Page 28 of Bear’s True Mate

I nodded. “Please. Earl Grey.”

“You got it. The french toast is exceptional today. Just saying.” She mossied over to the next table to refill their coffees.

I wanted to say something to Nolan about what she’d said or her in general, but his jaw had tightened the way I’d noticed it did when he was trying not to react to something, so I stayed silent instead.

When Delilah came back, I ordered the french toast on her recommendation, and Nolan ordered eggs, sausage, and bacon. It was enough food to feed two people, but I was sure it wouldn’t last more than five minutes in front of him. After all, he was a large man.

I filed that thought away, planning to use it somewhere in my story, and glanced around, soaking in the cafe. Nolan didn’t talk. He sipped his coffee instead and left me wondering what he was thinking.

Was he regretting inviting me to breakfast?

Thankfully our food came before I could get too lost in my head. The french toast was amazing. Thick, golden, and dusted with powdered sugar.

“So how’s the book going?” Nolan asked around a mouthful of bacon.

It was a simple question, but I could tell it wasn’t the one he wanted to ask. His jaw was tense again. He was holding back, choosing this question instead of the real one he wanted to ask about my ex and the past, and I was grateful for it.

“It’s going,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate.

“Yeah? You close to finishing?”

“Getting there. I’ve got a few more chapters to go.”

“What’s it about again?”

My fork paused mid-cut. “It’s a romance.”

“I know that. I mean what’s the story? Guy meets girl, girl hates guy, that kind of thing?”

My face went hot. “Something like that.”

“What’s the guy like?”

I took a long sip of my tea. “He’s, you know. The hero. Tall. Protective. The usual.”

“The usual,” he repeated, and I could swear one corner of his mouth was twitching upward into a smirk.

“Can we talk about something else?”

He shrugged his shoulders, but that little smirk was there at the corner of his mouth still. “I’m just asking about your book.”

“And I don’t want to talk about my book.” I shoved a bite into my mouth and chewed like my life depended on it.

He watched me for a second, that almost-smile still pulling at his mouth. Then, he picked up his fork and took a bite of his eggs.

The whole breakfast felt normal. That was the strange part.

Sitting across from someone, drinking tea, talking, eating, playfully arguing about which pie flavor was the best—this was the kind of morning I’d stopped believing existed. The kind where nothing bad was about to happen, where the person across from you wasn’t calculating anything, where a meal was just a meal.

When we were finished, Nolan waved Delilah down to ask for the check, but she shook her head.

“On the house today.” She winked.

“Delilah—”

“Don’t argue with me. You won’t win.” She shifted her gaze to me, and her expression softened. “You come back anytime, honey. I mean that.”

My throat ached. Not from sadness, from the opposite. From being treated like I belonged here by someone who meant it.