Nero Thornberg had been up all night working on the emerald bracelet for Norman and sketching designs for a gift for Sophie.
Our mate, his bear said happily.
Our mate, Nero echoed, though he wouldn’t be happy until he convinced her to stay in Bear Creek.
He studied the bracelet, admiring the way the gold clasp now lay perfectly aligned, the delicate filigree work restored to its original splendor.
He’d spent hours meticulously matching the two missing emeralds, digging through his collection of vintage stones until he found ones with the same cut and that deep, verdant glow.
The new gems caught the light like their older companions, scattering tiny green sparks across his workbench.
A few more hours, and it would be as good as new. But first, he needed coffee.
And food, his bear reminded him.
And food, Nero agreed, considering his options.
There was little in his cupboards to tempt him, and so he stepped out of his workshop and into his car, aiming for the bakery that made the best cinnamon bear claws.
He drove with the top down, despite the early morning chill.
When he reached the fork in the road, he hesitated.
The route to Bear Bluff and the Catherine Hotel tempted him, the call of his mate like a siren song.
But he resisted that temptation, and instead, he turned toward Bear Creek.
He wasn’t ready to face Sophie again. Not yet.
Especially since you’re still in yesterday’s clothes and need a shower, his bear said dryly.
Nero glanced down at his rumpled shirt and waistcoat. Fair point. He’d grab a bite and head home. If he started on Sophie’s gift now, he might finish it in time to give it to her as a sort of apology for the accidental proposal, for everything.
He wasn’t sure if it was enough to make her stay, but he hoped it might be enough to make her see he was a good guy.
Not much of a plan, his bear muttered.
I know, I’m still working out the details, Nero replied as he pulled up outside the bakery. These things cannot be rushed.
Much like one of your creations, his bear said.
Exactly. Nero climbed out of the car and stretched his arms above his head, working out the kinks in his back. He’d been hunched over his workbench for so long it felt as if he was bent out of shape.
You are, his bear said with some amusement.
But before he gave a snappy retort, Nero stilled.
He could sense her .
Sophie. She was heading this way, heading along the road from Bear Bluff to Bear Creek.
Panic fluttered in his chest. What should he do? Just stand there?
Trust in fate, his bear said. If we’re going to meet again by chance, there has to be a reason for it.
You mean like embarrassing myself again? Nero asked.
Get back in the car, his bear instructed.
Why? Nero said, but he was already sliding back into the driver’s seat.
Now, get out. Pretend you’re just arriving, his bear suggested.
Nero followed the advice, trying to look casual as Sophie’s car came into view. She slowed. Did a double-take and pulled over.
He smiled, or tried to. It probably looked more like a grimace.
“Nero?” she called, rolling down her window. “I thought that was you.”
“Sophie,” he managed. His voice was steadier than he expected. “Good morning.”
She studied him, taking in the creased shirt and weary eyes. “You look like you’ve been up all night.”
“I have,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Working on a project.”
“Must be important,” she said, her tone softening.
“I was just heading in for breakfast,” he said. “You?”
“Oh…I was going to grab something to eat and then look for a place to stay…” Her voice trailed off as she folded her arms across her body.
“A place to stay?” Nero could hardly believe it. “I thought you were leaving today.”
Why would you remind her? his bear grumbled.
“I was,” Sophie said as she got out of her car. “But I think I might stick around for a couple of days. I’ve got recipes to work on, and the mountains are…inspiring.”
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and the soft summer dress she wore made something in Nero’s chest ache.
“That’s great news,” he said.
It’s amazing news, his bear added, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Yes.” She looked up at him from under her lashes.
“Come on, let’s grab breakfast. Then we can check out a few places.”
“Oh, I don’t…” she began.
“I meant—just online. We can sit in the park, look through some listings,” Nero said. Damn, had he screwed up again?
“Oh. Yes, that would be great. I don’t know the area at all.”
They crossed the street together, but he stepped ahead and held the bakery door open for her.
“Thanks,” she said with a shy smile.
“Nero,” Sally greeted from behind the counter. “The usual?”
“Yes, please,” he replied sheepishly. “I always forget to buy groceries.”
“I see,” Sophie said with a teasing glint as she gave her own order.
“I think we’re probably opposites,” Nero admitted as they waited for their orders to be filled.
“How so?” Sophie asked.
“You probably spend most of your day in the kitchen, and I spend most of my day not in mine.” He winced. That came out wrong. “I mean, I’m always in the workshop. I don’t cook much.”
“But we’re both creating things in our own way,” she said.
“I suppose we are,” Nero agreed. He glanced past her and frowned. A man outside was peering in through the bakery window. When he spotted Sophie, he raised his phone and snapped a picture. “Do you know him?”
“Who?” Sophie swung around and then covered her face. “He’s a journalist.”
Nero’s stomach dropped. “Do you think he’s here about yesterday?”
We can never apologize enough for that fake proposal, his bear moaned.
“No… I mean, I don’t know,” she began, just as Sally returned with their orders.
“Do you want me to deal with him?” Nero asked, bristling at the idea that this journalist might be causing his mate harm.
“No, it’s fine,” Sophie said, but as they stepped outside, the man moved toward them.
“Care to quote on the rumors that you and Tito were about to get engaged and he dumped you instead?”
Sophie went still, her face ghost-pale. Nero didn’t hesitate. He slid his arm around her and guided her to the car.
“No comment,” he snapped at the reporter, helping Sophie into the passenger seat. The man continued clicking.
“Sophie, did you come to Bear Creek to escape the scandal?” the journalist called out, moving closer to the car.
Nero felt the growl rumbling in his chest. His bear wanted out. Wanted to make sure the journalist got the message. Sophie was under his protection now and forever.
He swallowed it down. That was not a side of him he wanted his mate to see.
“I think you should leave,” Nero said in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.”
The journalist hesitated, then backed off, though he kept the phone raised.
Nero circled the car, not taking his eyes off the guy as he got in and drove away. The paper bags containing their breakfast sat between them, momentarily forgotten.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly as he pulled away from the curb.
She nodded, but her hands trembled. “I’m sorry about that.”
“You don’t need to be,” Nero said. “It’s not your fault.”
She stared out the window, then whispered, “It’s Tito. My ex. He must be feeding stories to the press.”
“Tito,” Nero repeated bitterly.
Finn mentioned him yesterday, his bear growled.
So, do you think it’s true, Sophie was expecting Tito to propose? Nero asked.
It sure looks that way, his bear said.
“My ex. And my boss,” Sophie added, her voice flat. “I develop recipes for his cookbooks. We were together. Until I found him in bed with my personal assistant two days ago.”
Nero’s bear growled deep inside him, furious that someone had hurt their mate.
Nero’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words rough. “That’s…unforgivable.”
“The worst part? I still have to finish his cookbook,” Sophie said, her voice firmer now. “That’s why I need a quiet place. To work. To think.”
Guilt pricked at Nero’s chest. If Tito hadn’t been a jerk, Sophie might never have come here. They might never have met.
But what a cost for a twist of fate.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she blurted. “We barely know each other.”
“I’m a good listener,” he replied gently.
He turned down the road to his house, the trees growing thicker around them. When they rounded the bend and his cabin came into view, Sophie sat straighter.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My place,” Nero said as he parked in front of the house and turned off the engine. “It’s private. And the kitchen’s pretty great, well well-equipped, even if it might be a little dated… It gets the job done.”
“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Sophie half-turned to face him.
“Listen, why don’t we go inside and eat breakfast?” He reached for the bags. “No pressure.”
She hesitated. “It would be a pity to let those cinnamon bear claws go to waste.” Sophie cracked a smile.
“Wait until you taste them.” Nero’s stomach gave an appreciative rumble as he got out of the car with the bags in his hand.
She stepped out of the car, scanning the quiet surroundings as she came around the car to join him. “That’s your workshop?”
He nodded. “Where the magic happens.”
“I’d love to see it,” Sophie said as they headed toward the house.
“And I would love to show it to you.” He climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. “After we’ve eaten.”
“Lead the way.”
“Okay,” Nero said, leading her to the kitchen.
He was suddenly a little nervous. To him, his kitchen was well-equipped, but he was no chef.
You don’t say, his bear chuckled.
As Sophie scanned the kitchen—stainless steel appliances, granite counters, a wide island built for creativity—a smile spread across her face. “This is…incredible. And you don’t cook?”
“You like it?” Nero asked, mirroring her smile.
“Yes, I do,” Sophie said, running her fingers over the countertops.
“You know… If you are looking for somewhere quiet to stay,” he began, “this place has a guest suite. Separate entrance. Full privacy. And obviously…” He gestured to the kitchen. “You could have full use of the kitchen while I’m working.”
Sophie froze. “You’re offering to let me stay here?”
“If you want. No pressure.” He set the bags down on the counter, trying to sound casual.
She studied him. “That’s very generous. But we barely know each other.”
“True,” Nero said with a quiet smile. “But sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.”
And fate, his bear said. Don’t forget fate.