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“It has character,” he said kindly.

“Split it?” she asked.

“Split it.” He tore it down the middle, which the bear did not survive with any dignity at all, and pushed the larger piece toward her.

It was still warm, soft the whole way through, the sugar caught and darkened at the edge where the arm had spread. Mara ate her half far too quickly and was not sorry. “You’re right. It still tastes good.”

Gabe nodded. “It does.”

The bell above the door rang as two women came in, bringing a gust of cold air with them. Gabe got to his feet. “I should get back to work.”

“You probably should.” Mara put on her jacket while he collected their mugs. She had come into town because she wanted to see him, and that had turned into three cinnamon bears, two coffees, and a date, which was not bad for a morning with no plan at all.

At the door, she looked back. “Six.”

Gabe grinned. “Six.”

Mara stepped outside smiling, and stood on the sidewalk for a moment in the cold before she walked back to the car.

Then her phone buzzed, and the smile went.

Scott.

Did you ever confirm the anniversary hotel for Mom and Dad? I can’t find the email.

Of course she had. Mara had booked it months ago, after his mother mentioned over dinner where she and Scott’s father wanted to spend their anniversary, and then she had followed up with the hotel twice about the room they had asked for. She opened her email, found the confirmation in the folder she had made for it and forwarded it. The restaurant reservation was in there too, so she sent that as well.

Hotel confirmation attached. Dinner is booked for seven thirty.

His answer came almost at once.

Thanks. Knew you’d have it.

Mara looked at the words. There was nothing particularly strange about the request. She had made the booking, so of course Scott had asked her where the confirmation was. But for most of the morning the life waiting for her outside Bear Creek had felt very far away, and now it was right there in her hand. All those years did not disappear because she had spent two days enjoying somebody else’s company.

Mara put the phone away. She got in her car with the faint smell of cinnamon and butter lingering on her clothes. Six o’clock. Dinner with Gabe. Harvest Lights afterward. She smiled again, although not quite as easily as before.

Maybe it was fast. Maybe it was a little reckless. She had been sensible for eight years, keeping track of every booking and every date, and where had sensible gotten her? Forwarding a hotel confirmation to a man who no longer wanted the future she did. For once she was going to do what she wanted first and worry about it afterward.

She still wanted to go.

CHAPTER 8

Gabe

Gabe checked his reflection in the dark glass of the bakery window. His shirt was fine. He knew it was fine because he had already changed it once. That didn’t stop him from wondering whether he should go and change it again.

Twice. You’ve changed it twice, his bear corrected. Once because of the flour, and once because you decided Mara might not like green.

The flour was a real problem, Gabe replied.

An occupational hazard, his bear reminded him. You own a bakery. Mara already knows this about you.

Gabe tugged lightly at one cuff, then made himself stop. You are enjoying this.

Very much. His bear stretched inside him, pleased and completely unrepentant. How can I not when our mate has asked us to dinner? It’s not my fault you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Gabe huffed out something close to a laugh. The bakery was closed, the lights in the display case switched off, and the counters wiped down, ready for morning. The ovens had been off for a while, but the heat lingered along with the smell of the afternoon’s baking. Usually he liked this hour, when the last customer had gone and the place seemed to settle around him.