Page 35 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
Our mate is here, under our roof,his bear added helpfully.Now would be a good time to tell her the truth.
Nero sighed, letting his arms flop out to either side of the mattress.We’ve been through this. I can’t just blurt out, “Good morning, by the way, I’m a bear shifter and you’re my destined mate,” over scrambled eggs.
Why not?his bear countered.It would save time. And the longer you wait, the harder it will be to explain why you didn’t tell her sooner.
She’s just getting over a betrayal,Nero replied, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair.The last thing she needs is another man hiding things from her.
He padded barefoot to the window and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight spilled across the mountainside, turning the pines to gold and the mist to threads of light. It was a perfect day.
She made risotto for us last night,his bear reminded him unnecessarily.The best meal we’ve had in this house, maybe ever.
“I know,” Nero murmured aloud, his smile widening at the memory. Sophie had moved through his kitchen with the confidence of someone born to create. Her hands had worked magic with simple ingredients, transforming them into something extraordinary. And the way she’d explained each step, her eyes lighting up with passion for her craft, he could have watched her forever.
We could watch her forever,his bear said.If you’d just tell her the truth.
Nero shook his head and moved to his closet. As he dressed, Nero found himself listening for sounds of movement from the guest room. Was she still asleep? Did she regret her decision to stay? Had the guest bed been comfortable enough?
Relax,his bear grumbled.You’re overthinking again.
Right,Nero muttered, buttoning his shirt.Breakfast. I’ll make her breakfast.
The idea clicked instantly. Sophie had cooked for him; now he’d return the gesture. He wasn’t exactly a culinary genius, buthe could manage scrambled eggs and coffee. And berries. Yes, fresh berries from the garden.
Nero made his way downstairs, each wooden step creaking familiarly beneath his feet. The morning light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the living room floor. He paused for a moment, struck by how familiar and yet howdifferentthe house felt with Sophie in it. Warmer somehow. More alive.
She’s brought us to life,his bear said.
Because meeting Sophie has made our life complete,Nero replied.
Only if she accepts us and the mating bond,his bear reminded him.
But after yesterday, that no longer concerned Nero.It’s all going to work out just fine.
Well, aren’t you the chipper one this morning,his bear said.
How can I not be when our mate is here?Nero replied as he entered the kitchen and set about preparing coffee, measuring the grounds with the same precision he applied to his jewelry work. The rich, earthy aroma filled the air as the machine gurgled to life.
That smell will wake her,his bear predicted with approval.
Then I’d better get breakfast going.Nero opened the refrigerator, surveying its contents with a critical eye. Thanks to Sophie’s grocery shopping yesterday, the usually barren shelves now boasted a colorful array of fruits, vegetables, and dairy products. He pulled out a carton of eggs and a block of cheese.
“Scrambled eggs,” he decided aloud. “I can manage that.”
It’s practically the only thing you can cook,his bear pointed out.
Which is why I’ll get it right,Nero countered, reaching for a bowl.
He cracked the eggs into a bowl, adding a splash of milk and a pinch of salt before whisking them together. As he stirred, he pictured Sophie in the kitchen last night—her sleeves pushed up, her smile easy, her hands skilled. Watching her had stirred something deeper than attraction. She’d made the house feel like a...home.
“Berries,” Nero said suddenly, remembering the raspberry bushes at the edge of his garden. “Fresh berries would make it special.”
A breakfast fit for a king,his bear agreed.Or a mate.
Nero set aside the egg mixture. He grabbed a bowl and stepped outside. The air was cool and clean, laced with pine and wildflowers. Birds chirped lazily overhead. The raspberries glistened with dew.
He picked slowly, carefully selecting only the ripest fruit.
He could see her in this garden. Talking to the herbs. Digging her hands into the soil. Laughing at his crooked tomato stakes. This place could thrive under her care. So could he.
