Page 47 of Matched with the Small Town Chef

"She was just leaving." Hunter turns his back on me, focusing on themise en placearranged on the counter.

"Hunter—" I reach for him again.

"Don't." The word is soft but final. "Please respect me enough to leave now."

Lucas, finally sensing the tension, clears his throat. "I'll give you two a moment. Hunter, when you're done, I want to discuss some ideas for capitalizing on this publicity."

The door swings shut behind him, leaving us in a silence that aches.

"I never meant to hurt you." My voice breaks over the words.

Hunter doesn't look up from the vegetables he's viciously chopping. "Ask yourself something, Audrey. Would your review have been different if you hadn’t fallen into bed with me?"

The question lands like a blow. Because the honest answer—the one that would hurt him more—is yes. Not because myprofessional assessment of his food would have changed but because I wouldn't have seen the heart behind it. I wouldn't have foraged with him in the mountains, wouldn't have watched him cook for the town fundraiser with such genuine care, and wouldn't have understood how his food told the story of this place and these people.

"That's what I thought." He reads my silence as confirmation. "Please go."

There's nothing left to say. My feet carry me through the dining room, where Lucas stands with his tablet, already making calls about expanded hours. The hostess who seated me on my first visit offers a confused smile. Outside, the mountain air that had seemed so crisp and promising now feels thin and insufficient to fill my lungs.

I walk blindly, letting my feet guide me while my mind replays every moment with Hunter, now tainted by this ending. I find myself at Maggie's Diner, the bell announcing my entrance just as it did that first day.

The red vinyl booth squeaks as I slide into it. A waitress approaches with coffee without my asking.

"You look like you need this, honey." She sets the mug down with a motherly pat on my hand.

The simple kindness undoes me. A tear escapes, then another, until I'm pressing a paper napkin to my eyes.

"Man trouble?" Darlene doesn't wait for an answer. "Best cure is Maggie's apple pie. On the house."

The pie arrives golden and fragrant, but I can't bring myself to taste it. My phone buzzes with a text from my editor.

Readers love the review. Surprising angle from you. Softer. Have you lost your edge?

The words blur through my tears. Have I lost my edge? Or found something I never knew I was missing?

Two stools down at the counter, an elderly woman with a cloud of white hair watches me over her coffee cup. "You're her, aren't you? The writer who wrote about Hunter's place."

I nod, bracing for either gratitude or hostility. The town's loyalty to Hunter runs deep, as does the gossip.

"My grandson works as a dishwasher there." She sips her coffee. "Says the review's already bringing in calls. Might need to hire more help."

"That's... good." My voice is hollow.

"You the reason Hunter looked like he'd been gut-punched. My nephew’s words?"

I look up, startled by her directness. "You know Hunter?"

"Honey, everyone knows everyone in Angel's Peak. And everyone knows something's been happening between you two." She slides over to the booth across from me. "I'm Edith. Post office forty-two years."

"Audrey." I extend my hand automatically.

"I know who you are." She doesn't elaborate. "So, what happened? You wrote a good review. Boy should be over the moon."

"I didn't tell him who I was." The confession comes easier with this stranger. "I was trying, before the review came out, but he found out afterward."

Edith clicks her tongue. "Pride. Men have too much of it. Especially that one."

"He has every right to be angry."

---