Page 36 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
She looked up at him, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. A small laugh escaped her, part relief, part wonder.
“I almost didn’t finish it,” she admitted. “But then…well, I found something here worth singing about.”
Finn reached for her hand—just a light touch, but enough that she could feel his gratitude, his awe. He let it linger. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick, “for sharing it with me.”
His bear stirred suddenly, urgent.It’s our turn now.Tell her. Show her who we are. She deserves the truth. Our truth. Just as she shared her truth.
Finn took a deep breath, his heart racing. “There’s something I want to share with you, too,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “Something I need you to know.”
Wren looked up, her expression open, trusting. “You can tell me anything, Finn.”
In that moment, looking into her eyes, Finn knew with bone-deep certainty that she would accept him as her mate. And healso knew she was everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed.
Now, Finn,his bear urged gently.She’s ready. We’re ready.
Finn squeezed her hand, searching her face for any sign of fear, but found only love and trust reflected there.
His bear rumbled,No turning back now, Finn. This is the moment that changes everything.
Finn steeled himself for what came next. What he was about to reveal could change everything between them forever. But he wanted no secrets, no walls. Not with her.
“I want you to know the real me, Wren,” he said, his voice steady despite the thunder of his pulse. “All of me.”
Chapter Fourteen – Wren
“I want you to know the real me, Wren. All of me.”
Finn’s words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning that Wren couldn’t quite grasp. Her heart stuttered, a painful lurch that left her breathless. The last man who’d promised to show herthe real mehad been Vince, standing in their kitchen with his eyes full of false sincerity, promising honesty while hiding text messages from the backup singer.
A wave of old betrayal crashed over her, bitter and sharp. Was she really ready to trust again, to risk everything for someone who might, just might, be different?
“The real you,” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. Her fingers twitched in his grasp, the instinct to pull away, to protect herself, nearly overwhelmed her.
Vince’s voice ghosted through her memory:I’ve never been this honest with anyone before. You know the real me.Two weeks later, the tabloids had splashed photos of him across their front pages, locked in an embrace with someone else.
But this wasn’t Vince. She clung to that, forcing herself to breathe. Finn was not Vince. He never had been. And she was certain he never would be.
Or was she deluding herself? Was she so desperate to believe in Finn, believe in love, that she was letting her heart lead her head?
Wren forced herself to look at Finn, really look at him. His eyes held none of the calculated charm she’d grown to recognize in liars. There was only hope there, and fear, and the same tenderness she’d come to crave. His hand around hers wasn’tpossessive but gentle, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. The calluses on his palm spoke of honest work, of gardens tended and vines nurtured.
She took a shaky breath. Finn had never given her reason to doubt him. He’d respected her boundaries, her privacy, her need for space. When she’d been at her most vulnerable, singing a song that laid her soul bare, he’d cried. Not the performative tears she was used to from industry executives, but silent, genuine tears that he’d tried to hide.
Trust him,she told herself.If you can trust anyone, it’s Finn.
“Okay,” she said, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. “Show me.”
The smile that broke across his face was tentative at first, then it widened with unmistakable relief.
“Not in here,” he said, glancing around the makeshift studio. “We should go outside.”
Curiosity sparked through her apprehension. What could he possibly need to show her that required the open air? Her mind cycled through possibilities as she followed him down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door.
The evening had deepened while they’d been inside, the sky a wash of indigo studded with early stars. A nearly full moon hung low over the trees, bathing the garden in silver light. The air was cool against her skin, fragrant with pine and something sweeter—night-blooming jasmine, perhaps, from the overgrown cottage garden.
Finn led her to the center of the small lawn, where moonlight pooled like water. He turned to face her, his features half in shadow, half illuminated. Something electric seemed to charge the air between them, making the fine hairs on Wren’s arms stand on end.
“Do you trust me?” Finn asked, his voice low and earnest.
