“Here we go,” Sorcha said, carrying plates to the small table. “Nothing fancy, but hopefully edible.”
“It looks delicious,” Christopher said honestly, taking his seat opposite her. The table was so small that their knees almost touched underneath. “Thank you for cooking.”
“It’s the least I could do after you showed me around today.” She smiled, that warm, genuine smile that made his chest ache. “And yesterday. And helped me the day before.”
“I’ve enjoyed every minute,” he said simply.
Sorcha reached for the candles, then hesitated, glancing up at him as if gauging his reaction. Christopher held his breath. After a moment, she struck a match and lit them both, the small flames casting a golden glow across the table. Something shifted in the air between them. As if this small action was an acknowledgment that this was more than a casual dinner between acquaintances.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the pasta as delicious as it had smelled. Christopher savored each bite, aware that these moments with her were precious and fleeting.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Sorcha said suddenly, setting down her fork.
Christopher considered the question. There was so much she didn’t know—about his bear, about mates, about the real reason he’d stayed in Bear Creek. But those truths were too heavy for this intimate moment.
“I play the guitar,” he said instead. “Not well, but enough to entertain myself on long winter nights.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“There’s a lot you might not guess about me,” he replied, the words carrying more weight than he’d intended.
Sorcha held his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. “I’m beginning to see that.”
The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken words and feelings too new and fragile to name. Christopher could hear her heartbeat quickening, matching the rhythm of his own. His bear pushed forward, urging him to reach for her, to close the distance that seemed both infinitesimal and vast.
Instead, he took another sip of wine, giving them both a moment to breathe. “What about you? Tell me something I wouldn’t guess.”
Sorcha traced the rim of her glass with one finger, considering. “I’m afraid of settling down,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want it, but because I’m terrified of wanting it and then finding out it’s not enough.”
The confession hit Christopher like a gut punch. Of course, her constant movement wasn’t just about adventure or career. It was about fear. Fear of ending up like her mother, trapped and resentful in a small town. Fear of waking up one day to discover she’d made the wrong choice.
“What if it were enough?” he asked, the words escaping before he could stop them. “What if staying in one place, with the right person, could be the greatest adventure of all?”
Sorcha looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable in the candlelight. “Is that how you feel about Bear Creek? That it’s enough?”
“It has been,” he said carefully. “But lately…”
“Lately?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.
Christopher took a deep breath. This was it…the moment to be honest, to risk everything. “Lately, I’ve been thinking that the right person could make any place feel like home. Whether that’s here or…elsewhere.”
The implication hung between them, clear and unmistakable.I would follow you if you asked. I would leave everything I know for you.
Sorcha’s lips parted in surprise, her breath catching audibly. For a heartbeat, Christopher thought she might reach for him,might close the distance between them. But then her phone buzzed from the counter, shattering the moment.
She glanced toward it, then back at him, conflict written across her features.
“You can get it,” Christopher said, though every fiber of his being wanted to throw the device out the window.
“No, it’s fine,” Sorcha replied, turning back to him. “It’s probably just Doreen—my editor.”
About the job offer,Christopher thought, his stomach sinking. The dream job that would take her even further away from him.
“I should tell you something,” Sorcha said, setting down her wineglass. “About the job offer I mentioned earlier.”
Christopher braced himself, forcing his expression to remain neutral despite the dread pooling in his gut.
“It’s with World Traveler magazine,” she continued. “Their top correspondent position. I’d be traveling to exclusive resorts all over the world, places most people only dream of visiting.”
