Chapter 13
ELI
She could change her mind.
The thought circles through my head all afternoon as I prep for the dinner rush, chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. Quinn walked out of the woods with me this morning, her hand in mine, saying she chose this. Chose us.
But that was before she had time alone to think. Before the reality fully sank in—what it means to be tied to a bear shifter. To live in a town where everyone can turn into something with claws and teeth.
Instinct paces restlessly inside me, agitated by my worry. She said she'd stay. She chose us.
I want to believe that. But fear has a way of making people reconsider, even when their hearts are sure.
My phone sits on the counter, silent. No texts. No calls. She went back to the Inn hours ago to "think," and I haven't heard from her since.
"You're going to dice your finger off if you're not careful," Beau says from the grill, not looking up from the steaks he's searing.
"I'm fine."
"You're spiraling." He flips a steak with practiced ease. "She's not leaving, Eli."
"You don't know that."
"I know Quinn asked Evelyn about mate bonds when she got back to the Inn." Beau glances at me now, one eyebrow raised. "Evelyn called Cilla. Cilla called me. The town gossip chain is faster than you think."
My pulse jumps. "What did she ask?"
"If they're permanent. If there's a way to break them. If...” He pauses. "If you had a choice in choosing her, or if the bear decided for you."
The knife stills in my hand. "What did Evelyn tell her?"
"The truth. That mate bonds are real, that they're powerful, but that they don't override free will. That you still have to choose each other every day." Beau turns back to the grill. "Which is what you've been trying to tell her all along."
I set down the knife and brace my hands on the counter. Primal need claws at me—the urge to go to her, to make her understand that this bond is a gift, not a cage. That I would never take her choices away.
But showing up at the Inn, demanding she listen to me—that's exactly what would drive her away.
"She'll come to you," Beau says quietly. "When she's ready. Give her time to process."
"What if time isn't enough? What if she decides this is too much?"
"Then you let her go." His voice is gentle but firm. "Because that's what loving someone means. Even if it destroys you."
The thought of Quinn leaving—of watching her pack her car and drive away, taking my heart with her—makes every protective instinct I have howl in protest. But Beau's right. I can't force this. Can't make her stay if she's not ready.
All I can do is wait.
The dinner rush is in full swing when the bell above the door chimes.
I look up from the beer I'm pouring, and there she is.
Quinn stands in the doorway, backlit by the setting sun. She's changed clothes—jeans and a soft sweater that makes her eyes look darker. Her hair is pulled back, and she looks tired. Beautiful. Uncertain.
Our eyes meet across the crowded dining room.
She doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just walks to the bar and sits on the same stool she's claimed every night since she arrived.
My hands shake as I set down the beer I was pouring for another customer. The animal inside me surges forward, desperate to touch her, to make sure she's real and here and not leaving.
I force myself to walk calmly to where she sits.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey." She folds her hands on the bar top. "Can I get a beer?"
"Yeah. Of course." I grab a glass, trying to read her expression. Is she here to say goodbye? To ask more questions? To tell me she can't do this?
I pour her the honey-lavender ale—the first beer she could taste. Set it in front of her carefully.
She takes a sip, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, they're fixed on mine.
"I need you to explain fated mates," she says quietly. "Because Evelyn mentioned them when I got back to the Inn, and I need to hear it from you. All of it."
My shoulders drop even as my hands tighten on the bar. She's not leaving. Not yet. But this conversation could still change everything.
"Okay." I glance around the dining room. Every table is full, customers are waiting for drinks, and Beau's managing the kitchen alone. "Can you give me twenty minutes? Let me get through the rush, and then we can talk."
"I'll wait."
She nurses her beer while I work, and I'm hyperaware of her presence. Every time I pour a drink or take an order, I feel her eyes on me. Watching. Evaluating. Deciding if I'm worth the risk.
The twenty minutes stretch into forty before the rush finally eases. I catch Beau's eye, and he nods—he'll handle the stragglers. I pour myself a beer and come around to Quinn's side of the bar, taking the stool next to her.
"Fated mates," I start, trying to find the right words. "It's—the bond between two people that the animals inside us recognize as perfect matches. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together in a way nothing else does."
"Your bear recognized me," Quinn says. "When I walked in that first day."
"Yeah. The moment you crossed the threshold, my bear knew." I take a drink, buying time. "It's not just attraction, though that's part of it. It's deeper. Like your soul recognizes something essential in the other person. Something necessary to be whole."
"So you don't have a choice." Her voice is carefully neutral. "The bear decides, and you just... accept it."
"No." I turn to face her fully. "Quinn, listen to me. The bear recognizes you. Feels the pull, the certainty. But I'm not just my bear. I'm human too. And the human side gets to choose."
"Do you, though? Or does the bear's certainty make the choice for you?"
"The bear's certainty makes me pay attention," I say carefully.
"Makes me notice things I might have missed otherwise.
But everything after that first moment? That's been me choosing you.
Every conversation. Every meal I've cooked.
Every time I've held back from pushing too hard or demanding too much—that's me making conscious choices about how I treat you. "
She doesn't answer right away, staring into her beer. "Evelyn said mate bonds are permanent. That once they form, they can't be broken."
"They're strong," I acknowledge. "Stronger than most human relationships. But they require work, same as anything else. The bond gives you a foundation, but you still have to build something on top of it. You still have to choose each other, day after day."
"What if I can't?" The question comes out small, vulnerable. "What if this is too much? What if I'm not...” She stops, shaking her head.
"Not what?"
"Strong enough. Brave enough." She finally looks at me, and the fear in her eyes is raw, unguarded.
"Vanessa took my work and made it hers. Took my credibility, my reputation, everything I'd built.
I trusted her, and she used that trust to destroy me.
" Her voice cracks. "I can't give someone else that kind of control over who I am. I can't...”
"I'm not asking for control." I reach for her hand slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn't. "I'm not Vanessa. I'm not here to take anything from you or use you or make you smaller so I can be bigger. I'm asking you to share your life with me. There's a difference."
"Is there?" She searches my face. "Because from where I'm sitting, a mate bond sounds an awful lot like giving up my autonomy. Like letting someone else's certainty override my own choices."
"Then let me be clear about what I'm asking for.
" I lace my fingers with hers. "I want you to stay in Redwood Rise.
I want you to give us a chance to build something real.
But I'm not asking you to give up your career or your independence or any part of who you are.
I'm asking you to let me stand beside you while you figure out what comes next.
To let me support you instead of trying to do everything alone. "
"I don't know how to do that," she whispers. "I don't know how to trust someone not to hurt me again."
"Then start small. Trust me with dinner tomorrow.
Trust me with a walk through town. Trust me with one day at a time until it gets easier.
" I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"I'm not going anywhere, Quinn. Whether you're ready for this bond or not, whether you stay or go—I'm yours. That's not changing."
She's blinking rapidly, fighting tears. "That's not fair."
"What's not fair?"
"You can't just...” She gestures helplessly. "You can't just say things like that and expect me not to...”
"Not to what?"
"Fall for you." The words come out angry, frustrated. "I'm trying to be smart about this. Trying to protect myself. And you keep making it impossible."
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything. "Good."
"Good?" She glares at me. "This isn't funny, Eli. I'm terrified. I came here broken and lost, and now I'm supposed to just—what? Trust that some magical bond means everything will work out? Trust that you won't wake up one day and realize I'm not worth the trouble?"
"You're not broken. You never were." I cup her face with my free hand, making her look at me.
"You're healing. There's a difference. And yeah, you're worth the trouble.
Worth every difficult conversation, every moment of doubt, every fear you need me to help you work through. That's what this means."
The door opens behind us, and I hear boots on the wooden floor. Heavy steps. Someone stumbling slightly.
"Well, well." A voice I don't immediately recognize—male, slurred with alcohol. "If it isn't the little gal with her picture in one of those snooty food magazines."
I turn slowly, placing myself between Quinn and whoever this is. A man in his forties, red-faced, wearing a tourist's idea of outdoorsy clothes. Passing through town, probably staying at one of the motels on the highway.
"Can I help you?" I keep my voice level, but every protective instinct I have rises to the surface.