Page 57 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
So life is coming up roses,his bear teased, purring with contentment.
Finn smiled, pulling Wren closer.Yes,he replied to his bear.And I don’t need rose-tinted glasses to see them.
Epilogue
Lanterns swayed overhead like stars strung between trees, casting their golden glow across the community garden. Wren stood behind the makeshift stage, her heart drumming against her ribs, fingers clutching her guitar so tightly her knuckles whitened. Through the gap in the curtain, she could see what felt like the entire population of Bear Creek gathered for the fundraiser, their faces turned expectantly toward the stage.
“Nervous?” Mrs. Abernathy appeared beside her, resplendent in a floral dress and a wide-brimmed hat adorned with silk flowers.
“Terrified,” Wren admitted with a shaky laugh. “It’s been so long since I performed for an audience.”
Her godmother patted her arm. “This isn’t an audience, dear. It’s family.”
Family. The word settled in Wren’s chest with surprising warmth. Three months ago, she’d arrived in Bear Creek broken and silent, seeking nothing more than anonymity and healing. Now she stood on the precipice of something she’d never thought possible…belonging.
“Five minutes,” Alfie called, bustling past with his clipboard. Today’s T-shirt declared, “Aloe You Vera Much” in bright green letters. He winked at her. “They’re going to love you.”
Wren nodded, unable to form words as her throat tightened. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, letting the familiar pre-performance ritual calm her racing pulse. The scent of barbecue and fresh-cut grass mingled in the evening air, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses.
A warm hand settled on the small of her back, and she didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it was. The touch alone sent a current of comfort through her body.
“There’s my songbird,” Finn murmured, his voice low and just for her.
Wren leaned into him, drawing strength from his solid presence. “What if I freeze up there? What if they don’t like the song?”
“Impossible,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But even if every note comes out wrong—which it won’t—I’ll still be right here, loving every second because it’s you.”
She opened her eyes to find him watching her with such tenderness that it made her breath catch. His bear rumbled contentedly beneath the surface; she could almost sense it now, a warm presence just behind his eyes.
“I wrote this song for you,” she whispered. “I want it to be perfect.”
Finn’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “It already is. Because it’s ours.”
From the stage, Alfie’s voice boomed through the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the musical talent who’s taken Bear Creek by storm—our very own Wren Hayes!”
Finn squeezed her hand once before releasing it. “Go get ‘em, love.”
Wren stepped through the curtain into the warm glow of lantern light, her legs somehow carrying her forward despite the trembling in her knees. The applause washed over her like a wave, familiar yet new in this context—not the roar of thousands in an arena, but the heartfelt welcome of neighbors and friends.
She settled onto the stool at center stage, adjusting her guitar on her lap. The microphone stood before her, waiting. Wren looked out at the sea of faces—Mrs. Henderson from the rose garden, Welland and Daisy from the café, Hugo and Leanne beaming from the front row, all the Thornberg brothers with their families.
And Finn, standing at the edge of the stage, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she began, her voice steadier than she’d expected. “This community has given me so much since I arrived—peace when I needed it, kindness when I least expected it, and...” her eyes found Finn’s, “love when I’d stopped believing in it.”
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd.
“I’d like to share a new song with you. It’s called ‘Coming Home,’ and I wrote it for the man who showed me what that word really means.”
Her fingers found the strings, muscle memory taking over as the first notes rang out clear and true in the night air. Then she began to sing, her voice rising and falling like water over stones, carrying the words she’d crafted in those quiet mornings at Rowan Cottage.
She sang of walls coming down, of trust blooming like flowers after rain, of finding safety in someone’s steady gaze. Of a love that didn’t need spotlights or applause to be real. With each verse, her confidence grew, her voice reaching out to wrap around the gathered crowd, drawing them into the story—her story. Their story.
As she moved into the final chorus, Wren looked directly at Finn, pouring every ounce of love she felt into the words. Hiseyes glistened in the lantern light, and the sight gave her voice a richness that made the final notes soar into the night sky.
The last chord faded into silence, a breathless moment of stillness before the audience erupted in applause. Wren blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the response, by the journey that had brought her to this moment.
She rose from her stool, bowing slightly, ready to step away from the microphone. But then Alfie was there, gesturing for her to stay. Confusion flickered through her as he stepped to the mic.
