Page 60 of Matched with the Small Town Chef

"Tonight. After the reception. As our private celebration." I cover his hands with mine. "But this moment felt right. Here, where everything began for us."

"It's perfect." He kisses me with such tenderness that it makes my heart ache. "Everything is perfect."

"Chef? Audrey?" Miguel's voice calls from the walkway. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need final decisions on the wine pairings."

Reality intrudes, but gently. Hunter's hand finds mine, squeezing once before releasing. "We should get back."

"Wait." I pull him back for one more moment of privacy. "Let's exchange our private vows now. Just us, before the formal ceremony."

His expression softens with understanding. "Yes."

In the golden afternoon, light filters through glass walls, and we are surrounded by growing things that have witnessed our journey from strangers to lovers to partners. We face each other with joined hands.

"Hunter Morgan." My voice steadies as I find the words I've rehearsed in my heart. "I promise to approach our life together with the same care you bring to your cooking—attention to detail, respect for tradition, and courage to innovate. I promise honesty in all things, passion in both work and love, and partnership in every challenge. I promise to remind you of your worth when doubt creeps in, to celebrate your triumphs, and to build something lasting with you, day by day, season by season."

His thumbs brush away tears I hadn't realized were falling. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of absolute certainty.

"Audrey Tristan Morgan." The name I'll bear after today already sounds right on his lips. "I promise to nurture our life together with the patience I bring to cultivating rare herbs—creating perfect conditions for growth, protecting what's precious, and savoring the fruits of our combined labor. I promise transparency where once I built walls, commitment where once I kept distance, and unwavering support as you pursue your dreams. I promise to see you—truly see you—every day of our lives together, to listen when words fail, and to build a legacy worthy of passing to our children."

He places a hand gently on my stomach at these last words, the promise extending now to the tiny life we've created together.

Our lips meet in a kiss that seals these private vows, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness, heat and warmth, present joy and future promise.

"I love you," he whispers against my lips. "Both of you."

"And we love you." The plural feels strange and wonderful on my tongue.

Amelia appears at the greenhouse entrance, apologetic but insistent. "Thirty minutes until you both need to get changed for the ceremony."

Reality beckons once more. With a final kiss, we return to the controlled chaos of wedding preparations. The ceremony at Lookout Point unfolds exactly as planned, the late afternoon sun bathing Angel's Peak in golden light as we exchange our formal vows before friends, family, and the entire town that has become our home.

At the reception, champagne flows and plates emerge from the kitchen in perfect succession, each dish telling part of our story—from the pine-smoked trout that first captured my professional admiration to the alpine herb salad harvested from our greenhouse.

When the time comes for dessert, I signal the kitchen staff to wait. Standing beside Hunter at the head of the table, I raise my water glass.

"As some of you may have noticed, I'm not joining in the champagne toasts tonight." Murmurs ripple through the gathering. "We have a special dessert announcement."

Hunter's arm slides around my waist, his smile radiant as I place his hand over my abdomen.

"We're expecting." The words ring out clear and joyful. "Our own little sous chef arrives in spring."

The greenhouse erupts in cheers, Eleanor Morgan's voice rising above the rest as she declares she "knew it all along." Jackson Hart slaps Hunter on the back with such enthusiasm that he nearly topples a centerpiece. Maggie from the diner immediately offers to supply special pregnancy-safe herbal teas. Even Lucas Reid appears genuinely moved, offering sincere congratulations.

Later, after the last guest has departed and the kitchen staff has completed cleanup, Hunter and I find ourselves alone in the greenhouse once more. He pours us tea from the pot Maggie insisted on leaving, and we settle on the small bench near the seedling nursery.

"So, Mrs. Morgan." The name sounds like a caress from his lips. "What next for our little empire?"

I nestle against his side, content beyond words. "The culinary school expansion. Your cookbook. Season three of the show. This little one." My hand rests on my stomach. "Plenty to keep us busy."

"And after that?" His arm tightens around me. "What's the five-year plan?"

I smile at his need to plan ahead and map the future as precisely as a recipe. "Maybe a sister restaurant in Aspen? Or that teaching kitchen for underprivileged kids you've been talking about?"

"All of it." He presses a kiss to my temple. "With you beside me, I want all of it."

The greenhouse settles around us, glass walls now containing far more than herbs and vegetables. They hold our beginning, our present, and our future—all the secret ingredients that transformed a one-night encounter into a lifetime commitment.

Hunter lifts his teacup in a toast. "To the unexpected ingredients."

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