Tessa took a sip of wine, buying time. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Tess. I’ve known you for years. Something’s got you all...” Rachel waved her hand vaguely. “Distracted. Flushed. Like your mind is somewhere else.”
Was it that obvious? Tessa brought her hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth there, and glanced away. “I’m just tired,” she insisted. “It was a long shift.”
Rachel’s expression softened. “Okay,” she said, clearly not believing it but willing to let it go. “Thank you again for doing this. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Tessa replied automatically, the familiar phrase rolling off her tongue with practiced ease.
Later, after helping Rachel to bed and making sure she had water and pain relievers within reach, Tessa finally retreated to the guest room. The house settled around her, creaking softly as the mountain air cooled around it. Through the window, shecould see stars scattered across the dark sky like spilled salt—so many more than were visible in the city.
She pulled out her sketchbook and settled cross-legged on the bed. This was why she’d really come to Bear Creek—not just to visit Rachel, but to work on her next project, which was so close to her heart. A series of gentle, illustrative resources for caregivers and people navigating life changes. Something useful, something that might help others find their way through difficult transitions.
Something Tessa was an expert at.
Her pencil moved across the paper, sketching a figure on the page. The soft lead of her pencil traced light, flowing lines that captured the essence of gentle support—hands reaching out, not to take but to hold, to steady. She added a slight curve to the shoulders, a sense of quiet strength in the stance. It was exactly the feeling she wanted to convey: safety without smothering, support without dependence.
The drawings flowed from her pencil with unusual ease. Sometimes her work felt like a struggle, each line requiring deliberate thought. But tonight, the images seemed to pour directly from her mind to the page, as if the day had somehow unlocked something inside her.
She turned to a fresh page, intending to sketch a companion piece—perhaps something about finding moments of rest within caregiving. Her pencil hovered over the blank paper for just a moment before beginning to move.
But what emerged wasn’t what she’d planned at all.
Instead, her hand seemed to have a mind of its own, tracing the outline of broad shoulders, a straight spine, a particular way of standing—slightly turned, as if listening while doing something else. She added details without conscious thought:the set of the jaw beneath a neatly trimmed beard, the focused intensity of the stance, the way the head tilted slightly when concentrating.
It was Matt. Standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the dining room with that quiet attentiveness that had made her so aware of him all day.
Tessa stared at the sketch, frozen, her pencil suspended above the page. The likeness was unmistakable—she’d captured something essential about him, some quality that went beyond mere physical appearance. The quiet strength, the attentiveness, the way he seemed to effortlessly command the space around him.
How had Matt Thornberg managed to get so firmly under her skin in a single day? She barely knew him, yet here he was, appearing in her art unbidden. Heat crept up her neck as she stared at the sketch, embarrassment mingling with something deeper, more unsettling.
Tessa snapped the sketchbook closed with such force that she startled herself. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room, and she held her breath, listening for any sign that she’d disturbed Rachel or the girls. Only silence answered her.
She set the sketchbook on the nightstand as if it might burn her and pressed her palms against her eyes. This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, not some teenager with a crush. And yet...
The memory of Matt’s eyes meeting hers across the restaurant flooded back with startling clarity. That moment of connection had felt like recognition. Like he’d seen something in her that no one else could see.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself, dropping her hands to her lap. “This isn’t why you’re here.”
She was here for Rachel. To help her friend keep her job while she recovered. To give her the support she needed, just as Rachel had supported her after Mom’s death. She was not here to fall for Matt Thornberg.
But she suspected she already had.
Chapter Six – Matt
Sleep had eluded him.
Matt had tossed and turned all night, his thoughts racing with images of Tessa—her smile when she talked to diners, the way she’d created that simple cracker face for the child, how her eyes had met his across the dining room with that strange, electric recognition.
By four in the morning, he’d given up. The restless energy vibrating through his body demanded release. He slipped out of bed, padding silently through his cabin in the pre-dawn darkness. Outside, the air held that mountain chill that preceded sunrise, crisp and clean against his skin.
Shifting came easily, as natural as breathing. It always did.
The air around him crackled with static electricity as his human form disappeared, instantly replaced by the massive brown bear. His senses sharpened immediately—the scents of pine and earth intensified, the sounds of the forest magnified.
Matt’s bear stretched, muscles rippling beneath thick fur, and then he was moving, loping into the trees. The physical exertion was exactly what he needed.
He ran along familiar paths, climbing higher into the mountains surrounding Bear Creek, burning off the restless energy that had been riding him since yesterday. Since Tessa.
