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She laughed and took a sip of wine, and Gabe tried not to stare.
“But it must be nice, being part of a community,” she said. “Like the fundraiser. Everybody baking for something to support others.”
“It is. And it’s the other side of the same thing. Everybody knows too much, so when something goes wrong, everybody already knows it’s gone wrong, and half of them are on their way to help before you’ve asked.”
Her smile softened. “That part I’ve noticed.”
“Curtis?”
“Curtis. And you.” She held his gaze. “It feels like people mean it here when they ask whether you’re all right. At home it’s what you say instead of hello.”
“It’s a good place to live,” Gabe agreed. “And I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Unless our mate lived somewhere else, his bear added.
Mara ate for a moment before looking up again. “You and Dana seem to have a good relationship.”
“We do.” His fork hovered over his plate. “We’ve always been close. But when we lost Mom, it drew us closer. And I love being an uncle.”
“It shows,” Mara said, and her gaze lingered on him before she looked down at her plate.
Gabe took a sip of wine. It shows. Two words, and the way she had looked at him when she said them. On the mountain she had told him she wanted children and Scott did not. Was she picturing it now, the way he was? He set the glass down and made himself keep talking. “She has always considered it part of her job as my sister to tell me when I’m being an idiot, and she’s very committed to it. Has been since we were kids.”
Mara laughed. “I have two siblings, and I’m fairly sure telling each other when we’re being idiots is one of the basic requirements.”
“Older or younger?”
“Both. I’m the middle one. It was never quiet in our house, and it was worse in the summer, because my parents used to take us camping.” Her face lit up while she said it. “Three kids, one tent that was never quite big enough, and my father convinced every year that this time he’d remember how the poles went together.”
“That sounds like a fun childhood.”
“It was. We’d be out all day inventing games, wading in creeks, playing hide-and-seek,” she said, looking at the darkened window and the mountains beyond. “When I was younger, I always dreamed of living somewhere like this.”
“Do you still?” he asked.
“Camp?” Mara turned her glass on the table. “No. It wasn’t Scott’s thing.” She said it lightly, the way people mention the weather.
“I meant the dream,” Gabe said gently. “Living somewhere like Bear Creek.” He could barely breathe as he waited for her reply. It was only a question over dinner, and she couldn’t know how much hung on it for him. But if she had grown out of wanting a place like this, if Bear Creek was only ever going to be ten days of fall color to her, what did he have that would make her stay?
“Oh.” She met his eyes. “Yes. It’s still a dream.”
One day soon it’ll be a reality, his bear said with utmost confidence.
For a little while they ate without talking. That was when Gabe realized the nerves had gone. He wasn’t wondering what to say next, or whether Mara was having a good time, or how long he had been looking at her. He was sitting across a table from a woman over good food and good wine, listening when she talked and answering when she asked him something, and somewhere between the bakery and here the evening had become easy.
This is what it should always be like, his bear said.
Gabe didn’t answer that. He didn’t need to.
By the time their plates were cleared, the restaurant had grown busier, the noise of it rising around them.
Mara glanced at the time and sighed. “We should probably go if we want to see Harvest Lights.”
The server brought the check, and Gabe reached for it automatically. Mara got there first. “No.”
He looked at her. “No?”
“I asked you to dinner. I picked the restaurant, I made the booking, and I’ve been looking forward to it since about half past ten this morning.” Mara had her hand flat on the check and showed no sign of moving it.
