Page 22 of Matched with the Small Town Chef (Angel’s Peak #4)

"That's wonderful." The words emerge heartfelt but weighted with uncertainty about what this means for us.

"It is. It means I can stay true to my vision. To my grandfather's legacy." His hand cups my cheek now, warm and certain. "But success feels hollow without someone to share it with. Someone who understands both the food and the man behind it."

My heart stutters and restarts. "What are you saying?"

"I want honesty between us. No more secrets. No more professional masks." His thumb traces my lower lip, feather-light. "Can you give me that?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no qualification. "I've been thinking about changes, too. My editor wants me to consider a culinary travel series. Something deeper than reviews—stories about chefs and communities and food traditions. Starting with mountain cuisine."

A smile touches his lips. "Sounds like something you'd be good at."

"It would mean less time being The Executioner. More time being Audrey."

"I like Audrey." His smile deepens. "I love her."

The words break something open inside me, joy rushing in like spring thaw. "I want nothing more than to stay here with you."

His lips find mine, gentle at first, then with growing intensity. Not the desperate heat of our first encounter but something deeper—passion tempered with tenderness, desire woven with emerging love. His hands cradle my face as if I'm something precious, something worth protecting.

"Stay in Angel's Peak." When we part, breathless, he rests his forehead against mine.

"For how long?" I need to hear him say it.

"For good." His voice holds certainty, the same confidence he brings to creating perfect dishes. "Build your new career here. With me."

"My work will take me away sometimes. Your hours are impossible. We're both stubborn and driven and?—"

He silences me with another kiss, brief but effective. "We're also creative problem-solvers. We'll figure it out."

At this moment, in this greenhouse where we began, surrounded by growing things that require patience and care, I believe him. I believe in us—not as a perfect pairing but as ingredients that complement each other, creating something better together than apart.

“I’d like that very much.” I wind my arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

His smile curves—wicked, knowing. “Good. You move in with me tonight.”

"Tonight?" My laugh catches in my throat. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“It’s what’s going to happen.” His hands skim down to my hips, fingers flexing. “I want you in my bed. On your knees. Tied to the posts. Completely at my mercy.”

Heat licks up my spine.

“But first…” His voice dips lower, rougher. “We’re going to talk. About limits. About control. About what this really looks like.”

My pulse thrums. “And after?”

“After,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my ear, “I’m going to punish you.”

"Punish me?" I still. Not from fear—anticipation coils deep and tight.

“For lying to me,” he continues, his tone harder now. “For looking me in the eye and pretending you were just some tourist. For letting me touch you without knowing who you really were.”

My mouth opens to speak, to defend—but he presses a thumb to my lips.

“You’re mine now,” he growls. “And being mine means honesty. No more games. You accept your punishment. We wipe the slate clean.”

“I’m sorry.” I nod, throat tight.

“You will be.” His eyes soften, but only slightly.

The promise in his voice is pure sin.

“Tonight, I’m going to make you feel every bit of what you denied me. I’ll take my time stripping that control from you, inch by inch, until all that’s left is the truth. Your truth. My hands. Your pleasure.”

“Yes, Chef.” A shudder rolls through me.

He smirks. “Say that again when I’ve got you begging.”

“You planning to ruin me?” I grin, already breathless.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, mouth brushing mine. “I plan to ruin you, own you, and cook you a gourmet breakfast after.”

I bite my lower lip, heart pounding.

His mouth brushes my ear.

“Then I’ll start again.”

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.

S ix 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'm living . 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.