Page 29 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
“Well, you were covered in mud and looked like a wild man,” Hilda retorted, her eyes dancing with mirth. “But I came back, didn’t I?”
Sophie watched them, heart aching. This was what love should look like after fifty years. Deep and wide. And still sparkling like the most perfectly polished gem.
“Try one,” Hilda urged, pushing the plate of cookies toward Sophie. “I followed your recipe exactly, but I’m not sure I got the balance of lemon and thyme quite right.”
Sophie took a cookie, touched that this woman had made her recipe. The shortbread was buttery and crumbly, the flavors perfectly balanced. “It’s perfect,” she said honestly. “You’ve got a natural touch.”
“High praise from the master herself,” Norman said, taking a cookie for himself. “Hilda watches all your videos. Says you remind her of herself when she was younger, making something extraordinary out of simple ingredients.”
“That’s very kind,” Sophie murmured, deeply touched by their kind words.
“It’s the truth,” Hilda said. “Now, tell me the secret of your five-minute chocolate mug cake. I’ve tried it three times, and it keeps turning out too dry.”
Sophie leaned forward, grateful for the familiar territory of cooking advice. “The secret is in the milk measurement. Most people use too little because they’re afraid it won’t set properly. But you need that extra moisture to keep it from becoming rubbery.”
“I knew it!” Hilda exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I kept second-guessing myself and adding less each time.”
“Trust your instincts,” Sophie said with a smile. “They’re usually right.”
And not just where cooking was concerned, she thought as she risked a sideways glance at Nero. Their eyes met across the table, and Sophie felt that same jolt of recognition she’d experienced the day before. Her instincts were telling her something about this man, something her rational mind wasn’t ready to accept.
“Speaking of instincts,” Norman said, his pale blue eyes twinkling as he looked between them, “sometimes the heart knows things the head hasn’t figured out yet.”
Sophie felt her cheeks warm again. Were they that obvious?
“Norman,” Hilda chided gently, though she was smiling. “Why don’t you go and pick some gooseberries from the garden for Sophie to use in one of her recipes?”
“Oh, you don’t have to go to any trouble,” Sophie insisted.
“It’s no trouble,” Hilda assured her. “It’s my way of saying thank you for your recipes.”
“I’ll come and give you a hand,” Nero finished his tea and set the cup down on the table.
When Nero and Norman had left the kitchen, Hilda leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile.
“He’s a good one, you know,” she said softly. “The Thornbergs are all good people, but Nero, he’s special. The kind who sees the beauty in broken things.”
Sophie didn’t know how to respond. Part of her wanted to explain that there was nothing between her and Nero, but another part—a growing part—hoped that wasn’t entirely true.
Chapter Eleven – Nero
Well, that went well,Nero’s bear said as they left Norman and Hilda’s cabin and headed back to his car.
It did, didn’t it?Nero was having to force himself not to smile like a fool. But it was hard. When they were inside that warm, cluttered kitchen, talking to Norman and Hilda, he’d felt like part of a couple for the first time.
And he was sure Sophie had felt it, too. That she was starting to trust him. To trust in the connection they shared. Because he knew she felt it, too.
As they reached his car and Sophie climbed inside, he noticed a shift in her expression. Something quiet fell over her.
“Are you okay?” Nero asked.
Sophie nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Really?” he pressed, gently. “You know you can tell me anything.”
She turned to him, her eyes bright with tears. “It was lovely to see what Norman and Hilda have. But it also made me...sad.”
“Why?” Nero asked.
