As they drove back toward the ranch, the sun beginning its descent behind mountains that looked painted by someone in love with drama, Dylan felt the weight of approaching endings—the treasure hunt, the excuse to spend Saturdays with Aidan.
“Let me take you to dinner,” Aidan said as they reached the ranch house. “In town.”
The invitation hung between them like morning mist over the lake—delicate, beautiful, ready to evaporate at the wrong word.
The warmth that spread through her chest had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. “The Lampstand?”
“Where else? Might as well give the town front-row seats to our lives.”
They drove to town as evening painted the valley in shades of amethyst and gold, that mountain twilight that made everything look like it existed in a fairy tale where endings hadn’t been written yet. The Lampstand glowed against Main Street like a promise of warmth and witnesses, and Aidan found parking in the lot in front of Hank’s construction office.
They walked hand in hand across the street toward Main, where in just a couple of weeks there would be a giant Christmas tree sitting in the center of the X that formed downtown. They were already prepping the area for the skating rink, and it would be full of skaters before too long.
Saturday night had filled the restaurant with locals and tourists, the dining room humming with conversation layered like harmonies. Heads turned as they entered together—not unusual for Aidan, who drew attention like flowers drew photographers, but different because his hand rested on Dylan’s lower back with unmistakable intention.
Simone seated them in the same booth they’d had the last time. They’d barely ordered when Dylan spotted her—Victoria at the bar, elegant as winter moonlight, a glass of white wine catching the light like captured stars. She wasn’t alone—Judge Harrison’s wife provided audience for what looked like casual conversation but felt like reconnaissance.
“She’s here,” Dylan said quietly.
“I know. I saw her when we walked in.”
“And you still wanted to eat here?”
“Of course. This is our town. She’s the visitor here, and I’m not going to walk on eggshells trying to avoid her. Besides, you and I have been inseparable for weeks. I think the town knows what’s going on between us and that my intentions are pretty clear.”
“Hmm,” she said, for lack of anything better.
“You have the most incredible eyes,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ve never seen a color like them.”
“My mother’s eyes,” Dylan said softly. “I think it made my dad sad to look at me. I’ve seen pictures of her. I look like her.”
“You look like you,” Aidan said. “And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She snorted out a laugh at that. “Yeah, right. Especially when I’m covered in grease and grime.”
“Honey, that just means you don’t know men at all,” he said, sitting back with a grin. “I have to catch my breath every time I see you put on those coveralls and cover your hair with that ugly cap.”
Her mouth went dry as a bone, and she had trouble swallowing. There was a look in his eyes that was heat and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She’d loved him these last five years, dreamed of him—of them together—but she’d kept those feelings in check, understanding they could never come to fruition. But somewhere deep inside her was a spark of hope, a heat that had started as an ember and was fanning into something all consuming. She knew whatever her own gaze held echoed his own, and she would have given anything to be alone with him so the world wasn’t intruding on this moment.
Her voice was low and husky when she was finally able to speak. “Maybe you’re just weird.”
“Maybe so,” he said. “I figure there’s a reason no other woman has stuck before now. It’s just because there’s no one like you.”
Their food arrived, and they talked about safe things while dancing around dangerous ones—the restoration shop’s progress, the weather forecast for next Saturday’s climb, how he wanted to kiss her in the moonlight while the light danced behind their eyelids.
Dylan had been so lost in the conversation, in the moment, that she'd completely forgotten Victoria was there until she showed up at their table, breaking the spell of their private bubble. She felt more than saw heads turn their direction.
"Aidan, Dylan," Victoria said with a smile that belonged in a museum of practiced expressions. "I wanted to stop by before I left."
Dylan's hand froze halfway to her water glass. The confidence she'd felt moments ago—the glow from Aidan's attention, the warmth of their dinner—evaporated like steam off hot metal. She was suddenly, acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the restaurant turning their way.
"Victoria." Aidan's voice was carefully neutral, his body language closing off in a way that made something in Dylan's chest tighten with anxiety rather than relief.
"I hope I'm not interrupting." Victoria's gaze swept over their table—the half-eaten meals, the wine glasses, the breadstick Dylan had been reaching for—cataloging everything with the precision of someone inventorying what used to be hers. "I just saw you both here and wanted to properly apologize for the other day at the garage. I was caught off guard."
"It's fine," Dylan said, though her voice came out smaller than she intended.
But Victoria didn't leave. Instead, she gestured to the empty chair with elegant certainty. "Do you mind if I sit for just a moment? I feel terrible about how I came across."
