Page 54 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
“You belong, Wren,” he replied, kissing her lips.
“Okay, what about this garden?” Wren asked as they walked hand in hand across the grass where they had first made love.
That is staying,his bear teased.
The time flew by as they shared ideas and made plans. Until finally, Finn glanced at his watch and said, “I should get going. Mrs. Henderson will have my head if I’m late for her rose garden consultation.”
They walked back to the cottage together, his arm around her waist, her head resting against his shoulder. At the door, Finn turned to her, suddenly reluctant to leave despite knowing he’d see her in just a few hours.
He pulled her in for one last kiss, slow and deep, a promise in every press of his lips against hers. When they parted, he cradled her face in his hands, taking in every detail as if memorizing her.
“I love you,” he said simply, the words flowing out as naturally as breathing. Not rushed, not desperate, just true. So very true.
“I love you, too,” Wren answered without hesitation, and the certainty in her tone made his heart soar.
She reached up, straightening his collar with gentle fingers. “Try not to traumatize Mrs. Henderson with your bear’s opinions on her rose varieties.”
Finn laughed, stealing another quick kiss. “No promises. My bear has very strong feelings about hybrid teas.”
Her laughter followed him as he reluctantly pulled away, their fingers staying connected until the last possible moment. He walked backward down the path, unwilling to break eye contact until he absolutely had to.
“Tonight,” he called. “Six o’clock. Wear something bear-proof!”
Her answering smile was radiant in the morning light. Finn finally turned, climbing into his truck with a lightness in his step that made even the gravel beneath his boots seem to sing.
Just like his heart!
Chapter Twenty-Two – Wren
Wren stood at the window, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat against her palm as Finn’s truck disappeared down the lane, dust rising in golden clouds behind his tires. His goodbye kiss still tingled on her lips, and the memory of his whispered “See you tonight” sent a rush of heat through her body.
She lingered at the window long after his truck had vanished, savoring the afterglow of love and the sweet anticipation of his return. There was something different about loving Finn, something pure and true that she’d never experienced before.
It wasn’t the dizzying, spotlight-bright romance she’d had with Vince, but something deeper, something that felt like roots taking hold in fertile soil.
Wren turned from the window and poured herself another mug of coffee, breathing in the rich aroma as steam curled upward. She hummed a snippet of melody that had been dancing at the edges of her mind since waking in Finn’s arms.
He sure did inspire her.
She hadn’t felt this pull in months, this urgent need to capture sound and feeling before it slipped away. Wren abandoned her half-empty mug on the counter and headed upstairs, still barefoot, wearing yesterday’s oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts.
She’d grown to love her small studio with her guitar leaning against the wall, notebooks scattered across the desk, morning light streaming through the east-facing window. She settled onto the window seat, guitar cradled in her lap, and closed her eyes.
The first chord came easily, then another, building into a progression that felt as natural as breathing. Words followed, tumbling out faster than she could write them down. She scribbled in her notebook, crossing out and rewriting, her fingers moving between strings and pencil in a familiar dance she’d feared she might never feel again.
Time disappeared as Wren lost herself in creation. She recorded rough demos on her phone, layering harmonies, adding texture. This wasn’t the carefully constructed radio-ready sound her label had pushed for on her last album. This was raw, honest—the sound of her heart cracking open after a long winter.
“Perfect,” she whispered, playing back what she’d recorded. “I almost forgot music could feel this way.”
She started another verse, her voice catching on a particularly vulnerable line about finding home in someone’s eyes. Her hair had escaped its loose bun, falling around her face as she leaned over her guitar. A pencil tucked behind her ear threatened to drop with each movement of her head, but she was too absorbed to notice.
The sharp knock at the front door jolted her from her creative trance. Wren blinked, disoriented, as she set aside her guitar. Had hours passed? The sunlight had shifted, now streaming through the west-facing window instead.
Finn. Her lips curved into a smile. He must have wrapped up his appointments early, unable to stay away. The thought sent a flutter through her stomach as she set her guitar aside.
Wren padded downstairs, heart light, bare feet silent on the wooden steps. She didn’t bother checking her appearance; Finn had seen her at her messiest and loved her, anyway. The thought made her smile wider as she swung open the door without hesitation…
…and froze, the smile dying on her lips.
