Page 24 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
Sophie gasped audibly as she followed him in. Wooden workbenches, polished by years of use, stood in orderly rows. The walls were lined with apothecary-style drawers, each labeled in elegant script—“Silver Findings,” “Gold Filigree,” “Emerald Cuts.” Antique tools hung from pegs, while modern precision instruments were carefully arranged on leather mats.
“Oh my goodness,” Sophie breathed, slowly turning a full circle. Her eyes widened as she took in every detail from the brass scales to the jeweler’s loupe hanging from a velvet cord,and the small forge in the corner. “This is incredible. I had no idea.”
Nero set their coffees down on a side table and watched her as she ran her fingers reverently over the worn edge of his main workbench.
“You like it?” he asked.
Sophie turned to him and nodded. “This is wonderful. I never expected it to be so...”
Nero arched a questioning eyebrow. “Old-fashioned?” he supplied, used to that reaction from visitors.
“No,” she said, tugging her brows together as if searching for the right words. “Soyou.”
Nero felt heat creep up his neck at her words.
Is that a compliment?his bear asked with a rumble.
I’m honestly not sure,Nero admitted.
Sophie continued her exploration, pausing over a collection of sketches spread across a long wooden counter. Her gaze caught on one drawing. “What’s this?” she asked, leaning closer. “‘From My Heart to Yours’?” She read the words he’d scrawled in the margin.
Nero stepped forward quickly and gathered up the drawings before she could look too closely. “Just something I’m working on,” he said, feeling suddenly vulnerable as he stowed them in a drawer. If she saw it now, would she understand? Or would it scare her away? He cleared his throat. “Here is the bracelet.”
He reached for Norman’s piece, laying it gently on a velvet cloth. The restored bracelet gleamed under the light, the emeralds throwing soft green sparks.
“It’s beautiful,” Sophie murmured, leaning closer.
“These are the emeralds I replaced.”
“They look identical to the others.” Sophie leaned in to take a closer look, her hair brushing his hand, and the temptation to stroke her cheek was overwhelming.
“Close,” Nero replied.
She looked up at him. “You’re a perfectionist.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said with a sigh.
“It’s nothing to be guilty of,” Sophie assured him. “You take pride in your work, and I am sure that’s why people come to you. You are authentic.”
“Authentic,” Nero repeated the word.
I thought the only authentic things in this workshop were the precious metals and the jewels, and our love for our mate,his bear said happily.
“Yes, that’s what people like on social media, people who are authentic, who are not afraid of being their true selves.” Sophie nodded toward the emerald bracelet. “So, what’s the story behind this piece?”
“Oh,” Nero said, flustered at her nearness. “This was a wedding gift from Norman to Hilda. They are about to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary in a couple of days.”
Sophie shook her head. “Fifty years...can you imagine loving someone for so long?”
“I can,” Nero said quietly, his eyes meeting hers.
“You were saying,” she murmured.
“Oh, yes.” He looked down at the bracelet because if he looked at Sophie any longer, he would definitely kiss her. “Hilda lost the bracelet. She was heartbroken, but Norman managed to find it…down a storm drain.” He skipped the part where it was actually Norman’s bear who sniffed out the bracelet, even though it sure enhanced the story.
“A storm drain.”
“Yes,” Nero went on. “But it had been damaged. The clasp was broken, and these two emeralds were missing.”
