Page 12 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
“I didn’t take you for a cat person,” Wren said, carefully extending her hand toward Midnight, who sniffed her fingers regally before allowing a gentle stroke.
As Midnight deigned to allow her to tickle her chin, the tension in Wren’s shoulders eased another notch. She’d always trusted animals’ judgment more than people’s.
“I wasn’t,” Finn laughed, the sound as warm and inviting as the cabin. “My brother Stanley runs the pet store in town. He had these three that needed a home together after their owner passed, and somehow convinced me I needed cats.” He cracked eggs into a bowl. “Turns out he was right.”
“They must be good company when you live all the way out here on your own,” Wren said and then winced. That sounded like a roundabout way of asking if he was single.
“Ah, I like the solitude,” he said as he busied himself making coffee. “And anyway, when you have five brothers and countless cousins, you rarely have the time to be lonely.”
Wren wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table, watching as he moved with practiced ease around the kitchen. “Your family is close-knit?”
“We are.” Finn’s face softened. “It gets chaotic sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He chuckled as he went back to preparing breakfast. “There’s always someone to help you move a sofa or eat all your leftovers.”
For a heartbeat, Wren let herself imagine what that would feel like, having a family close enough to rely on, but not suffocating. It was something she’d never really had.
As he mixed pancake batter, Finn glanced up at her. “I owe you an apology, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For not having recognized you yesterday.” A flush crept up his neck. “I came home last night and looked you up. Listened to your music.”
Wren tensed, waiting for the inevitable flattery, the sudden change in how he saw her.
“It’s beautiful,” he said simply. “Like stories set to music. I especially loved the one about the lighthouse keeper’s daughter.”
A surge of happiness flowed through her. He’d actually listened to her songs, not just the hits, but the deeper ones she’d poured her heart into.
“That one never charted,” she admitted. “It’s not a radio song.”
“Their loss.” Finn shrugged, pouring batter onto the hot griddle. “It was my favorite.”
He said it with a matter-of-fact sincerity that made her want to cry and laugh at the same time.
Rusty emerged from under the coffee table and approached cautiously, his orange tail twitching with curiosity.
“He wants to be friends,” Finn said, “but he’ll pretend he doesn’t care if you ignore him.”
Wren laughed, extending her hand. “I know the type.”
To her surprise, Rusty butted his head against her palm, then quickly retreated as if embarrassed by his own affection.
For the first time in what felt like months, Wren realized she felt normal. Like she’d made contact with her true self once more.
As Finn cooked, he filled the silence with stories. Tales of growing up in Bear Creek, about his brothers’ antics, about the vineyard his family had run for generations. She let the stories flow over her, letting her brain conjure up images of children running wild over the mountains, of harvesting the grapes from the vines, of sharing a bottle of wine with the one you love. She wanted to ask a thousand questions about his life, and none at all.
“Here we go,” Finn said, setting a plate of golden pancakes before her, topped with fresh berries and maple syrup. “Thornberg family recipe.”
“It looks amazing,” she said, suddenly aware of how hungry she was.
The first bite melted in her mouth, sweet and buttery. “Oh my goodness,” she moaned. “These are incredible.”
Finn’s smile was warm with pleasure as he poured her more coffee. “Glad you approve.”
As they ate, Wren’s gaze drifted to the notebook on the side table. “What’s the fundraiser for?” she asked, surprising herself with her interest.
Finn’s eyes lit up. “It’s for the community garden project. My brother Alfie runs the garden center in town, and we’re expanding the program to include education for kids, cooking classes, that sort of thing.”
He grabbed the notebook and flipped it open, showing her sketches of garden layouts and event plans. “We’re organizing a benefit concert to raise money for the expansion.”
