Page 15 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
It wasn’t just that Nero had walked away. It was as if they were connected by an invisible thread.
She swallowed hard. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
Was she imagining things? Projecting feelings that weren’t shared? Maybe it had been one-sided all along. Her side.
Was that it? She’d latched onto him to try to soothe her pain and then imagined he’d felt something, too. But the look in his eyes… Had she imagined the intensity?
Before she could sink further into the ache of longing blooming in her chest, a young couple approached her stall, all glowing excitement and starry-eyed questions about their wedding menu.
Sophie forced a smile and talked them through flavor pairings and edible petals, offered tips on stabilizing lavender cream on a warm day, and pretended the ache in her chest wasn’t growing stronger by the second.
They asked for a selfie. She obliged, camera-ready, her grin flawless—even though her heart quivered like the panna cotta she was about to demonstrate.
But as she leaned in, the thought blindsided her:I wish I were the one planning a wedding.
Not just any wedding,hers.
And not with Tito.
WithNero.
The realization jolted her, sharp and impossible to ignore. If she were still in love with Tito, wouldn’t he be the one waiting at the end of that aisle in her mind’s eye? But when she pictured that moment now, the archway wasn’t draped in showy roses, it was woven with wildflowers and wisteria. And it was Nero standing there, waiting for her.
The shift in her thoughts had happened so quietly that she hadn’t even noticed.
Tito belonged to her old life. Nero... Nero felt like something entirely different. A spark of possibility.
And that terrified her more than she wanted to admit.
He’d turned everything upside down. Her plans. Her peace. Her heart.
Still, Sophie made it through the rest of the afternoon. She smiled, she nodded, and when it came time for her demo, she delivered every line with polished ease. She hit her cues, plated her rose-petal panna cotta with practiced grace, and gave the local press a perfect soundbite:“Love is the sweetest ingredient of all.”
But inside?
She felt like a fraud.
Keep it simple, she’d always told herself. That had been her mantra. The thought that guided her.
But nothing about this felt simple anymore.
Not Nero.
Not her heart.
Not even dessert.
“Sophie.”
She turned to find Finn Thornberg approaching with a charming smile, a bottle of wine, and a bouquet of late-summer flowers.
“From Thornberg Vineyard,” he said.
“You didn’t have to,” Sophie replied, though truthfully, she couldn’t think of anything better than a hot bath and a generous glass of wine.
“I did,” Finn said. “Honestly, I don’t think I expected just how many people would turn up because of you. You’re a star.”
“Oh, I doubt it was because of me,” Sophie said modestly, though ithadbeen busy. And she’d met more fans than she expected.
