After that night at the gas station, after Marc revealed his true nature and I surprised both of us by accepting it without hesitation, everything moved at lightning speed.
I moved into his rental house two weeks later, partly because I couldn't bear to be apart from him and partly because the bear wouldn't allow it. The mate bond, as Marc explained it, demanded proximity in the early stages.
Not that I was complaining. Living with Marc meant waking up to his warmth every morning, falling asleep in his arms every night, and discovering all the ways his bear nature influenced our daily life. The protectiveness. The territorial instincts. The insatiable appetite—for food and for me.
Three months after that first date, I discovered I was pregnant. The news sent Marc into a protective frenzy that was equal parts endearing and infuriating. He wouldn't let me climb ladders at the shop. Wouldn't let me lift anything heavier than a bouquet. Practically growled at male customers who stood too close.
But he also rubbed my feet every night, built a crib with his bare hands, and read parenting books with the same focus he once reserved for military operations. And when James was born, a relatively easy delivery, thanks to my "compatible mate genetics," according to the shifter midwife Marc found, he cried without shame, holding our son with trembling hands.
The flower shop has flourished almost as much as our little family. What started as a modest local business has expanded to serve three neighboring towns, largely thanks to Marc's idea to offer delivery services. Who knew that having a former Marine with enhanced senses delivering flowers would be such a hit?Women swoon when he arrives with bouquets, though he swears he never notices anyone but me.
I've hired two new employees. Lily, a twenty-year old girl with an incredible eye for design, and Thomas, a retired gentleman who manages the books. They run the storefront while I work from home, designing arrangements and managing orders online between feedings and diaper changes.
It's not exactly the life I imagined when I told Marc about my white picket fence dreams, but it's better. Richer. More authentic and raw and real than any fantasy I could have conjured.
The sound of tires on gravel pulls me from my thoughts. I shift James to my shoulder and move closer to the window, peering out to see Marc's truck pulling into our driveway. My heart still skips when I see him—this massive, beautiful man who chose me, who gave me a family, who shows me every day what it means to be truly loved.
"Daddy's home," I whisper to James, who perks up at the sound of the truck door slamming.
Marc takes the porch steps two at a time, and I meet him at the door with our son in my arms. The smile that breaks across his face, so different from the guarded expression he wore when we first met, never fails to delight me.
"There's my family," he says, voice gruff with emotion as he leans down to kiss me. Even after a year, his kisses still make my toes curl. "How's my boy?"
James squeals in response, tiny arms reaching for his father. Marc takes him with hands that could crush stone but never, ever harm his son.
"He missed you," I say, leaning into Marc's side as he cradles James against his broad chest. "We both did."
"Missed you too." He presses a kiss to the top of my head, inhaling deeply the way he always does when he's been away. Scenting me, marking me as his in the subtle ways of his kind. "Got some news today."
"Oh?" I lead him into the kitchen where dinner is simmering on the stove—beef stew, heavy on the meat, the way he likes it. "Good news or bad news?"
"Good, I think." He settles into a chair at our small kitchen table, bouncing James gently on his knee. "Jake called."
My heart skips. Marc's brother. The one he hasn't spoken to in years, the relationship he thought was irreparably broken. "What did he say?"
"That he's been looking for me. That he heard through the grapevine that I'd settled down, started a family." Marc's voice is neutral, but I can see the emotion in his eyes. "He wants to visit. Meet you and James."
"That's wonderful!" I move to his side, running my fingers through his dark hair. "When?"
"Next month, if that works for us." He looks up at me, vulnerability written across his features. "Is that okay with you? Having him here?"
"Of course it is. He's family." I press a kiss to his forehead. "Your family is our family."
The relief in his expression makes my heart ache. After all this time, he still sometimes expects rejection, still braces for the worst even when surrounded by love.
"There's something else," he says, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "I found a house today. On my delivery route."
"A house?"
"Five bedrooms, three acres, just outside town. Needs some work, but it's solid. And..." He pulls out his phone, showing me a picture. "It has a white picket fence."
The house on the screen is perfect—a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch and, yes, a white picket fence surrounding a yard big enough for children to play in. For a family to grow in.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, tears welling in my eyes.
"I put in an offer. Was that okay? I should have talked to you first, but it felt right, and the bear—"
I silence him with a kiss, pouring all my love and joy into the connection. "It's more than okay. It's perfect."
