Looking at Cole Blackwood, the man who can become a bear, who built this beautiful home with his own hands, who looks at me like I'm a miracle he never expected to find, I realize there's really no decision at all.
Some mysteries deserve to be explored.
One week later
I pull my red sedan into Cole's driveway, heart thundering with a mix of nervousness and certainty. The mountain air smells sweeter than I remember, the forest welcoming me back like an old friend.
Seven days have passed since I left this place, since the audit concluded successfully and I returned to Atlanta to "think things over," as I told Cole. Seven days of wrapping up loose ends, arranging remote work with my agency, packing essentials, and explaining to confused friends that yes, I'm moving to a small mountain town, and no, I haven't lost my mind.
Seven days of missing him with an intensity that shocked me.
I initially planned to take longer, to give myself space to process everything, to make sure I wasn't making an impulsive decision based on spectacular sex and supernatural revelations.
But each day without Cole felt longer than the last, each night emptier. The mate bond he described isn't just a shifter superstition. I've felt its pull growing stronger with distance rather than fading as conventional wisdom would suggest.
As I step out of my car, the cabin door opens, and there he is—tall and powerful, those green eyes lighting up at the sight of me. My heart quickens, and I know I've made the right choice.
"You're back," he says, as if he can't quite believe it.
"I'm back," I confirm, smiling up at him. "Sorry it took so long."
Cole crosses the distance between us in a few long strides, stopping just short of touching me.
"A week isn't long," he says, though his expression says otherwise. "I thought you might need more time."
"So did I," I admit, reaching for his hand. His fingers curl around mine immediately, warm and solid. "But it turns out I don't process well when I'm missing important data points."
His eyebrow lifts. "Data points?"
"You," I clarify, squeezing his hand. "Being away from you felt... wrong. Like I was trying to solve an equation with half the variables missing."
Something like hope dawns in his expression. "And that means?"
"It means I'm starting to believe in this whole fated mates thing." I step closer, tilting my face up to his. "It means I want to stay, Cole. Not just for a while. Not just to see where this goes. I want to stay."
The joy that transforms his features is almost painful to witness, like watching the sun break through clouds after months of rain.He lifts me off my feet in a crushing embrace, his face buried in my neck, breathing me in as if to confirm I'm really here.
"I missed you," he murmurs against my skin. "Every minute."
"I missed you too." I wrap my arms around his neck, marveling at how right it feels to be held by him. "Enough that my practical, logical mind has decided to take a leap of faith."
He sets me down gently but doesn't let go. "Your practical, logical mind is one of the things I love about you."
The word "love" hangs between us, neither of us ready to claim it directly but both feeling its presence. I smile up at him, running my fingers through his perpetually tousled hair.
"So," I say, "are you going to invite me in, or are we going to stand in the driveway all day?"
Cole chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Welcome home, Ruby Oliver."
Home. The word settles around me like a warm blanket. This cabin in the woods, this man who becomes a bear, this impossible new reality. It feels more like home than anywhere I've lived in years.
Inside, I notice small changes—a new bookshelf in the living room, empty and waiting; a second desk added to the office; a coffee machine that makes lattes alongside the simple drip brewer Cole prefers. He's been preparing for me, hoping I'd return.
"I cleared space in the closet," he says, a hint of shyness in his voice as he carries my suitcase to the bedroom. "And the bathroom cabinet. And added shelves in the pantry for whatever foods you like."
"Thank you." I follow him.
"It's just a room," he says, setting down my suitcase.
