Page 55 of Matched with the Small Town Chef
Two hours pass before the door opens. Hunter enters, changed from his chef's whites into jeans and a soft flannel shirt, looking less armored.
"Sorry for the wait. Had to make sure Miguel had everything under control."
"It's fine. I've been keeping your plants company."
He smiles at that, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "They're good listeners. No judgment."
"Unlike food critics?" The self-deprecating joke slips out before I can reconsider.
"Some critics." He moves closer, stopping at the wooden workbench where this all began, where we first touched. "I wanted to thank you."
"For what?"
"The recipe credit. You made sure my grandfather's contribution was acknowledged. That matters to me."
I nod, throat tight with unexpected emotion. "His legacy deserves recognition."
"It does." Hunter studies me, eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through glass panels.
"I love this place. What you've built here." I swallow hard, gathering courage. "I loveyou."
The admission hangs between us, fragile as a soap bubble, iridescent with hope.
"I've been afraid to trust again." His voice drops, intimate as a confessional. "My ex-partner didn't just steal recipes. He took my confidence. He made me question my judgment, especially about people."
"I understand." And I do. The particular agony of trusting wrongly and the scars it leaves behind.
"But I've been thinking about something my grandmother said." He steps closer, close enough that I can see the fine lines around his eyes, evidence of laughter and sun. "About the difference between heat and warmth."
I wait, letting him find his way to whatever truth he discovered.
"Heat is instant. Intense. It burns bright but can cause damage if you're not careful." His hand lifts and hovers nearmy face without touching it. "Warmth sustains. Nurtures. Lasts through cold seasons."
My breath catches, hope expanding in my chest like bread dough in a warm kitchen.
"What we had that first night in the greenhouse was heat." His eyes don't leave mine. "What we built over the following days, cooking together, foraging, talking—that was the beginning of genuine warmth. The kind that can last if we let it."
"Hunter—" His name emerges half-whisper, half-prayer.
"I'm not ready to throw that away. No matter how it started." His fingers finally make contact, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "The local investment group made an offer. Partnership in Timberline. Creative control for me, financial backing from them."
"That's wonderful." The words emerge heartfelt but weighted with uncertainty about what this means for us.
"It is. It means I can stay true to my vision. To my grandfather's legacy." His hand cups my cheek now, warm and certain. "But success feels hollow without someone to share it with. Someone who understands both the food and the man behind it."
My heart stutters and restarts. "What are you saying?"
"I want honesty between us. No more secrets. No more professional masks." His thumb traces my lower lip, feather-light. "Can you give me that?"
"Yes." No hesitation, no qualification. "I've been thinking about changes, too. My editor wants me to consider a culinary travel series. Something deeper than reviews—stories about chefs and communities and food traditions. Starting with mountain cuisine."
A smile touches his lips. "Sounds like something you'd be good at."
"It would mean less time being The Executioner. More time being Audrey."
"I like Audrey." His smile deepens. "I love her."
The words break something open inside me, joy rushing in like spring thaw. "I want nothing more than to stay here with you."
