Page 57 of Matched with the Small Town Chef

God help me, I can’t wait. I want this man. His town. This life.

“I hope you like a challenge,” I murmur. "I can be quite ornery."

"That’s okay. I like a challenge." His grin is pure promise. “You’re mine now.”

And just like that, I am.

Utterly.

Deliciously.

Irrevocably his.

Six months later, the camera crew adjusts the lighting as I prepare to film the opening segment of "Roots & Routes," my new culinary travel series.

Behind me, Timberline gleams, transformed but true to Hunter's vision—expanded kitchen, additional greenhouse, cooking school under construction.

Hunter watches from behind the producer, arms crossed over his chest, pride evident in every line of his body. When our eyes meet, he winks, a private communication in a public moment.

"Ready in five, four, three..." The producer counts down silently with fingers for the final numbers.

I take a breath, centering myself in this new role and life we're building.

"Welcome to Angel's Peak, where a hidden culinary gem is redefining destination dining through its connection to place, tradition, and the vision of one remarkable chef..."

The words flow easily and authentically. Because this isn't a story I'm telling—it's a story I'mliving. With Hunter. With this community. With the mountains that called us both home.

As the camera pans to capture Hunter approaching to demonstrate his grandfather’s famous trout recipe, his hand briefly finds mine off-camera, a touch that carries all the warmth we've built together.

We’ve found the perfect pairing, at last.

15

The Perfect Blend

Angel's Peak in Autumn is a painter’s dream—mountains ablaze with sunset colors; aspen leaves shimmering gold against evergreen, and the first dusting of snow on the highest peaks.

Standing at the kitchen window of the expanded Timberline, I pause to absorb the view that still takes my breath away, even after a year of waking to it daily.

"Admiring the scenery when we have prep to finish?" Hunter's voice carries no real reproach, only the comfortable teasing of partners who've found their rhythm.

"Inspiration." I turn to face him, warmth blooming in my chest at the sight of him in his element—sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms dusted with flour, confidence in every movement as he expertly crimps dough. "Some of us need it for creative work."

"And some of us need to finish these tarts before two hundred guests arrive." But he smiles, the crinkles around his eyes deepening in the way I've come to treasure.

The kitchen around us bustles with focused energy. Student chefs from the newly established Mountain Culinary Institute—Timberline's educational offshoot—move with purpose under Miguel's watchful eye.

What began as Hunter's dream of teaching traditional mountain cooking techniques has blossomed into a prestigious program with a waiting list two years long.

I move to my station, adjusting the camera setup for today's special episode of "Roots & Routes."

My culinary travel series has found its audience—people hungry for recipes and the stories behind them. The network initially balked at my insistence on keeping Angel's Peak as my home base rather than relocating to New York, but the authenticity of filming where the food traditions live has become the show's trademark.

"How's the special sauce coming along?" Hunter appears beside me, sampling a spoonful of the pine-infused reduction I've been working on. His eyes close briefly in appreciation. "Perfect. Like everything you do."

"Flatterer." I bump his hip with mine, the casual intimacy between us now as natural as breathing. "You just want me to help with those tarts."

"Maybe." His hand finds the small of my back, warm through the fabric of my chef's whites. "Or maybe I just want an excuse to stand close to my almost-wife."

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