Page 10 of The Bear’s Second Chance Mate (Bear Creek Forever: Thornberg Vineyard #5)

Stanley’s leg bounced under the table as he checked his watch for the third time in five minutes.

She’ll be here, his bear insisted, practically pacing inside him. Our mate wouldn’t stand us up on our first date.

It’s not a date, Stanley reminded his bear as he rearranged the sugar packets in their ceramic holder. It’s just coffee.

His bear scoffed. Sure. And I’m just a teddy bear.

Stanley ignored the comment and adjusted the sugar packets into a perfect line. It’s just coffee between...friends.

We’re not just friends, his bear reminded him for the hundredth time that morning.

Now, that is an exaggeration, his bear protested. But it’s true, we are not just friends. So maybe you are wearing your lucky shirt because today is the day you tell her the whole truth.

I can’t just blurt that out, Stanley said. She knows nothing about shifters or mates. I need to take this slowly.

His bear huffed. Slow is fine. Glacial is not.

The bell above the door jingled, and Stanley’s head snapped up, but it was just Mrs. Peterson from the library, come to collect their coffee order.

Stanley exhaled, rubbing his palms against his jeans. The waiting was killing him. What if she didn’t show? What if she’d reconsidered? What if…

She’ll be here, his bear assured him. She feels it, too, even if she doesn’t understand it yet.

Stanley wished he shared his bear’s confidence.

The truth was, he’d spent most of his life feeling not quite enough.

Not skilled enough like Finn, not artistic enough like Nero, not creative enough like Kris.

He was just...Stanley. The quiet one. The steady one.

The one who was good with animals but awkward with people.

What if June saw that and decided it wasn’t what she wanted?

The bell chimed again, and this time, Stanley’s heart leaped into his throat.

June stood in the doorway, scanning the room with cautious eyes.

She wore her dark hair loose today, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. Her green sweater brought out flecks of emerald in her hazel eyes, and for a moment, Stanley forgot how to breathe.

Something’s wrong, his bear growled immediately.

Stanley felt it, too. Her shoulders were tense, her smile polite but distant as their eyes met. She seemed more guarded. As if something had happened. As if something was wrong.

“Hey,” he said, standing as she reached the table. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” she replied, her voice carefully neutral as she slid into the chair across from him.

Stanley sat back down, his bear pacing restlessly inside him. What happened? What changed? She was warming up to us at the store.

Stanley cleared his throat. “Can I get you something? They make a great caramel latte here.”

“Just black coffee would be fine, thanks.”

When Stanley returned with their drinks, June was staring out the window, her fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the table. She thanked him with the same reserved smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Ask her what’s wrong! his bear demanded. And fix it!

But Stanley knew better. Pushing too hard might only make her retreat further. And he could not risk that. Instead, he kept his tone casual and the conversation neutral. “How’s Oli doing? Did he talk your ear off about Clive after you left the store?”

At the mention of her son, June’s expression softened slightly. “He couldn’t stop talking about the bearded dragon. I think he’s memorized every fact you told him.”

“That’s great,” Stanley said with a wide grin. “He’s a bright kid.”

“He is,” June agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. “He’s been asking when we can come back.”

Tell her any time, his bear pressed. Tell her we want to see them every day. For the rest of our lives.

“He’s welcome anytime,” Stanley said instead, tempering his enthusiasm. “Both of you are.”

June nodded, her gaze dropping to her coffee. “That’s kind of you.”

The conversation lapsed into silence. Not the comfortable kind they’d shared at the pet store, but something heavier, laden with unspoken words.

Say something, his bear persisted. Ask her what’s wrong. What’s changed.

I can’t just demand to know what she’s thinking, Stanley argued. That’s not how this works.

His bear huffed in frustration. Then talk about something else. Anything. Don’t just sit there!

“So,” June said as she placed her cup down, “you mentioned wanting to make the shop more sensory-friendly?”

And there it was, the reason he’d given for this meeting. Not the real reason, of course. He didn’t tell her about the way his heart ached to see her again. How she was his sun and his moon.

“Right,” Stanley said, clearing his throat. “I’ve been doing some research, but I thought you might have insights. About what works for Oli, what doesn’t.”

June nodded, her professional interest overriding whatever had made her so distant. “Well, lighting is important. Fluorescent lights can be overwhelming. They buzz and flicker in ways most people don’t notice, but for kids like Oli, it’s like a strobe light with sound.”

Stanley nodded, genuinely interested despite his bear’s impatience. “I’ve been thinking about switching to warm LEDs throughout the store.”

“That would help,” June said, and for the first time since she’d arrived, her voice carried a note of enthusiasm. “But you’ve already done so much.”

“You mean the quiet corner I set up for Oli?” Stanley asked, remembering the beanbag and books he’d arranged.

“Exactly like that,” June said, meeting his eyes properly for the first time. “That was...really thoughtful of you.”

His bear preened. See? She appreciates us.

Stanley felt a flicker of hope. “I want the store to be a place where everyone feels welcome. Especially kids who might not always find that elsewhere.”

Something in June’s expression shifted, the guardedness slipping just a fraction. “That’s...rare. Most places just expect kids to adapt, or leave.”

“That’s not fair to them,” Stanley said simply. “The world’s already loud enough.”

June studied him over the rim of her coffee mug, a small crease forming between her brows. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Stanley said, confused by her surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She shook her head slightly, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “You’d be surprised how many people say the right things but don’t actually follow through.”

His bear bristled at the implication. We’re not like that. We keep our promises .

“I try to be straightforward,” Stanley said, meeting her gaze steadily. “What you see is what you get with me.”

Is it, though? his bear challenged. You’re hiding the most important part.

Stanley ignored the jab and took another sip of his coffee, waiting as June seemed to consider something, her fingers tapping lightly against her mug.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

“Anything,” Stanley replied, perhaps too quickly.

June hesitated, then asked, “How did you get so good with animals? With understanding what they need?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t what he’d expected, not by a long shot, but he liked that she wanted to get to know him.

“I grew up surrounded by them,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Not just pets. Wild animals, too. My brothers and I spent most of our childhood exploring the mountains around Bear Creek. And my uncle has a ranch, so we spent a lot of time over there.”

She’s interested in you. His bear seemed more settled now. This is good.

“We’d follow tracks, learn to recognize bird calls,” Stanley continued, warming to the subject. “My dad taught us to move quietly, to observe without disturbing. To respect their space.”

June leaned forward slightly, her coffee forgotten. “That sounds...peaceful.”

“It was,” Stanley said, memories washing over him. “Still is, when I get the chance to go up there. There’s something about being in the wilderness that just...centers you, you know?”

“I don’t, actually,” June admitted with a small laugh. “I grew up in the city. The most wildlife I saw was pigeons fighting over pizza crusts.”

Stanley chuckled. “Well, we’ve got better dining options for the local wildlife here.”

“I bet,” June said, and this time her smile reached her eyes. “Oli would love that. Being in nature, I mean. He’s always been drawn to it, but we never had much access.”

“I could show you both sometime,” Stanley offered before he could stop himself. “There’s a trail near the edge of town, easy walking, lots to see. Perfect for beginners.”

His bear practically purred with satisfaction. Yes. Get her into our territory.

June’s smile faltered slightly, that guardedness returning. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Stanley backpedaled, sensing he’d pushed too far. “No pressure. Just an offer.”

She nodded, taking another sip of her coffee. A silence fell between them, but it felt different now, less strained, more contemplative.

“The animals really do help, don’t they?” June said, finally, her voice soft. “With staying grounded, I mean.”

Stanley looked up, surprised at the perceptiveness of her question. “They do. They live completely in the present. No worrying about tomorrow, no regrets about yesterday. Just...now.”

“That’s what I’ve noticed with Oli,” June said. “When he’s with Herbert or feeding Clive, he’s just...there. Not trying to make sense of a world he finds confusing.”

“Over the years, I’ve seen how pets can help people. And not just those with special needs. But they can help people cope with bereavement, be a constant when there is an upheaval in life,” Stanley said, thinking back over the people and pets he’d met while owning the store.

June’s eyes met his, and the guardedness that had shrouded her since she walked in seemed to melt away, replaced by an openness that made Stanley’s breath catch.

She’d finally let down her barriers.

Thank goodness, his bear sighed. For a minute there, I thought you’d blown it.

“That’s exactly it,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “With the animals, Oli doesn’t have to translate the world. They accept him exactly as he is.” Her voice dropped lower, more intimate. “Just like you have accepted him. Do you know how rare that is?”

Stanley nodded, afraid to break the spell that had fallen between them. The morning light caught in her hair, turning the dark strands to amber at the edges.

“Most people expect him to be different,” she continued, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “They want him to make eye contact when it hurts him, to sit still when his body needs to move, to process noise and light and touch the way they do.” She took a deep breath. “But you didn’t.”

“I understand maybe more than you could imagine,” Stanley said simply.

June studied him, her head tilted slightly. “I think maybe you do.”