"Love working with my hands and creating beautiful things,” her profile said.
His bear wanted to know everything. Refresh. Nothing.
Andre forced himself to eat something. A frozen pizza he bought at the grocery store yesterday. It tasted like cardboard. His phone sat beside his plate, screen face up. Just in case.
What if she wasn't interested? What if one hundred percent meant nothing to her? But she was on the site. She had to be looking for her mate too.
Refresh.
After eating, Andre did fifty push-ups to burn off energy. His bear wanted to run, hunt, search. Wanted to tear apart the mountains until he found her. Maybe she was shy. Maybe she was thinking about what to write. Maybe she'd respond any minute.
The scanner crackled with routine calls. Traffic stop on Highway 20. Wellness check on Elm Street. Normal small-town evening, while his world had tilted off its axis.
Chapter
Three
On Saturday morning,Joy leaned against the counter waiting for the French press to steep, scrolling through her phone. The weather forecast for market day looked perfect. She tapped over to check her email and then her texts. There was a notification she'd missed from mate.com. The kitchen timer chimed. Joy pressed the plunger. She poured her coffee and added cream.
She opened the mate.com notification while she sipped her coffee. It was probably just another promotional message about upgrading her membership or success stories from other users. Still, her mountain lion stirred with interest as she opened it.
"Congratulations! We've found your fated mate."
Her fated mate.Heart hammering, Joy set the mug down and tapped to see his profile.
Username: Guard Bear. Name: Andre Holt. Age: 32. Shifter type: Grizzly bear. Location: Fate Mountain, Oregon.
He was here. In her town.
His profile photo made her knees go weak and her inner lion go wild. Dark hair cut short and neat. Warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners from a genuine smile. Broad shoulders filling out a blue button-down shirt. He looked kind.
He'd already sent her a message. "Hi Joy, I'm Andre. I just moved to Fate Mountain to work with Bear Patrol. I see we matched at 100%... I'd love to meet you and learn more about your business. Would you like to chat?"
Joy read it three times. The message seemed friendly, but she closed the app without responding. She needed time to think. The farmers market would keep her busy all morning. She'd figure out what to do about her fated mate after she'd cleared her head.
She dressed quickly in jeans and her favorite market day shirt, the one with a whimsical bee pattern. Loading the truck took all her focus. Boxes of lavender honey soap. Beeswax candles in mason jars. Sample sizes of honey. Each item nestled carefully in its crate, everything in its proper place.
Her heart pounded the entire time. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool morning air. Every time she reached for another box, she saw those warm brown eyes. And the words in his bio flashed through her mind.
I believe in keeping the people I care about safe.It made her extremely nervous, and she didn’t quite know why. Joy slammed the truck tailgate harder than necessary. Her mountain lion paced, restless and eager.
On the drive to town, she kept the windows down, the mountain air rushing through the cab. The familiar curves of the road required just enough attention to quiet her spinning thoughts.By the time she reached the town square, her hands had stopped shaking.
The farmers market was bustling with early vendors. Her best friend Holly was already there, arranging delicate glass bears on velvet displays while Elias carried boxes from the car.
"Morning, sunshine!" Holly called out, her happiness infectious as always.
Joy managed a smile and a wave. Normal. Everything was normal. Just another market day.
She threw herself into setup. The aluminum tent poles were cold under her fingers, morning dew making them slick. She wiped each connection point with the hem of her shirt before clicking them together. The poles sang a metallic note as they locked into place.
The tent canvas unfurled with a whoosh, releasing the scent of waterproofing. She stretched it taut over the frame, muscles in her shoulders pulling as she reached for the far corners. Each bungee cord snapped against the poles with a satisfying thwack.
Her folding tables came next. The legs stuck, as always, requiring her to brace one foot against the crossbar and yank. Metal scraped against metal. The first table wobbled until she kicked the adjustable foot, evening out the legs. The second table cooperated better, clicking into place with minimal fight.
She smoothed the checkered tablecloths across the surfaces, her palms pressing out wrinkles that wanted to spring back. The embroidered bees seemed to dance as she adjusted the fabric, making sure it hung evenly on all sides. A clothespin at each corner kept the mountain breeze from playing havoc with her display.
Each soap found its designated spot. Lavender honey in the front left, where the morning sun would catch the purple swirls. Goat milk oatmeal in neat stacks beside it. Her newest batch of coffee scrub arranged in a pyramid.
