Page 22 of Bear’s True Mate

“You want one?” I kept my eyes on the grill when I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Sure. Thanks.”

I didn’t make a big deal of it. Instead, I put a burger on a bun, added some chips from the bag I’d brought out, and handed it to her without commentary. She took it with a small nod, and for a minute, neither of us said anything while we ate.

The evening was warm, the kind of coastal warmth that settled in after the rain cleared out. The sky was streaked pink and orange, and the ocean was calm after yesterday’s storm.

“This is really good,” she said between bites.

“Secret’s the seasoning.”

“What seasoning?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “That’s such a guy answer.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She laughed. It was short, though, like it had slipped out before she could catch it. It was the same laugh from last night, and hearing it did the same thing to my chest that it had then—a warm feeling that I had zero control over.

My bear grew content.

I was irritated at myself over how much I was enjoying this. A burger on a porch with my temporary neighbor shouldn’t have felt like anything, but it did.

We kept eating. She told me about a scene she’d been working on all day—some argument between her hero and heroine that she couldn’t get right. She talked about it with her hands, waving a chip around to illustrate her point, and I found myself actually listening. Not just hearing the words, but tracking the way her face changed when she talked about writing—how the tiredness fell away and this charged energy took its place, like she’d plugged into something and it was breathing life back into her.

She was lit up, and I liked the look on her.

It suited her well.

I told her about the job I’d been at all day. She grinned while listening to me talk, and I noticed the freckle by her lip again. The one I’d been trying not to notice again.

My bear was so content he’d practically dissolved. He was so not fighting this. In fact, he hadn’t fought it at all. Instead, he’d been hers since the first time she’d knocked on my door with those blue eyes blazing with irritation. The problem was that I wasn’t done fighting it. I didn’t want this—this pull, this awareness of her I couldn’t ignore, this gravitational shift that was rearranging my entire life around a woman who was going to leave soon.

Even so, I kept sitting there. And she kept sitting there. And the burgers were gone. The sun was almost down, and neither of us was moving.

When she finally stood and gathered her plate, I stood too.

“I’ll take that,” I said, reaching for her plate.

“I can⁠—”

“I’ve got it.”

She let me take it. Then she picked up her laptop and headed for her side, and I followed—carrying two plates and a bag of chips like some kind of idiot. She stopped at the entrance and turned around to look at me.

We were close.

Closer than we’d ever been outside of sitting in my truck. She looked up at me, and I looked down at her. All I could think about was how close we were, the soft scent coming from her, and the way I desperately wanted to kiss her.

“Um, thanks for dinner,” she said, before she slipped inside and closed the door quickly like she was scared I might chase her.

I stood there. Staring at the closed door like a man who’d forgotten how his legs worked. The plates were still in my hands, and my bear was so quiet, so absolutely still and certain, that the silence inside me was louder than any music I’d ever played.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

Then I went to my place.