Page 36 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
It could be real,his bear whispered.If you’re honest.
Soon,Nero told his bear for what seemed like the hundredth time.When she’s ready.
His bear huffed but didn’t argue further.
Back inside, he rinsed the berries and arranged them in a ceramic dish, a simple one his mother had given him years ago. He turned back to the eggs, melted butter in the pan, and gently folded the mixture as it cooked. At the perfect moment, he stirred in the cheese and removed the pan from the heat.
Just as he plated the food, he heard the soft creak of the stairs.
His pulse leaped.
And then—there she was.
Sophie stood in the kitchen doorway, framed in the morning light. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a summer dress that skimmed her curves, her feet bare on the floorboards. No makeup. No armor. Just her.
And Nero forgot how to breathe.
“Morning,” she said, voice still husky from sleep.
“Morning,” he echoed, the word catching somewhere in his chest.
She’s real, he said to his bear in wonder.
Duh,his bear replied.Do you think you spent yesterday with a hallucination?
Sophie smiled, a small, tentative curve of her lips that made Nero’s heart stutter in his chest. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“And scrambled eggs,” Nero said, forcing himself into motion. “And berries. From the garden.”
She stepped closer, glancing at the table he’d set with cloth napkins and mismatched ceramic mugs. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”
“I wanted to.” He pulled out a chair for her. “After the amazing dinner you made last night, it seemed only fair.”
“That was my thank you for letting me stay.”
“Well, this is my thank you for…staying,” he countered as he scanned the table to check he hadn’t forgotten anything.
It looks just fine,his bear assured him.
“It looks wonderful.”
“I should warn you,” he said as he poured the coffee, “this is the extent of my cooking talents.”
“Then I’m impressed,” Sophie said with a small laugh. “I can’t even remember the last time someone cooked for me.”
“You’d better taste them before you go handing out praise.”
She took a bite. “These are perfect. And the berries look perfectly ripe.”
Our mate simply looks perfect,his bear swooned.
She plucked one from the bowl, popped it into her mouth, and sighed with pleasure. “Sweet with just the right amount of tartness. Your garden’s amazing.”
“I just try to keep things alive,” he said. “I’m not much of a gardener. Unlike my brothers.”
“Now who’s selling themselves short?” she teased, reaching for another berry. “These taste like summer itself.”
He studied her in the morning light, his heart oddly full. She belonged here. At this table. In this kitchen. In his life.
