Page 16 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
“The farmers’ market,” he said aloud. Midnight blinked at him slowly. “Henderson’s stand has the best pastries. Maybe even some cinnamon knots with orange glaze.”
His bear perked up immediately.Yes! Ask her to go with us!
Finn grabbed his phone, his mouth dry as he composed a text to Wren.The farmer’s market tomorrow morning has the best pastries. Care to join me?
His thumb hovered over the send button, suddenly hesitant.
Too much? Too soon?
Ask her,his bear insisted.If she says no, at least we tried.
Finn hit send before he could overthink it further, then set his phone down as if it might burn him. He paced the kitchen, anxiety and hope battling in his chest.
When his phone buzzed less than a minute later, he nearly knocked over a chair in his rush to check it.
Not sure about crowds. I don’t want to be recognized.
Of course. He should have thought of that. His fingers flew over the keyboard.
We can go at sunrise, just as they’re setting up. Hardly anyone there then. Plus, I know all the back ways between stalls. And you could wear your beanie. I promise to keep you safe.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. Finn held his breath.
You make a compelling case for early-morning pastries. Okay, I’m in. Where should I meet you?
Finn let out a whoop that startled all three cats, his bear rumbling with satisfaction.She said yes. She’s coming with us.
He quickly texted back details about where to meet, fighting to keep his tone casual when all he wanted was to tell her how the thought of seeing her again made his heart feel too big for his chest.
As he set his phone down, a smile spread across his face. Tomorrow morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Six – Wren
Wren woke to the soft trill of her alarm, blinking in the pale gray dawn that seeped through her curtains. Her notebook lay open beside her, filled with pages of scribbled lyrics she’d penned by lamplight until her eyes had burned with exhaustion. The melody that always seemed to fill her mind in Finn’s presence was taking shape, though it remained elusive, hovering just beyond her grasp.
But she had penned the beginnings of another song, a defiant, hopeful piece that had the makings of a hit, although it needed a lot more work.
Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached for her phone, the screen illuminating her face in the dim room. No message from Finn with directions to the farmers’ market, even though he’d said he’d send them. Her stomach twisted, a sharp pang of self-doubt gnawing at her. Had he changed his mind? Was yesterday just politeness, and she’d misread everything?
Why did it take the tiniest bit of uncertainty for confidence to come crashing down?
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself, pushing back the covers. She wouldn’t let self-doubt win, not today. Not when the prospect of the farmers’ market felt like her first real taste of freedom after weeks in hiding.
So what if Finn didn’t follow through? She was more than capable of finding her own way to the farmers’ market. However, she couldn’t ignore that seeing Finn again had been a large part of the reason she’d agreed to go.
Wren pulled up the market location on her phone. A quick check confirmed the market wasn’t far; it was just off MainStreet, nestled between the mountains and the creek that gave the town its name. Wren tossed her phone aside and hurried to get dressed, pulling on her most inconspicuous outfit: worn jeans, a faded band t-shirt, and her oversized cardigan that hung past her hips. She tucked her hair under her baseball cap instead of her trademark beanie and wrapped a scarf loosely around her neck. The look was just enough to obscure her face without looking like she was trying to hide. Even though she was.
“It’s the pastries,” she murmured to herself as she laced up her boots. “I’m just excited about fresh-baked goods.”
But the butterflies in her stomach told a different story. Each time she thought of Finn, her heart did a strange little skip.
Wren paused at the mirror, studying her reflection. “You barely know him,” she reminded herself, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
As she drove through the waking hills, mist still clinging to the valleys below, Wren rehearsed little things she might say to Finn. Nothing too revealing, nothing too guarded. Just...normal. The word itself felt foreign after so long living behind the walls she’d built to protect herself.
Normalcy had become a foreign concept, something other people took for granted. With Finn, she glimpsed the possibility of early coffee on the porch while watching the sun rise and conversations where she didn’t have to filter every word. A life where “Wren” wasn’t a carefully managed brand but just a woman who happened to write songs, who could hang her fame on a hook by the door like a coat no longer needed.
The farmers’ market was just coming to life when she arrived, vendors arranging produce and crafts on wooden tables, the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods hanging in the crisp morning air. Wren’s spirits lifted at the sight of Finn’s truck parked near the entrance. So he was here.
