Page 20 of Matched with the Small Town Chef (Angel’s Peak #4)

"You're manipulative," Hunter retorts, but there's less heat in it now.

"I'm strategic," Lucas corrects, not unkindly.

"And I've been protecting your vision from corporate vultures since we opened.

But after yesterday's review..." His expression sobers.

"The stakes are higher now. The Haven can't survive as it is.

That part wasn't a test. We need Timberline to succeed, but on our terms, not theirs. "

He turns to the rest of the staff. "I wanted everyone to hear Hunter's passionate defense of what makes this place special. That's the North Star we follow, no matter how tempting other offers might be."

Relief and renewed excitement ripple through the room. Hunter's expression remains guarded, but I can see him reassessing, recalculating.

"Then let me invest." The offer still surprises me, but once spoken, it feels inevitable. "I have savings. Enough to buy a stake in Timberline and help fund Hunter's expansion ideas."

Shock ripples through the room. Hunter's eyes widen, his carefully constructed mask slipping.

"You would invest in a restaurant run by a chef who currently hates you?" Lucas asks, but his incredulity seems more curious than dismissive.

I look directly at Hunter. "I believe in his vision. In what he's building here. Whether or not he forgives me is irrelevant to that fact. You need capital, and I have that."

For a heartbeat, the room falls silent. I can almost see Hunter's thoughts racing behind his eyes—suspicion, confusion, calculation.

"I need to speak with Ms. Tristan. Alone." Hunter's voice leaves no room for argument. "The rest of you, give us the room."

Lucas exchanges a look with Hunter I can't quite decipher—something like understanding passing between them—before nodding.

"Of course." He gathers his tablet and gestures to the others. "Let's give them space."

Lucas ushers the staff out, closing the door firmly behind them.

Hunter and I stand facing each other across the conference table, the mountains bearing silent witness through the windows.

"What are you doing?" Exhaustion threads through the anger in his voice.

"Trying to fix what I broke." My hands tremble, and I press them flat against the table to steady them. "Or, at least, not make it worse."

"By throwing money at the problem? Buying your way into my restaurant after betraying my trust?" His words sting, but there's more weariness than venom in them now.

"No. By believing in you. In what you've built here.

" I take a breath, searching for words worthy of this moment.

"I didn't lie in the review. Every word was true.

Your food moved me. Not because we slept together, but because you cook with your whole heart.

It's the most honest thing I've experienced in years. "

He paces the length of the windows, fingers raking through his hair. "You have no idea what you're offering. Restaurants are money pits. Especially ones like Timberline."

"I know exactly what I'm offering." I stand my ground. "A chance to preserve what makes this place special."

"Why?" He stops, turning to face me fully. "Why would you do this?"

The question I've been waiting for. The one that matters most.

"Because I fell in love with Angel's Peak.

" I take a step toward him, then another.

"With the mountains, the town, and the greenhouse where we first met.

With your grandfather's trout recipe and how you talked about wild mushrooms. With the look on your face when you described the perfect dish.

" Another step. "But mostly, Hunter, I fell in love with you, and because Eleanor said I needed to fight for what I love. "

The words hang between us, honest, raw, and terrifying in their vulnerability. Hunter remains motionless, his expression unreadable.

"You lied to me." Not an accusation this time, but a statement of fact.

"Yes. I will regret that every day." I don't try to justify or explain away the hurt I've caused. "I came to Angel's Peak as The Executioner, looking for a story. I'm staying as Audrey if you'll let me."

Hunter crosses his arms, studying me with the intensity he usually reserves for ingredients he's not sure how to use. "And if I don't accept your investment? If I tell you to leave?"

My heart contracts painfully, but I lift my chin. "Then I'll go. But I'll still fight for what you've built here. Write follow-up articles. Send other critics. Make sure the world knows what's happening in this kitchen on this mountain."

"Why should I trust anything you say now?" The question is fair, devastating in its simplicity.

"You shouldn't." The admission costs me. "Trust has to be earned back. I'm asking for the chance to earn it."

Silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. Outside, clouds gather around the mountain peaks, shadows racing across the valley below.

"I need time." Hunter moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "To think. To decide what Timberline means to me, what I'm willing to sacrifice for it."

"I understand." I remain where I am, afraid any movement might shatter this fragile moment.

"Stay in Angel's Peak." It is neither a request nor a command. "Until I make my decision."

"I will." Hope blooms, tender, and cautious.

He nods once, then leaves, the door clicking quietly behind him.

Alone in the conference room, I sink into a chair, legs suddenly unable to support me. I watch Hunter walk across the property through the windows toward the greenhouse.

Our beginning.

Perhaps still our middle, if not yet our end.

My phone buzzes with a text from Miguel: Well?

I type back simply: He's thinking. I'm staying.

The response comes immediately: Good. He thinks too much. Stubborn bastard.

Despite everything, a laugh escapes me. This small moment of connection with someone who cares for Hunter as much as I do feels like a lifeline.

Outside, the gathering clouds finally break, rain sheeting down against the windows. I watch as Hunter reaches the greenhouse door, hesitates, then enters. Even from this distance, the weight of difficult decisions sits heavily on his shoulders.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s my editor: Readers are going crazy for your review. I need a follow-up piece ASAP. What's the angle?

I consider the question, watching Hunter's silhouette move among the plants we both love. The angle. Always the angle in my world of words and assessments. However, the story here is no longer about food. It's about roots and growth and the courage it takes to plant something new.

I type back: The angle is Transformation. Give me a week.

Then I slip my phone into my pocket and go to the door. The rain eases to a gentle patter. Hunter is deciding our fate in that greenhouse.

All I can do now is wait, hope, and remember why I came to Angel's Peak in the first place—to find a story worth telling.

And perhaps, if I'm very lucky, a love worth fighting for.