He cleared his throat and said, “The thermostat is just here, and extra blankets are in the chest at the foot of the bed. The fireplace is already stocked with…”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she interrupted, her voice tinged with exhaustion, “but can we do this in the morning? It’s been a long day, and I just need to get to bed.”
Something protective stirred in his chest. “Of course,” Christopher said, though his bear wished they could stay, could watch over her while she slept. “Sleep well. I’ll be in the office if you need anything. Anything at all.”
He stepped back onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. The cold air hit his face, but it didn’t dampen the warmth spreading through him. His wish…the one he’d made that night with his friends…had materialized in the form of this woman.
His mate.
His bear settled contentedly as he made his way back to the office.This is how it begins,he whispered.
Christopher paused halfway there, turning to look back at Cabin 7. A light glowed softly through the curtains, casting a golden rectangle onto the snow. He stood motionless, watching as snowflakes drifted through the lamplight, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him.
From that vantage point, he could see all of Bear Creek Cabins, the familiar buildings, the pristine blanket of snow, the office window spilling light onto the drifts. Everything looked exactly the same as it had been an hour ago, and yet everything had changed.
Tomorrow,he thought, smiling into the softly falling snow. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of their lives, whether Sorcha O’Neill knew it yet or not.
Chapter Two – Sorcha
The sound of excited voices woke Sorcha from a deep, dreamless sleep.
She pushed herself up on her elbows and smiled at the sound of the children playing in the snow, their shrieks of delight punctuated by the soft thump of snowballs finding their targets. A familiar ache tugged at her heart, an ache that always intensified around the holidays. Christmas was meant to be shared, meant for family gatherings and traditions passed down through generations. Yet she was about to spend Christmas alone. Again.
Her gaze drifted to the empty space beside her in the king-size bed. Forty-two years old and still waking up alone. The constant travel, the deadlines, and the next assignment had all made putting down roots seem impossible. Or maybe that was just the excuse she’d been telling herself.
Sorcha reached for her phone on the nightstand and squinted at the screen. 9:47 AM. She rarely slept past seven, even on weekends.
“Goodness,” she muttered, “that drive really took it out of me.”
She stretched. She really should get out of bed and start her day…but the cabin was deliciously warm, the duvet impossibly soft. She snuggled deeper for a moment, allowing herself this small indulgence before the day’s work began. Just five more minutes…
But her strong work ethic wouldn’t let her linger. She had an article to write, places to visit, and people to meet. With areluctant sigh, she threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor, toes curling against the chill of the hardwood.
A faint current of pine and wood smoke drifted beneath the door, and she felt a shiver of excitement. There was something special about this assignment. She could not put her finger on exactly what. But she could not shake the feeling. Maybe it was just the thought of all the Christmas magic she was about to experience.
The coffee maker on the kitchenette counter caught her eye, a welcome beacon of civilization in the rustic setting. She padded over and quickly figured out how to operate it, breathing in deeply as the first drops fell into the carafe, filling the cabin with the rich aroma.
Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that dinner last night had been a granola bar and a packet of chips as she crawled along icy back roads. She frowned. She’d arrived so late she hadn’t visited the local grocery store to stock up on essentials, and room service wasn’t exactly an option at a cabin resort.
With more hope than expectation, she pulled open the refrigerator door and was surprised to find it stocked with essentials—a carton of eggs, a block of cheddar, milk, butter, and some fresh vegetables. In the small freezer compartment, she found bread wrapped in brown paper with “North Peak Bakery” stamped on it.
“Now that’s service,” she said to the empty cabin, already reaching for the eggs.
Fifteen minutes later, Sorcha sat at the small dining table by the window, savoring a perfectly fluffy omelet alongside thick slices of toasted bread slathered with local butter and honey. The first bite was pure bliss. The honey had a distinctive flavor, something floral, and complex that she’d never tasted before.Heather, she guessed, or wildflower, whatever it was, it tasted like summer bottled in amber. It warmed places coffee couldn’t reach.
As she ate, she opened her notebook and began jotting down notes for her article. “Bear Creek Cabins, #1 on the list,” she wrote, underlining it twice. “Attention to detail. Fully stocked kitchen. Comfortable beds. Stunning views.” She glanced up at the snow-covered pines framed by the window. “Authentic mountain experience with modern comforts.”As she took another bite of toast, she added, almost without thinking: “Kindness baked in—literally.”
After finishing her breakfast, she showered quickly in the surprisingly spacious bathroom, then dressed in layers, thermal underwear, jeans, a flannel shirt, and a thick sweater. She added wool socks and her sturdiest boots before pulling on her coat.
Stepping outside, the cold hit her lungs like a shock, but it was invigorating rather than painful. The snow sparkled under the bright morning sun, untouched except for footprints leading from cabin to cabin.Icicles hung from the eaves like sugar glass, and somewhere a radio crooned an old Bing Crosby tune, setting the scene perfectly.
Movement caught her eye. Near the main office, a tall figure was engaged in what appeared to be an epic snowball battle with three children. She recognized him immediately, Christopher, the night manager who’d checked her in. He moved with surprising grace for his height, dodging snowballs and lobbing his own with careful restraint, clearly letting the kids win.
As if sensing her presence, he looked up suddenly, his eyes finding hers across the distance. In that moment of distraction, a snowball caught him square in the face, exploding in apuff of white. The children erupted in victorious cheers while Christopher stood there, snow dripping from his stubbled chin.
Sorcha couldn’t help it—she laughed, covering her mouth with her mittened hand. There was something endearing about seeing the serious night manager taken down by a child’s lucky throw.The smallest boy bowed with outrageous flourish; Christopher clutched his heart and staggered like a stage actor, sending the kids into fresh peals of laughter.
Christopher wiped his face with his sleeve, a slow grin spreading as he excused himself from the game and walked toward her. His dark hair was dusted with snowflakes, his cheeks reddened by the cold.
