Christopher couldn’t argue with that. His wish had been for something meaningful this Christmas, something beyond the routine of work and duty. He’d wished for connection. For belonging. For his mate. And now here was Sorcha, the very embodiment of that wish.
“What did you wish for?” she asked, tilting her head.
The question caught him off guard. He couldn’t tell her the full truth—that he’d wished for his mate, for an end to his solitude—but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her either.
“I wished for something special to happen this Christmas,” he said carefully. “Something meaningful.”
Sorcha’s gaze held his, something shifting in their depths. “And has it?”
The world narrowed to just the two of them standing beneath the towering tree, snowflakes beginning to drift down around them like stars falling from heaven. Somewhere, a bell over a shop door chimed, as if in answer.
“Yes,” Christopher said, his voice rough with emotion. “I believe it has.”
A gust of wind swept across the square, carrying with it the scent of pine and wood smoke. Sorcha shivered slightly, and Christopher had to resist the urge to pull her against him for warmth.
His hand twitched as his bear rumbled,Mine.
Christopher curled his fingers into his palm.Not yet.
“Let me buy you some hot chocolate,” he offered instead. “The café across the street makes the best in town. Then I can show you the rest of Bear Creek.”
“That sounds perfect,” Sorcha said. “I need to warm up if I’m going to take more notes.”
As they turned away from the tree, Christopher cast one last glance at the wishes hanging from its branches. So many dreams and hopes gathered in one place. Children wishing for toys, adults asking for health or happiness for loved ones, families hoping for togetherness.
His own wish had been simpler: connection. Someone to share his life with, to understand both the man and the bear.
Walking beside Sorcha toward the café, feeling the invisible pull between them strengthen with every passing hour, Christopher allowed himself to hope that maybe—just maybe—the universe had been listening that night under the stars.
The café door jingled as Christopher held it open for Sorcha. Warmth enveloped them immediately, not just from the heatingbut from the golden glow of the lamps, the buzz of conversation, and the rich scent of coffee and baking.
“Morning, Christopher!” called Ellie from behind the counter, her silver hair tucked beneath a festive red bandana. “Take a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
Christopher nodded his thanks and guided Sorcha toward a corner booth with a perfect view of both the square and the café’s cheerful interior. As they settled in, he noticed how she took everything in with those keen reporter’s eyes, the hand-knit stockings hanging along the counter, the vintage ornaments dangling from the ceiling, the way the locals greeted each other with easy familiarity.
“This place feels like something from a Christmas movie,” Sorcha murmured, unwinding her scarf.
“Ellie does like Christmas,” Christopher replied, sliding a menu toward her. “And the pancakes are worth writing home about, too.”
Ellie appeared at their table, notepad in hand. “What’ll it be, dears?”
“Two hot chocolates with all the trimmings,” Christopher said, glancing at Sorcha for confirmation. When she nodded, he added, “And a stack of pancakes to share. With the Bear Creek honey.”
After Ellie bustled away, Sorcha folded her hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. “So, Christopher Stiller, give me the inside scoop.”
She knows about shifters!His bear said happily.
“The inside scoop?” Christopher asked warily. What if the article about Christmas in Bear Creek was really a cover for an expose on shifters? No, Sorcha was not that kind of a reporter.
“Yes,” she said. “What is it you love about living in Bear Creek? What keeps you here?”
The question hung between them, deceptively simple. Christopher studied her face, trying to decipher her intent. Was this Sorcha the journalist collecting quotes for her article, or Sorcha the woman genuinely interested in knowing him?
His bear huffed with impatience.Does it matter? Tell her the truth either way.
“I love the rhythm of this place,” he said finally, choosing his words with care. “The way the town changes with the seasons, but some things stay constant. The community mostly. People look out for each other here.”
“There is something to be said for small towns,” Sorcha said, although she didn’t sound convinced. “Have you ever lived anywhere else?”
