Page 50 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
“Let me get that,” Nero said, appearing behind her with his arms full of bags. He somehow managed to reach around her to open the door without dropping a single blackberry or mushroom.
“Show-off,” Sophie teased as she stepped into the cool interior of The Lookout.
“Years of practice carrying delicate materials,” he replied with a smile that made her heart flutter. “Jewelry-making requires steady hands.”
They moved to the kitchen, where Sophie began unpacking the fresh ingredients onto the counter. The colorful array looked like an artist’s palette—deep purple eggplants, vibrant red tomatoes, emerald herbs, and golden squash blossoms.
“I still can’t believe how many people recognized you at the market,” Nero said, carefully setting a basket of blackberries on the counter.
A small smile played across her lips. “I’ve been sharing recipes online for years, but it still surprises me when peopleconnect in person.” She lifted a bunch of thyme to her nose, inhaling deeply. “It meant a lot that they associated me with recipes that helped them. Not just... You know...”
“The fake proposal drama?” Nero offered gently, his expression softening. “That was always temporary. Your talent is what endures.”
His quiet confidence in her warmed Sophie more than any number of social media likes ever could. She picked up a particularly plump tomato, testing its weight in her palm. “I’m thinking of a tomato water consommé for the first course—something clear and pure that captures the essence of summer.”
“That sounds perfect,” Nero said, leaning against the counter. His dark eyes followed her movements with appreciation that had nothing to do with cooking and everything to do with the woman herself.
Sophie felt a blush creeping up her neck. Even after last night, the intensity of his gaze still had the power to fluster her. “I should start organizing these ingredients by recipe,” she said, reaching for a notepad. “And I need to check what people are saying online about my guest menu. Cassia mentioned she’d posted about it on the vineyard’s social media.”
“Do you need anything before I head to the workshop? I have a…commission I need to finish.”
“I’m fine,” Sophie assured him as she shot him a quizzical smile. “Go create something beautiful. I’ll be here planning culinary magic.”
Nero brushed a kiss against her temple, his touch lingering for a moment. “Find me if you need anything,” he said before heading out of the house. She watched as he strode toward his workshop and sighed in utter contentment.
Life was good.
As Nero went inside the workshop, she sprang into action. She was used to deadlines, but never one this tight.
Sophie finished arranging the ingredients, grouping them by the courses she was planning. Satisfaction settled over her as she surveyed her work. Each component had been carefully selected for the story it would tell about Bear Creek and the Thornberg Vineyard. Dishes she would use to weave the narrative of this place that had unexpectedly captured her heart.
With the kitchen organized to her liking, Sophie retreated to the guest suite. Though it hardly felt like a guest room anymore, not after last night. Her laptop sat on the small writing desk by the window, and she settled into the chair, pulling out her phone to check her social media.
Her notifications had exploded since that morning. The selfies from the farmers’ market had been shared widely, and her follower count had jumped by several thousand. Sophie scrolled through comments, a pleased smile spreading across her face as she read the supportive comments.
“Loved meeting you today at Bear Bluff Farmers’ Market! Can’t wait to try your blackberry galette recipe!”
“Sophie, you look so happy in these photos! That mountain air must be good for you!”
“Is that the proposal guy with you? You two look cute together!”
Sophie felt a twinge of self-consciousness at that last one, but it wasn’t malicious—just curious fans connecting dots from the viral video to these new photos. She kept scrolling, making mental notes of recipe requests she might address in future posts.
Then her thumb froze mid-swipe. A notification from a name she’d hoped never to see again: Tito Alvarez.
Her heart stuttered, then began racing uncomfortably fast. With trembling fingers, she tapped the message.
“Enjoying your little mountain fling, Sophie? Cute photos all over Insta. Didn’t take you long to move on. Wonder what your followers would think if they knew you abandoned our cookbook to play house with a small-town jeweler? The ‘authentic rustic’ angle is a bit desperate, don’t you think? You might want to consider how this affects your brand...and mine. Call me.”
Sophie stared at the screen, her vision blurring at the edges. The phone felt suddenly heavy in her hand, as if Tito’s toxic words had physical weight. She set it down on the desk with deliberate care, then watched in detached fascination as her hands continued to shake.
“He’s watching me,” she whispered, her voice thin in the quiet room. “He’s been watching my social media. He knows about Nero.”
A cold sensation spread through her chest, constricting her lungs until each breath came in shallow gasps. Sophie pushed back from the desk and stood, needing to move, to dispel the creeping panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
“He’s going to ruin everything,” she muttered, pacing between the bed and the window. “He’ll tell everyone I broke the contract. He’ll say I stole recipes. He’ll contact the publisher and kill the cookbook deal.”
She ran her hands through her hair, tugging slightly as her mind spiraled through worst-case scenarios. Tito had connections, television producers, magazine editors, and restaurant owners. With a few well-placed whispers, he could dismantle the career she’d worked so hard to rebuild.
