Page 38 of Matched with the Small Town Chef

"These mountains raised me." He stares into his glass. "The people here looked after me and Gram after my parents died. When my grandfather passed three years ago, they became my family." He takes another sip, eyes reflecting the whiskey's color. "I owe them everything."

"Is that why you came back? After Denver?"

Pain flickers across his features. "Partly. Also, because I had nowhere else to go." His admission carries raw honesty. "The restaurant's failure nearly broke me. Not financially—though that was bad enough—but here." He taps his chest. "I started to believe what they were saying about me."

"What, who was saying?"

"Critics. Former employees who jumped ship. Industry people who love watching a rising star crash and burn." Bitterness edges his voice for the first time since I've known him. "That I was overrated. A flash in the pan. That I'd reached beyond my abilities."

I think of my cutting reviews and how I never considered their impact beyond circulation numbers and professional reputation. How many chefs had I wounded with clever turnsof phrase meant more to entertain readers than provide constructive criticism?

"Lucas gave me a lifeline when no one else would." Hunter continues, unaware of my internal reckoning. "He remembered me from culinary school—he was a guest lecturer, inherited wealth with a passion for food. When he took over this property from his grandfather and developed The Haven into what it is now, he offered me Timberline."

"Sounds like a good friend."

"Cousin, actually, and he is." Hunter's use of past tense catches my attention. "Until recently."

"What changed?"

"Money. Investors." He sighs, refilling our glasses. "The Haven isn't performing as expected. Timberline does well, but the rooms aren't booking at the projected rates. The investors are pressuring him."

"And he's pressuring you."

His laugh holds no humor. "Last week, he suggested we 'pivot the concept.' Make Timberline more accessible. Add burger night and pasta specials." His hand tightens around his glass. "Everything my grandfather taught me about honoring ingredients, about cooking with integrity—Lucas wants to sacrifice it for profit margins."

"What will you do?" The question emerges barely above a whisper.

"Fight." Determination hardens his features. "This kitchen is my second chance. I won't compromise what makes it special." His eyes find mine, vulnerability beneath the resolve. "But I'm afraid of failing. Of letting down the people who believed in me when no one else would."

The confession hangs between us, weighted with trust I haven't earned. I should tell him who I am and what I’ve done,but the words stick in my throat, selfish fear winning out over honesty.

"You won't fail." Instead, I reach for him, hand resting against his cheek.

"You sound certain." He turns his face into my palm, lips brushing my skin.

"I am." At least in this, I can be honest. My review will ensure it.

"Remember what you told me? In the cabin?" His demeanor shifts subtly, eyes darkening as he catches my wrist. "About liking when I take charge." His thumb traces circles against my pulse point. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes." Heat floods my body at the memory.

“Would you let me do that now?”

His voice is low. Rough velvet. A question—and a promise. “Really take control?”

My breath catches. The air thickens between us, charged with the weight of what he’s asking. It’s not just about tonight. It’s about everything. About trust. About surrender. About what I want—maybe even what I need.

I meet his eyes. “What did you have in mind?” Anticipation coils low in my belly.

"Trust me?" He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a black silk handkerchief—folded and worn, soft with use.

A pulse of heat surges through me.

He moves behind me without a word, the silk sliding across my cheek, my temple. Then over my eyes. Darkness closes in, silencing everything but the drumbeat of my heart and the sound of his breath—steady, sure, closer than I thought.

"Stand." The command comes quietly but firmly.

My legs wobble slightly as I rise. His hands find my waist, large and warm, grounding me.

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