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His bear surged forward with uncomplicated joy. Yes. Tell her.

Gabe drew in a breath. There was no reason to deny it. Matilda knew about mates, knew enough about shifters to understand what the question meant, and had known him long enough that lying would be pointless anyway.

“Yes.”

Her whole face changed. “Oh, Gabe.” The next moment her arms were around him.

“I met my mate.” Gabe laughed, startled, and hugged her back.

“You found her at last!” Matilda pulled away but kept both hands on his arms, looking as pleased as Dana had looked suspicious that morning.

“She found me.” He shrugged. “At least she found the bakery. And I was in it.”

“Of course you were,” Matilda said, laughing. “And now you’re going on a date. You don’t hang around, do you?”

“It’s not exactly a date.” Gabe looked toward the basket. “She wants to see the fall colors, and I offered to show her the old logging trail.”

“And she said yes.”

“She did.”

“And that isn’t a date?” Matilda asked.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Gabe replied.

“Then it’s a date, and I’m so happy for you. So very happy.” Matilda’s words made the thing feel different. More real.

“Thanks. It means a lot.” It did. All morning this had been something only he and his bear knew, almost too big to say out loud. Now Matilda had heard it, and hugged him for it, and it was still true. His mate had a name. She took her coffee with milk, and at noon she was going to walk back through his door.

Matilda went back to the trays. Gabe checked the thermos lid again. Matilda caught him. “How many times have you checked that?”

“Once or twice. Maybe more.” Gabe set the thermos down. “I just want this afternoon to be perfect.”

“Understandable.” She straightened one of the trays, then glanced at the food. “Do you remember those apple turnovers you made when you were testing that new recipe a few years ago?”

Gabe groaned. “Unfortunately.”

They had been hideous. Half had failed to rise properly, and the filling had escaped through the seams of the rest and baked itself onto the trays in long dark smears. He had spent longer cleaning up afterward than he had spent shaping them.

“You stood right there glaring at them as if disappointment alone might make them look better,” Matilda said.

“I was disappointed.” He could still remember the sting of it.

“You threatened to throw them all away.”

“They were an embarrassment.”

“They were.” Matilda’s smile widened when Gabe gave her a look. “All that filling that leaked out went sticky around the edges, and the pastry got crisp in places it wasn’t supposed to.”

“Why remind me of that today?” Gabe was filled with the sudden urge to check the food he’d prepared for the picnic. “Are you saying I’ve messed up?” He reached for the pies.

“No.” Matilda stilled his hand. “What I’m trying to say is they might not have looked…as they should. But, and this is the most important thing, they tasted wonderful.”

“They were good,” Gabe admitted as he recalled Joel and Nate coming in and eating two each.

“They were delicious. You fixed the recipe afterward, and the next batch looked just the way you wanted.” Matilda lifted another tray and slid it into the rack. “I barely remember those. I remember the ugly ones.”

Gabe smiled despite himself. “I get it.”