Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Secret Star
"Kitchen's cleaned."
The rejection should have sent me back to room service. Instead, something in his tone made me determined to try again.
"Please?" The word came out small, carrying more weight than a simple request for food. "It's been a really long day, and I just... I need something real."
He studied me for a long moment, then glanced at the darkening sky. Something flickered across his expression before the mask slammed back into place.
"Stew's gone," he said finally, "but there's bisque left. Maybe a dinner roll."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly I nearly swayed. "That would be perfect. Thank you."
He ladled soup into a bowl with movements that spoke of decades of practice, added a crusty roll that looked homemade, and placed two golden cookies shaped like stars beside it. When I reached for my wallet, he waved me off.
"Welcome-to-Silver-Ridge gesture," he said, though his tone suggested he wasn't sure why he was being generous.
I took the first spoonful and nearly groaned aloud. The bisque was velvet-smooth and earthy, with layers of flavor that spoke of patience and skill and someone who understood that food was supposed to heal as much as nourish. It was the first thing I'd tasted in months that made me actuallyfeelsomething beyond the mechanical act of eating to fuel performance.
Without thinking, I hummed—a low, appreciative sound that rose from somewhere deeper than my throat. The melody was wordless but rich with contentment, the first time I'd hummed in months. The realization made my eyes flutter closed in surprise.
When I looked up, Gavin was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. His cleaning had stopped entirely, and there was something almost hungry in the way he was watching my mouth.
"Good?" he asked, his voice rougher than before.
"Better than good. This is real." I took another spoonful, savoring not just the taste but the way he watched me eat. "This is what food is supposed to do: remind you that simple pleasures exist."
He nodded once, as if that word carried more meaning than most people's speeches, and I realized I'd accidentally said something that mattered to him.
I ate in comfortable silence, watching him pack up with the same methodical care he'd put into the soup. When I finished, I tucked a twenty under his cash box before he could protest.
"I'm Sadie, by the way."
If he recognized the name, he didn't show it. "Gavin."
"That might have been the best meal I've had all year. Your grandmother's recipes?"
"Some of them." His voice was softer now, less guarded. "She taught me that feeding people is about more than just cooking."
I finished when he trailed off. "It’s about making someone feel cared for."
The look he gave me was sharp, assessing. "Yeah. Something like that."
As I stood to leave, I realized I didn't want this moment to end. There was something about this gruff, careful man that called to parts of myself I'd forgotten existed—the parts that craved authenticity over applause.
"Will you be here tomorrow?" I asked, then immediately felt foolish for the question.
"Every day of the festival," he said, and was that amusement flickering in his pewter eyes? "Someone has to feed the masses."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah," he said quietly, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. "I guess you will."
As I walked back across the empty grounds, snow beginning to drift down from the sky, I found myself humming again—that same unconscious melody that had risen with the taste of something genuine. Above me, barely visible through the falling snow, a warm glow traced its path across the dark sky, its delicate tail shimmering in the darkness.
I’d heard about it on social media. A big comet was going to be visible soon. The C/2022 X1 Kringle, beginning its once-in-a-millennium journey toward Christmas Eve.
I should have been thinking about tomorrow's performance, or my set list, or the fact that Keisha had probably called six more times. Instead, I was thinking about the way Gavin's scowl had softened when I'd hummed over his soup, about the awareness that had hummed between us despite his careful distance.
For the first time in months, I was thinking about something other than the weight in my chest and the urge to quit everything. I was thinking about what it might feel like to be seen by someone who valued authenticity over image, whounderstood that real sustenance came from more than just fuel for the body.
