Page 21 of The Sweet Chef and the Corporate Queen

The rain begins to ease, the torrential downpour softening to a steady shower. Another flash of lightning illuminates the blind, followed by thunder, but the rumble is more distant now.

"Sounds like it's passing," Jules notes.

"Another fifteen minutes and we should be able to head back safely," I agree, feeling oddly disappointed.

She stands, moving around the small space as if suddenly restless. My jacket hangs almost to her mid-thighs, making her look younger, less formidable.

"Mia would love this place," she says suddenly. "The blind, the trail guides, all of it."

"We could bring her up here when the weather's better," I offer. "There's a family of deer that visits the clearing just before sunset."

"Your family is so different from what I'm used to."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one."

Our eyes meet again, and this time, neither of us looks away. The distance between us seems to shrink without either of us moving. My gaze drops briefly to her lips, and her breath catches audibly.

For one charged moment, I think she might actually lean toward me. Instead, she clears her throat and takes a deliberate step back.

"The rain's letting up," she says, her voice slightly higher than normal. "We should probably head back."

"Right." I gather our makeshift tea set. "We can take the service road back. It's longer but less treacherous than the muddy trail."

She removes my jacket, folding it neatly before handing it back to me, once again the composed executive despite her damp clothes and wind-tousled hair.

But something has shifted between us. I saw behind her carefully constructed walls, if only for a few storm-bound moments. And unless I'm completely misreading the situation, she felt it too. That inexplicable pull, that sense of recognition that defies logical explanation.

As we prepare to venture back into the elements, I can't help but wonder what might have happened if the storm had lasted just a little longer.

Chapter Seven

Jules

The world after a rainstorm has an otherworldly quality I'd forgotten. Everything glistens, colors more vibrant, scents more potent. The mountain air feels impossibly clean, each breath like drinking straight from a spring.

"Careful here," Declan warns, offering his hand as we navigate a particularly muddy section of the service road. "It gets slippery."

I hesitate before accepting his assistance, his fingers warm against mine despite the cool air. He holds on a beat longer than necessary once I'm safely across, and I find myself reluctant to pull away.

We've been walking for about twenty minutes, the wildlife blind now well behind us. The storm has moved on completely, leaving behind puddles that reflect the emerging afternoon sun and a subtle rainbow arching across the eastern sky.

"Hungry?" Declan asks, breaking our comfortable silence. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a small container. "Homemade trail mix."

"Let me guess," I say, accepting a handful. "Another family secret?"

"Something like that." He smiles, and I notice a small dimple I hadn't seen before. "Dried cherries from the orchard down the valley, maple-candied pecans, and dark chocolate."

I sample a piece, surprised by the perfect balance of tart, sweet, and bitter. "This is... actually amazing."

"You don't have to sound so shocked every time I feed you something good," he teases.

"I'm not shocked. Just impressed by your range. From fine dining to trail mix."

"Food is food. It's all about quality ingredients and knowing what complements what." He gives me a sidelong glance. "Kind of like people, when you think about it."

The comment hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm not ready to acknowledge. I focus on the path ahead instead, noting that we've reached a ridge that offers a sweeping view of the valley below. Mountain Laurel Lodge sits nestled among the trees, smoke rising from its stone chimney.

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