Page 49 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"It is," Beau confirms. "Sarah's green chili mac is legendary around here."

"Flatterer," Sarah laughs, but she's clearly pleased with the compliment from the town's biggest grump. "I'll get that wine started and give you two a few more minutes to decide."

As she walks away, I lean across the table toward Beau. "Okay, I have to ask. How does everyone in this town already know about me? I've been here less than a week."

Beau shifts uncomfortably. "Like I said, small town. Word travels fast."

Sarah returns with two elegant glasses of deep red wine that catches the light beautifully. She sets them down, the rich burgundy liquid swirling gently in the crystal.

"Mountain View's finest," she announces proudly. "They use grapes grown right here in the valley."

I take a sip and close my eyes as the smooth, complex flavors dance across my tongue. It's perfectly balanced—not too sweet, with hints of cherry and oak that warm me from the inside out.

"This is incredible," I tell Sarah, who again preens under the praise.

"The mountain soil gives it something special," she says with pride.

We order the green chile mac and cheese, and while we wait, I find myself relaxing in a way I haven't in... God, maybe years.

The conversation flows easily, touching on everything from the town's history to Beau's favorite hiking trails. He's more talkative than I've ever seen him, and I realize this might be the most I've heard him speak at one time.

When the food arrives, I understand why people make pilgrimages for Sarah's cooking.

The mac and cheese is a masterpiece—perfectly cooked pasta in a sauce that's creamy and rich and has just enough kick from the green chilis to make my lips tingle. The chorizo adds a smoky depth that pairs beautifully with the cheese, and the sourdoughbread is warm and crusty and perfect for soaking up every last bit of sauce.

"This is insanely good," I say around a mouthful of pure heaven.

"Better than anything in the city?" Beau asks, and there's something almost vulnerable in the question.

I think about all the trendy restaurants Riley used to drag me to, places where the portions were tiny and the atmosphere was cold and I always felt like I was being judged.

"It's not even close," I say honestly. "This feels... real. Like food that's made with love instead of pretension."

Beau's expression softens. "Stone River's good at real things."

"I'm starting to notice that."

I watch Beau's hands as he breaks apart his bread, the careful way he tastes his food, how he seems to savor every bite.

There's something deeply satisfying about watching him eat, like witnessing someone who treasures moments like these.

"It's not just the food, though." I gesture around the warm space. "It's this place. This town. The way everyone seems to know everyone, but not in a judgmental way. In a caring way."

Beau shifts uncomfortably on his seat, swirling his wine with a hand that looks too big, too hardened for such a delicate swish of the wrist.

"I know. Took me a while to get used to it when I first arrived. I was used to anonymity."

"But now?"

"Now..." I can see him considering his words carefully. "Well, some days are harder than others. Icansit in a restaurant without wanting to bolt for the door. Most of the time."

I study his face, noting how he's not quite meeting my eyes. "Just most of the time?"

"Maybe I tolerate it better," he admits grudgingly. "When I'm not being ambushed by knitting committees."

"What about right now?" I ask, nudging his knee under the table. "How do you feel right now?"

He finally looks at me. "Right now? Some things make it easier."