Page 26 of The Bear's Christmas Wish
The fire crackled, filling the quiet with warmth and light. Sarah watched the flames dance behind the glass door of the wood stove, hypnotic in their constant motion. The coffee warmed her hands through the ceramic mug, but it was Michael’s understanding nod that eased the tightness in her chest.
“Emmy’s lucky to have you,” he said simply.
The words hit her unexpectedly hard. Not the hollow reassurances she’d grown used to—you’re better off without him or everything happens for a reason—but something that acknowledged what she’d actually accomplished. The daily choice to put one foot in front of the other, to keep building a life for her daughter when her own felt like it was held together with duct tape and determination.
“Some days I’m not so sure,” she admitted, surprised by her own honesty.
Michael leaned forward slightly, his brown eyes serious. “The fact that you worry about it tells me you’re doing it right.”
Outside, the wind howled with renewed fury, rattling the windows and making the cabin feel even more like a refuge. Sarah pulled his flannel shirt higher on her lap.
“What about you?” she asked, deflecting attention from herself. “Do you want children?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it, too personal for someone she’d known for only a few days. Heat crept up her neck, and she ducked her head, focusing intently on her coffee.
Michael was quiet for a long moment, long enough that she began to regret asking. When she finally risked a glance at him, his expression was thoughtful rather than uncomfortable.
“I do,” he whispered. “I’ve always imagined teaching a kid to identify trees, showing them how to read the forest. You know, pass on the knowledge that has been handed down from generation to generation.”
There was something wistful in his voice that made Sarah’s heart squeeze. She could picture it easily: Michael’s patient hands guiding small fingers, his calm voice explaining the difference between pine and fir. The image felt dangerously appealing.
“Emmy would love that,” she said before she could stop herself. “She’s always asking questions about everything. Why is the sky blue? How do trees know when to lose their leaves, and where do snowflakes come from?”
“Curious minds are the best kind,” Michael said, his smile genuine. “Smart kids ask the hard questions.”
The wind gusted again, and this time Sarah heard something else…a sharp crack from somewhere outside. Michael’s head turned toward the sound, his body tensing slightly.
“Tree branch,” he said, noting her concerned expression. “The weight of the snow can snap them. Nothing to worry about in here.”
But Sarah noticed how he moved to the window, peering out into the white void. Even through the storm, she could see the protective way he held himself, alert for any threat to their small sanctuary.
The kettle on the stove began to whistle softly. Michael returned to the kitchen area, refilling their mugs with fresh hot water. When he handed her the refill, their fingers brushedagain, and that same electric warmth she’d felt when he’d helped with the hand warmer spread up her arm.
This time, neither of them pulled away immediately.
“Sarah,” he said, and her name in his low voice made something flutter in her stomach.
She looked up, meeting his eyes. The cabin suddenly felt very small, very warm, very intimate. The storm outside had created a pocket of the world that contained only the two of them, and she was acutely aware of every detail—the way his hair had dried slightly unruly from the snow, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the careful way he held himself as if he were afraid of crowding her.
“Yes.”
He opened his mouth to speak, and she held her breath, sure he was going to make some revelation that would explain the way she was drawn to him. “Cookie?”
Chapter Eleven – Michael
Cookie?Michael’s bear asked in disbelief.
“Thanks.” Sarah gave him a bemused smile as she reached into the tin and took one of his homemade cookies. “Did you bake them yourself?”
Michael gave a short laugh. “No, one of my happy customers brings them every year when she comes to choose a tree.”
“That’s cute,” Sarah said as she bit into the soft cinnamon cookie, leaving a crumb on her lip that he longed to brush away.
With his lips.
Michael’s bear huffed with amusement as he watched Sarah eat the cookie. The crumb clung to her lower lip, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to reach across and brush it away.
“I should probably stoke the fire,” he said, needing something to do with his hands before they betrayed him. “It’ll be a while before the storm lets up.”
