Page 7 of Bear’s True Mate

“I do. What kind? I’ve got chamomile, Earl Grey, and a mint blend that’ll change your life.”

“Earl Grey would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. Anything else? We’ve got fresh blueberry muffins this morning.”

“That sounds delicious. I’ll take one.”

She was already reaching for one before I finished answering. After setting it in front of me, she went to fix my tea. It didn’t take her long, and then she was back.

“I’m Delilah, by the way. This is my place.”

“Hi. I’m Rose.”

“Rose.” She repeated my name like she was filing it away for future use. “You new in town, or just passing through?”

I peeled the paper away from the bottom of my muffin. “Actually, I’m only here for a little while. I rented a place near the beach.”

Delilah’s eyebrows lifted, and a gleam of something entered her eyes. “Near the beach. Wouldn’t happen to be Alister’s duplex, would it?”

My muffin stopped halfway to my mouth. “How did you know?”

“Small town, honey.” She waved my words away with a grin. “Word travels fast here, especially when it involves Nolan Bridges getting a surprise neighbor.” She wiggled her brows.

So that was his name—Nolan.

“He didn’t seem exactly thrilled about it,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“I imagine not. That man likes his space the way he likes his music.” She leaned on the counter. “Loud.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “That’s an accurate description of it.”

“So what brings you to Driftwood Cove, Rose? Vacation? Family?” Delilah asked, but there was something about her expression and tone that had me feeling as though she already knew what I was about to say before I said it.

“Work, actually. I’m a writer. I needed somewhere quiet to finish a project.” The irony of that last part wasn’t lost on me.

“The romance writer,” Delilah said, that gleam back in her eyes. “Honey, I’ve been waiting for you to walk through that door since Alister told me he was renting to one.”

My muffin stopped halfway to my mouth for the second time. “Does everyone in this town already know who I am?”

“Just the important people.” She winked. “You’ve come to the right place, though. Trust me on that.”

She said it like she knew something I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to ask. I smiled politely and took a bite of my muffin. Before the conversation could continue, she was called away to a table. For a few minutes, I let myself just sit there, eating my muffin and sipping my tea without thinking about the blank page waiting for me at the rental.

When I was finished, I said goodbye to Delilah and headed back to the duplex. The walk back took about ten minutes. The first thing I noticed was the quiet. There was no mower chomping through the yard anymore, and no music thumping through the afternoon air. The second thing I noticed was that Nolan’s truck was gone.

Relief washed through me.

I stepped inside and headed straight for my laptop on the desk. I cracked the window and let the sound of the ocean waves rolling to the shore fill the room. My gaze shifted to my laptop. I opened it and stared at the screen.

It was time to get some words out.

Opening my document, I scrolled to where I’d left off and started typing. The words came, but they felt wrong. My heroine looked up at the stranger who’d just knocked her bags everywhere. He was supposed to be handsome in a way that caught her off guard. She was supposed to feel something shift—that flutter, that warmth, that first quiet hint that this man wasn’t like the others before him—the words fell flat. They read like stage directions. She felt happy. She felt seen. It all sounded so hollow. There was no emotion to it, no pulse.

I tried adding in the hero saying something sweet but understated. The kind of line that makes a reader’s chest ache, and they highlight or screenshot to share it on social media. What came out sounded as generic as a ninety-nine-cent greeting card.

The problem wasn’t the scene. It wasn’t the dialogue, the setting, or the plot.

The problem was me.