Page 18 of Cinnamon Baker Bear

“You’re welcome.” He closed the door, then went around to the driver’s side and got in.

His hand shook as he inserted the key in the ignition. Then the engine rumbled to life, and he forced himself to focus on the road ahead rather than the woman sitting next to him.

Our mate, his bear reminded Gabe.

As if he needed reminding when he could sense her, smell her, and feel the warmth of her so close to him. How was he supposed to talk about trees when the only thing in his head was what she was to him? He couldn’t tell her. Not today. She had said yes to a walk and nothing more. If he wanted her to say yes to anything else, she had to get to know him first.

For the first few minutes, he didn’t dare speak. Then slowly, his awareness of her dimmed enough that he could function again. As they drove out of town, he pointed out the road back toward the lodge and the turn that led toward Wes’s orchard.

“I had the orchard on my list,” she said as they passed the turn.

“You have a list?” Gabe asked.

“I do,” she confirmed. “Although I came into town this morning without checking it.”

Gabe grinned. “And look what happened.”

Mara turned toward him. “Exactly. I had my first cinnamon bear.”

“First of many, I hope,” Gabe said.

“Definitely. They are so good. What made you become a baker?” Mara asked. “You obviously have a talent for it.”

“My mom. She wasn’t a baker, but she baked a lot at home.” Gabe smiled at the road ahead. “She had a theory that most problems could be improved by feeding people. Not fixed. Improved. She was very particular about the difference.”

Mara laughed softly. “Was she right?”

“Often enough that I stopped arguing with her.”

“She sounds like a wise woman,” Mara said. “I think I’d like her.”

“She was, and you would have.” The certainty of the answer came out before Gabe thought about it.

Mara glanced at him. “She passed away.”

Gabe kept his eyes on the road. “She died four years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Mara didn’t say anything more. She looked back out at the trees and let the quiet sit between them.

But the silence didn’t feel awkward. Or strained. It felt natural. His mom would have liked Mara. He was sure of it. She would have sat her down and fed her before she asked a single question. And what would she have said if she could see him now, driving his mate up the mountain with half the bakery packed in a basket behind him?

The road wound through the mountains until the trees fell back on one side and opened a long view across the valley.

Mara leaned toward the window. “Oh, look at that.” Red and gold swept across the far slopes, broken by the dark green of the pines. The colors would only deepen while she was here.

“It’ll be even better by the end of the week,” Gabe said.

“I only have ten days.” Ten days. At breakfast, it had just been the length of her stay. Now it was like a deadline.

His bear felt it too. That isn’t very long.

Gabe’s hands tightened briefly on the wheel before he made himself relax them. It’s long enough.

He turned onto the narrower road toward the old logging trail. The trees closed in overhead, and fallen leaves skittered across the worn pavement in front of the truck. A short while later, he pulled into a small gravel clearing beneath the trees and cut the engine.