Chapter Seven – Christopher
Had he pushed her too far? After he’d asked Sorcha…what would you do if you could do anything? She’d clammed up, withdrawn from him, as if she had put up barriers in defense.
All too soon, dinner was over, and Christopher felt the moment slipping away. He’d crossed a line with that question and touched on something sensitive. The easy warmth they’d built throughout the day had dimmed, replaced by a guarded politeness that made his chest ache.
Then make it right, his bear said.
I would if I knew how, Christopher replied. But he’d figure it out. He had to.
“Let me help you with the dishes,” Sorcha said, rising from the table with her empty bowl.
“You don’t have to,” Christopher replied, but she was already gathering their plates.
“I insist. You cooked, I’ll clean.”
They moved to the sink together, falling into an easy rhythm as he washed and she dried. He loved the feeling of domesticity.
This is how it could be, his bear whispered. Every night. Her being beside us, sharing the simple tasks of living together under one roof.
“This has been a wonderful day,” she said softly, placing a dried bowl in the cabinet where he’d shown her it belonged. “Thank you for showing me around.”
“My pleasure,” Christopher said, passing her a clean glass. They collided gently, suddenly face-to-face, barely an inch separating them. Water dripped unnoticed from his hands onto the floor as time seemed to suspend itself.
Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as she looked up at him.
The kitchen felt too small, too warm, the air between them charged with unspoken words.
Christopher lowered his head slightly, searching her face for permission, for any sign that she felt this too.
That she could feel the inexorable pull between them.
For a heartbeat, he thought she might lean in as her lips parted, and her breath caught in her throat.
Then something shuttered in her eyes. She stepped back, breaking the spell, and took the glass from his unresisting fingers.
“I should be getting back,” she said, her voice carefully neutral as she put the glass away. “I have notes to organize for the article.”
Christopher nodded, swallowing his disappointment. “Of course.”
They finished the dishes in silence, the easy camaraderie replaced by an awkwardness that felt like a physical barrier between them. His bear growled in frustration, but Christopher forced himself to respect her retreat. She wasn’t ready to take the next step. Maybe she never would be.
After the kitchen was clean, Christopher grabbed his coat and keys. “I’ll drive you back to your cabin.”
“It’s not far; I can walk,” she insisted.
“I’m going that way anyway,” he said, trying to set her at ease. But nothing felt easy now.
The short drive was quiet, the darkness outside the truck windows matching the mood inside. When they arrived at Cabin 7, Christopher walked her to the door, keeping a careful distance.
“Thank you again for dinner,” Sorcha said, her key already in the lock. Her smile was polite but distant, her barriers firmly back in place. “And for showing me around today. It was very helpful for my article.”
“My pleasure,” Christopher replied, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets to keep from reaching for her. He didn’t want to end their perfect day like this. “Good night, Sorcha.”
“Good night.”
The door closed between them, and Christopher stood there for a moment, staring at the weathered wood, hoping it might open again. That she would realize she didn’t want this night to end without a goodnight kiss.
But the door remained firmly shut.
His bear whined with disappointment.
She needs time, Christopher said as he trudged back to his truck. We can’t force this.
But time was the one thing they didn’t have. Sorcha would soon be gone, back to her life of constant travel and deadlines. How could he convince her to stay when she seemed determined to keep her distance?
The night air bit at his face as he drove to the office, his shift about to start.
The familiar routine awaited—checking the generators, making rounds, ensuring the guests were safe and comfortable.
Work that had always brought him satisfaction before now felt hollow. He’d much rather be with his mate.
But maybe work was exactly what he needed. It would give him a chance to process what had happened. A chance to take a breath and figure out his next move.
Christopher parked his truck and entered the warm office, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully despite his somber mood.
“There you are,” Gretel called from behind the desk. “I was beginning to think I’d be pulling a double shift.” Her gray hair was pulled back in its usual neat bun, her eyes sharp behind tortoiseshell glasses.
“Sorry,” Christopher said, hanging his coat on the rack. “Lost track of time.”
Gretel had been managing the front desk at Bear Creek Cabins longer than anyone could remember. Some joked she came with the property. She knew every inch of the place and every secret the guests brought with them.
“Everything’s been quiet today,” she reported, handing him the logbook. “The Wilsons in Cabin 5 needed extra firewood. There’s a branch hanging down behind the log store. Broke under the weight of all this snow. Then there’s just the usual…”
Christopher nodded, making mental notes. “I’ll take care of it all tonight.”
Gretel narrowed her eyes, studying his face with the intensity of someone who had spent decades reading people. “You look tired, Christopher. Everything all right?”
“I didn’t get much sleep,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.
“You should take better care of yourself,” she chastised, gathering her coat and purse from under the desk. “These long hours aren’t good for anyone, shifter or not.”
Before he could respond, Gretel leaned in closer, her nostrils flaring slightly. A knowing smile spread across her face as she stepped back.
“A woman,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “So that’s why you didn’t get any sleep. You found your mate.”
Christopher couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “There’s not much that doesn’t get past you, is there?”
“Well, I’ve worked here long enough and dealt with enough people to get a pretty good read on them,” Gretel said, buttoning her coat. “So who is she?”
Christopher’s gaze drifted past her to the window, where Cabin 7 was just visible through the trees, a warm light glowing in its windows.
“A guest!” Gretel exclaimed, following his line of sight. “Oh, the late arrival, what was her name?”
“Sorcha,” Christopher said, the name like honey on his tongue.
“Sorcha O’Neill,” Gretel repeated with something like reverence. “The reporter.”
“Yeah.” Christopher raked his hand through his hair again, unusually nervous.
“Ah, there lies the rub,” Gretel said with understanding. “She’s a travel writer, from what I recall.”
“She is,” Christopher agreed, the words tasting bitter.
Gretel nodded sagely. “So she’s only here for a couple of days and then she’s moving on to her next assignment.”
“She is,” Christopher agreed again, his shoulders slumping slightly.
Gretel slapped him good-naturedly on the arm. “Well, you had better figure out how to make her stay!”
Christopher smiled despite himself. “Any suggestions?”
“Show her what she’d be missing,” Gretel said, heading for the door. “Make her stay so special she can’t bear to leave.”
“I’m trying,” Christopher sighed. “But she’s…guarded.”
Gretel paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Of course she is. She’s spent her life running from one place to the next. Staying would mean giving up the identity she’s built.”
The insight startled him. “How did you know that?”
“People who travel constantly are usually running from something or searching for something,” Gretel said with the wisdom of her years. “Sometimes both.”
Christopher considered this as Gretel opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air.
“Just remember,” she added, “home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. Show her that she’s already found what she’s been looking for, and the place won’t matter.”
With that, she was gone, leaving Christopher alone with her words echoing in his mind. Home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling.
He settled into the chair behind the desk, staring out at the snow-covered cabins. Tomorrow was Sorcha’s last full day in Bear Creek. Tomorrow would be his last chance to show her that she belonged here…with him.
His bear stirred restlessly. We need a plan.
Christopher nodded to himself. Yes, they needed a plan. Something that would show Sorcha everything she could have here in Bear Creek—not just the beauty of the place, but the depth of connection, the sense of belonging.
But he had no idea how to accomplish so much in so little time.