Was she really considering this? She must be crazy. But the kitchen was everything she needed, and the view…
She wandered to the window, gazing out across the mountainside. The morning sun painted the forest in shades of emerald and gold, while mist clung to the distant peaks like a lover reluctant to leave.
“Listen, why not just stay for the day?” Nero said, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “If you choose to find somewhere else after that, I understand. But at least that reporter will have given up and crawled back under whatever rock he came from.”
And he made sense. Complete sense. Or was she just fooling herself? Because she wanted to stay—not just for the view or the kitchen that would look perfect in her Instagram stories, but for reasons she wasn’t ready to admit.
“For the day,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to commit to more. After all, she barely knew Nero. And she didn’t have her car. He’d driven her here. What if this were some elaborate setup? What if the journalist had been fake, just like yesterday’s proposal?
“Okay, let’s get some coffee on,” Nero said brightly, clapping his hands. “You sit and eat before your breakfast gets cold.”
He busied himself in the kitchen while Sophie pulled out a chair and sat down.
After the events of the morning, she was ready for breakfast. She opened the bag and took out the still-warm bagel, biting into it with a satisfied sigh.
Goodness, the filling was perfect. As she ate, she watched Nero move around the kitchen with quiet precision.
Even in something as simple as making coffee, there was craftsmanship in his movements.
He must give the same care he gave to his jewelry.
He set two mugs down on the table. The rich aroma wafted up, momentarily distracting her from her worries. He sat down and opened his bag from the bakery, inhaling the smell. Sophie smothered a smile, but he caught her eye.
“Hey, just because I can’t cook doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate good food,” he said with a grin.
She chuckled, the last of her unease slipping away. She might’ve made a bad call with Tito, but her instincts told her Nero was different—open, guileless, maybe even a little innocent.
They ate in comfortable silence before Nero asked, “So, what do you think of Bear Creek so far?” He nodded toward the window. “Aside from the nosy journalists.”
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “So different from the city. There’s a…peacefulness here.”
Nero nodded. “My family’s been here for generations. Something about these mountains gets in your blood.”
“I can see why,” Sophie said, sipping her coffee. “It’s inspiring.”
“Speaking of inspiration,” Nero asked, “do you have ideas for the recipes you’ll be working on?”
She shrugged. “Not specifically. I might sit on the porch and let inspiration strike.”
“Is that how you normally work?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “But I find inspiration can come from anywhere. It can be a smell, a memory, or the way light falls on fresh produce. Sometimes I plan meticulously. Other times, it’s pure improvisation.
The fundamental rule is not to try to force it.
” She tilted her head. “How about you? What’s your process? ”
Nero’s eyes lit up. “I talk to whoever’s commissioning the piece and I try to understand not just what they want, but why. What story are they telling? Then I take all that and design a piece that’s specifically for them.”
“That’s incredible,” Sophie said. She had to admire his process. When she created a recipe, it was for the widest appeal. But for Nero, it was far more personal, far more intimate.
He took a sip of coffee. “But I also enjoy fixing old pieces. There’s something deeply satisfying about taking something broken and making it whole again. Giving it new life.”
A flutter stirred in Sophie’s chest. The way he spoke—with reverence and care—made something shift inside her. Could this man…fix her? Heal the part of her that still hurt?
It was terrifying and thrilling.
“I’d love to see your process sometime,” she heard herself say.
Nero’s smile lit the room. “I’d like that,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “Very much.”
She looked at him for a moment longer, then returned to her breakfast, trying to remind herself why she was here. Not to drool over Nero Thornberg.
But he sure was drool worthy…
“You’re welcome to use anything in the cupboards or fridge,” Nero said, digging into his own breakfast. “There’s not much, but the basics are there. Plus, there’s a kitchen garden out back. And I keep bees—if you need fresh honey.”
“Oh?” Sophie’s mind immediately began planning how she could use honey in her recipes. And not just desserts. “I might take you up on that. I’ll probably brainstorm today, then start testing tomorrow.” Was she already planning to come back? Perhaps even stay in the guest suite.
“The honey is special,” Nero said with quiet pride. “Mountain wildflower. I inherited the hives with the house. I enjoy watching them work. They forage on lavender, clover, and all kinds of alpine flowers. Especially the heather when it’s in bloom.”
“That sounds incredible,” Sophie said, her professional instincts kicking in. “I’ve been working on some desserts that could really benefit from something complex and floral.”
“Take whatever you need,” Nero offered.
She pulled out her phone. “Mountain honey panna cotta…a honey glaze for lemon cake,” she murmured, typing furiously. “Sorry,” she said, glancing up to see Nero watching her with amusement. “When inspiration hits…”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I do the same thing with jewelry designs. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to sketch something before I forget it.”
“The creative process doesn’t care about sleep,” Sophie agreed.
“It really doesn’t,” Nero said, finishing his bear claw. “Speaking of which, I should probably clean up and head to the workshop. I have to finish up a restoration project.”
“What are you working on?” Sophie asked.
“An emerald bracelet,” he said. “I just need to secure the settings and polish everything. If you’d like, I can show you when it’s finished.”
“I’d like that,” she said, surprised by how much she meant it. She wanted to learn everything she could about him.
Nero stood and gathered their mugs. “Make yourself at home. The guest suite is upstairs, the first door on the right. And feel free to explore the kitchen garden. It’s just through that back door and down the stone path.”
After he left to shower, Sophie wandered to the kitchen window. The garden was bathed in the morning sun. Tomato vines clung to trellises. Herbs bloomed in tidy rows. Berry bushes sagged under ripening fruit.
This place was a recipe developer’s dream. The thought of working here, surrounded by fresh ingredients and mountain inspiration, made her heart race with excitement. It had nothing to do with the handsome jeweler upstairs, she told herself firmly. This was purely a professional interest.
But as she stepped outside into the garden, breathing in the mingled scents of basil, thyme, and sun-warmed earth, Sophie couldn’t quite ignore the flutter in her stomach when she heard the shower running above.
She forced her thoughts away from images of water cascading over Nero’s broad shoulders and focused instead on the vibrant world around her.
She kneeled beside a patch of flowering herbs, brushing her fingers over the delicate purple blossoms. Bees hummed contentedly among the plants, gathering nectar for the honey Nero had mentioned.
“Mountain wildflower honey,” she murmured. “Perfect for a signature dish.”
As she explored further, ideas began flowing faster than she could process them. By the time she returned to the kitchen, her notes app was filled with potential recipes, each inspired by something she’d discovered in the garden.
Perhaps staying here for a few days wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. Professionally speaking, of course.
But when Nero reappeared in the kitchen doorway, hair damp from his shower, all professional thoughts left her head. How could she ever focus on food when he was around?
“Did you find your inspiration?” he asked as he crossed the kitchen.
It’s standing right in front of me , she thought as her fingers twitched, longing to run through his damp hair and draw him into a kiss.
“Yes, thanks,” she croaked, clearing her throat.
He gave a bemused smile. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He poured two fresh cups and handed one to her. “I’m going to go…” He gestured toward the door, but she got the feeling he didn’t want to leave.
And she didn’t want him to, either.
This was dangerous. So very dangerous.
Keep it simple, Sophie. Wasn’t that what she had always told herself?
But looking back, her relationship with Tito had been complicated from the outset.
All that skulking around so that people did not know the truth.
He’d claimed it was to protect their privacy, to keep their relationship special and intimate.
“Let’s keep this between us for now,” Tito had whispered, kissing her neck in that way that made her knees weak. “The media will turn it into a circus.”
And she’d believed him. For months, she’d sneaked around, canceled plans with friends, and manufactured excuses about why she couldn’t bring a plus-one to events. All the while, he was sleeping with Jules behind her back.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Nero was watching her, concern etched across his features, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick.
“I need to work on my recipes,” she said and then turned around and bolted for the door, needing to put some distance between them. She needed to keep herself safe.
But safe from what? From falling in love?
Because with Nero…that might be the simplest thing of all.
“Sophie?” His voice behind her was soft. Concerned.
She turned. He stood in the doorway, giving her space, but his worry was clear.
“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed by her sudden flight. “I just...needed some air.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” she assured him quickly. “It wasn’t you. I was thinking about Tito and...everything.”
Nero nodded, understanding softening his expression. “Would you like me to leave you alone for a while?”
The offer was so considerate, so respectful of her boundaries, that Sophie felt something inside her crack open.
“Actually, I think I’d like to see your workshop. It’ll help take my mind off…things,” she said, surprising herself. “If the offer still stands.”
His face brightened immediately. “Of course. It’s just across the way.” He gestured toward the larger building she’d noticed earlier.
As they walked together, the mountain air cleared her head. Nero kept an easy distance—close enough that she could feel his presence, but never too close.
If she had to describe Nero in food terms?
He was comfort food. The kind you craved when the world felt uncertain.
Reliable. Trustworthy.
Simple in the best possible way.