Chapter Fifteen – Christopher
Christopher couldn’t breathe as Sorcha opened the door, her hair loose around her shoulders, falling in waves he wanted to run his fingers through. The emerald sweater she wore made her eyes glow like forest pools in sunlight, and for a moment, he forgot every word he’d rehearsed on the walk over.
“Hi,” he finally managed, his voice rougher than he’d intended.
“Hi,” she echoed, stepping back to let him in. “Come on in.”
The scent hit him immediately—garlic, tomatoes, herbs—making his stomach growl. But it was her scent that made his mouth water.
And what he wouldn’t give to taste her lips…
“Something smells amazing,” he said, slipping off his boots by the door. His jacket hung on the hook beside him, and he could not resist the urge to lean forward and inhale deeply. Her scent mixed with his. As it should be.
A rush of possessive pleasure ran through his veins along with a certainty that tonight was the night their relationship would take a step…
A leap, his bear corrected.
A leap forward.
“It’s just a simple pasta sauce,” she replied, moving toward the kitchen. “I’m not much of a cook, but this is one thing I can manage.”
Christopher followed her, watching the way she moved, the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts hidden beneath her sweater. He licked his lips as his hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to tear her clothes from her body and kiss her from head to toe until she writhed in pleasure.
He swallowed down that need and focused on the two candles standing unlit on the table. His heart jumped at the sight. Had she been debating whether to light them? What had stopped her?
“Can I help with anything?” he asked, hovering at the edge of the kitchen.
“You could open the wine?” Sorcha gestured to a bottle on the counter. “Glasses are in that cupboard.”
He found a corkscrew in the drawer and worked the cork free with practiced motions. The domestic simplicity of it—opening wine while she stirred the sauce—felt right in a way that shook him to his core.
This is how it should be, his bear whispered. Every night. Her and us. Home.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” Sorcha said suddenly, her back still to him. “About being happy with the path you’ve taken.”
Christopher’s hands stilled on the wine bottle. “You have?”
“I’ve spent so many years building my career, moving from place to place.” She turned to face him, wooden spoon still in hand. “I thought that’s what I wanted. Freedom. Adventure.”
His heart thudded against his ribs as he carefully poured the wine into two glasses. “And now?”
“Now I’m not so sure.” Her eyes met his, vulnerable and questioning. “Does that sound crazy? To question everything you’ve worked for because of a few days in a place that feels…”
“Like home?” he supplied when she trailed off.
The word hung between them, loaded with meaning. Christopher handed her a glass of wine, their fingers brushing. The contact sent a familiar electric shock through him, and he saw her eyes widen slightly. She felt it too.
“I wouldn’t say home,” she replied, though something in her expression suggested otherwise. “But there’s something about Bear Creek. About…” She hesitated, then took a sip of wine instead of finishing the thought.
About me? Christopher wanted to ask. His bear urged him forward, to tell her everything…
about mates, about the bond they shared, about how he’d known from the first moment their eyes had met that she was his.
But fear held him back. What if it were too much?
What if he scared her away when she might already be on the edge of deciding to stay on her own?
“I think dinner’s ready,” Sorcha said, breaking the moment. She turned to the stove, setting down her wine to drain the pasta.
Christopher leaned against the counter. If only he had even a fraction of her gift with words, maybe he could find the right ones to anchor her here.
If not, she would leave. The thought stabbed through him like an icicle through the heart.
“Here we go,” Sorcha said, carrying plates to the small table. “Nothing fancy, but hopefully edible.”
“It looks delicious,” Christopher said honestly, taking his seat opposite her. The table was so small that their knees almost touched underneath. “Thank you for cooking.”
“It’s the least I could do after you showed me around today.” She smiled, that warm, genuine smile that made his chest ache. “And yesterday. And helped me the day before.”
“I’ve enjoyed every minute,” he said simply.
Sorcha reached for the candles, then hesitated, glancing up at him as if gauging his reaction.
Christopher held his breath. After a moment, she struck a match and lit them both, the small flames casting a golden glow across the table.
Something shifted in the air between them.
As if this small action was an acknowledgment that this was more than a casual dinner between acquaintances.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the pasta as delicious as it had smelled. Christopher savored each bite, aware that these moments with her were precious and fleeting.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Sorcha said suddenly, setting down her fork.
Christopher considered the question. There was so much she didn’t know—about his bear, about mates, about the real reason he’d stayed in Bear Creek. But those truths were too heavy for this intimate moment.
“I play the guitar,” he said instead. “Not well, but enough to entertain myself on long winter nights.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“There’s a lot you might not guess about me,” he replied, the words carrying more weight than he’d intended.
Sorcha held his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. “I’m beginning to see that.”
The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken words and feelings too new and fragile to name. Christopher could hear her heartbeat quickening, matching the rhythm of his own. His bear pushed forward, urging him to reach for her, to close the distance that seemed both infinitesimal and vast.
Instead, he took another sip of wine, giving them both a moment to breathe. “What about you? Tell me something I wouldn’t guess.”
Sorcha traced the rim of her glass with one finger, considering. “I’m afraid of settling down,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want it, but because I’m terrified of wanting it and then finding out it’s not enough.”
The confession hit Christopher like a gut punch. Of course, her constant movement wasn’t just about adventure or career. It was about fear. Fear of ending up like her mother, trapped and resentful in a small town. Fear of waking up one day to discover she’d made the wrong choice.
“What if it were enough?” he asked, the words escaping before he could stop them. “What if staying in one place, with the right person, could be the greatest adventure of all?”
Sorcha looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable in the candlelight. “Is that how you feel about Bear Creek? That it’s enough?”
“It has been,” he said carefully. “But lately…”
“Lately?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.
Christopher took a deep breath. This was it…the moment to be honest, to risk everything. “Lately, I’ve been thinking that the right person could make any place feel like home. Whether that’s here or…elsewhere.”
The implication hung between them, clear and unmistakable. I would follow you if you asked. I would leave everything I know for you.
Sorcha’s lips parted in surprise, her breath catching audibly. For a heartbeat, Christopher thought she might reach for him, might close the distance between them. But then her phone buzzed from the counter, shattering the moment.
She glanced toward it, then back at him, conflict written across her features.
“You can get it,” Christopher said, though every fiber of his being wanted to throw the device out the window.
“No, it’s fine,” Sorcha replied, turning back to him. “It’s probably just Doreen—my editor.”
About the job offer, Christopher thought, his stomach sinking. The dream job that would take her even further away from him.
“I should tell you something,” Sorcha said, setting down her wineglass. “About the job offer I mentioned earlier.”
Christopher braced himself, forcing his expression to remain neutral despite the dread pooling in his gut.
“It’s with World Traveler magazine,” she continued. “Their top correspondent position. I’d be traveling to exclusive resorts all over the world, places most people only dream of visiting.”
“That sounds perfect for you,” Christopher managed, the words like ash in his mouth. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It’s what I’ve worked toward my entire career.”
The finality in her voice told him everything he needed to know. She’d already decided to take it. Whatever had been building between them—whatever connection they’d both felt—it wasn’t enough to outweigh fifteen years of ambition and dreams.
His bear howled in anguish, the sound echoing through his mind with such force that Christopher had to close his eyes briefly to maintain control.
“I’m happy for you,” he lied, forcing a smile. “You deserve it.”
“Do I?” Sorcha asked, her voice unexpectedly sharp. “That’s what I keep telling myself. That I’ve earned this, that it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” She stood suddenly, moving to the window, her back to him. “So why does it suddenly feel hollow?”
Christopher’s heart stuttered in his chest. Hope, that dangerous emotion he’d been trying to suppress, flared to life again.
“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.
Sorcha turned to face him, the candlelight catching the unshed tears in her eyes. “I mean that for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if moving on is what I want anymore.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking small and vulnerable. “And that terrifies me.”
Christopher stood slowly, afraid that any sudden movement might break this fragile moment. “Sorcha,” he murmured. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, a single tear spilling down her cheek. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want anymore.”
Every instinct screamed at Christopher to go to her, to take her in his arms, to tell her everything—about mates, about the bond they shared, about how he’d known from the moment they met she was meant to be his.
But he held back, sensing that she needed to reach her own conclusions without his influence.
“It’s okay not to know,” he said instead, keeping his distance even as his bear raged against the restraint. “Some decisions can’t be rushed.”
Sorcha wiped away the tear with the back of her hand. “I’ve never been indecisive before. I’ve always known exactly what I wanted and gone after it full-throttle.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve never had a real choice before,” Christopher suggested gently. “It was always about getting away, about moving forward. Now you’re considering something different.”
“Staying,” she said simply.
“Or not,” Christopher added, though it cost him everything to say it. “The point is, you have options. Real ones. And that’s a good thing.”
“Is it?” Sorcha looked at him then, really looked at him, her eyes searching his face as if seeking answers to questions she couldn’t articulate. “Why are you being so understanding about this? Most men would push for what they want.”
Because you’re my mate, and your happiness matters more than my own, Christopher thought but didn’t say. Instead, he said, “I want you to be happy,” he said simply, the truth of it resonating through his entire being.
She stared at him, something flickering in her expression that made his bear stand at attention. “How are you even real?” she whispered.
Christopher swallowed hard. This was the moment. If he was going to tell her the truth—about what he was, about what she meant to him—it had to be now.
“Sorcha, there’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
But before he could continue, she got up from her chair and came to him. “Whatever it is, it can wait,” she said. “Because right now I know everything I need.”
With that, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.