given him years ago.
He turned back to the eggs, melted butter in the pan, and gently folded the mixture as it cooked.
At the perfect moment, he stirred in the cheese and removed the pan from the heat.
Just as he plated the food, he heard the soft creak of the stairs.
His pulse leaped.
And then—there she was.
Sophie stood in the kitchen doorway, framed in the morning light. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a summer dress that skimmed her curves, her feet bare on the floorboards. No makeup. No armor. Just her.
And Nero forgot how to breathe.
“Morning,” she said, voice still husky from sleep.
“Morning,” he echoed, the word catching somewhere in his chest.
She’s real , he said to his bear in wonder.
Duh, his bear replied. Do you think you spent yesterday with a hallucination?
Sophie smiled, a small, tentative curve of her lips that made Nero’s heart stutter in his chest. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“And scrambled eggs,” Nero said, forcing himself into motion. “And berries. From the garden.”
She stepped closer, glancing at the table he’d set with cloth napkins and mismatched ceramic mugs. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”
“I wanted to.” He pulled out a chair for her. “After the amazing dinner you made last night, it seemed only fair.”
“That was my thank you for letting me stay.”
“Well, this is my thank you for…staying,” he countered as he scanned the table to check he hadn’t forgotten anything.
It looks just fine, his bear assured him.
“It looks wonderful.”
“I should warn you,” he said as he poured the coffee, “this is the extent of my cooking talents.”
“Then I’m impressed,” Sophie said with a small laugh. “I can’t even remember the last time someone cooked for me.”
“You’d better taste them before you go handing out praise.”
She took a bite. “These are perfect. And the berries look perfectly ripe.”
Our mate simply looks perfect, his bear swooned.
She plucked one from the bowl, popped it into her mouth, and sighed with pleasure. “Sweet with just the right amount of tartness. Your garden’s amazing.”
“I just try to keep things alive,” he said. “I’m not much of a gardener. Unlike my brothers.”
“Now who’s selling themselves short?” she teased, reaching for another berry. “These taste like summer itself.”
He studied her in the morning light, his heart oddly full. She belonged here. At this table. In this kitchen. In his life.
She belongs here, his bear said with conviction. With us. For always.
Nero sipped his coffee, trying not to stare. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”
“I have a few recipes I’d like to try,” Sophie said. “Maybe you could taste them for lunch?”
“I’d be honored,” Nero said as he ate his eggs. “I’m heading over to the vineyard this afternoon, if you’d like to come along.”
Sophie’s eyes lit up at the mention of the vineyard. “I would love to see it. If you’re sure your family wouldn’t mind visitors?”
“They’d be delighted,” Nero assured her.
More than she could ever know, his bear said.
“I’d love to feature them in my cookbook. I’m sure they have some wonderful stories to tell.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. “About the vineyard and raising a family. You must have gotten up to mischief when you were younger.”
More than she could ever know, his bear chuckled.
“Oh, they sure have a few embarrassing stories they could tell about their sons,” Nero said, color infusing his cheeks. “And we could have a wine tasting.”
Nice subject change, his bear muttered.
Sophie laughed. “A wine tasting sounds perfect. And I’d love to see where the grapes are grown—for research, of course.”
“Maybe you could incorporate some into a dish?”
“Really?”
“My mom makes all kinds of things with grape pomace—tarts, cookies, even bread,” Nero said.
“I have a lot to learn,” Sophie said.
More than she could ever know, his bear said.
Nero rolled his eyes. Is that all you have to say today?
And Sophie has so much to teach us, his bear murmured.
Yeah, she does, Nero agreed. And not just about food. But about love.
Oh, I think that is a lesson we have already learned, his bear said as he settled down for a morning nap.