Chapter Six | Gus #2
"Jesus." The confessional scene Diana would edit together practically wrote itself—Stormi tearful in close-up, whispering to millions of viewers at home munching on bags of popcorn—the perfect reality TV moment. "Does Blaze know?"
"I doubt he knows anything beyond his next drink." Bitterness edged her voice. "And Raven certainly doesn't know. Or care. She's too busy sneaking off with Jett to notice her sister's falling apart."
"Or that her groom is three sheets to the wind."
"Or that." She picked up her wine again. "Diana's going to have a field day."
Through the wall, I could hear the wedding party settling into the dining room—loud voices, laughter, phones going off constantly. Jake and Molly moved around us, finishing the salad prep, but gave us space.
"I should get back out there," Sam said without moving.
"In a minute." I wasn't ready to let her go yet. "Drink your wine. Take a breath. They can wait five minutes."
She took another sip, then turned to face me fully. "Thank you. For this. For being my escape hatch."
"Anytime."
Her gaze held mine, and something shifted in the air between us. The noise from the dining room faded. Even Jake and Molly seemed to disappear.
"I should go," she said again, but didn't move.
"Yeah." I didn't step back either.
She finally pulled away, straightened her shoulders, slipped back into professional mode. "How long until you're ready to serve?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Perfect. I'll stall them with cocktails." She paused at the door, glanced back. "Thank you. For the wine. And for listening."
"Anytime."
After she left, I stared at the closed door for a long moment before forcing myself back to work.
Jake and Molly moved efficiently through their tasks, plating the salads while I seared the duck. The kitchen filled with the rich scent of meat and butter, the sweet-tart aroma of the berries.
But my mind kept drifting to Sam in that garden, trying to hold everything together while the wedding party spiraled around her. To the way she'd looked at me just now, like I was her anchor in the storm.
DINNER SERVICE WENT smoother than the rehearsal, which wasn't saying much.
I plated each course with extra care, knowing that the TV cameras would catch every detail.
The duck came out perfectly—crisp-skinned, medium-rare, the huckleberry sauce adding a sweet-tart punch that balanced the rich meat.
The roasted vegetables glistened with butter and herbs.
The apple tarts emerged from the oven golden and fragrant, the cinnamon ice cream a creamy contrast to the warm fruit.
Between courses, I found reasons to step into the dining room. Supposedly checking on service, making sure everyone had what they needed. Really just wanting to see Sam in action.
She moved through the space like a dancer, managing personalities with grace and firmness. Redirecting Raven's attention when she started complaining about portion sizes. Cutting Blaze off when he tried to order another whiskey. Comforting Stormi with quiet words and gentle touches.
Before dessert, she stood to give a toast.
"I've had the privilege of planning many weddings," she began, her voice clear and warm.
"But what I've learned—what I'm still learning—is that love isn't about perfect moments or flawless execution.
It's about a willingness to grow. About allowing someone else to expand your heart, to challenge your assumptions, to make you want to be better than you were yesterday. "
Her eyes found mine across the room. Heat crawled up my neck. She was talking about us—about apple orchards and pumpkin patches and letting someone past your defenses even when every logical reason said not to.
"Love asks us to be vulnerable," she continued. "To trust. To change. And that's terrifying. But it's also the most beautiful thing we can do—open ourselves to someone else and say, 'Here I am. All of me. The messy parts and the polished parts. Will you have me?'"
The room went silent except for Stormi's quiet sobs. Even Raven had set down her phone, appearing almost moved.
"So here's to Raven and Blaze," Sam raised her glass. "May your marriage be filled with growth and grace, with laughter and forgiveness, with the courage to change and the wisdom to love each other through it all."
Everyone drank. Blaze stumbled through a slurred response about his "hot bride." Jett made an off-color joke that had Raven giggling.
But I couldn't stop staring at Sam.
Every word had landed like an arrow in my chest. The courage to change. I'd come to Wintervale to hide, to lick my wounds, to avoid risking my heart again. Trevor's betrayal had taught me not to trust—not business partners, not friends, not women who only wanted to be with a chef on the rise.
And here she was, this infuriating, beautiful woman who'd crashed into my kitchen and my life, practically asking if I was brave enough to try.
The answer was terrifying in its simplicity: yes.
After dinner, the wedding party scattered—some to the bar Cass had set up in the parlor, others to their rooms. Diana cornered Sam about tomorrow's timeline while I directed cleanup, my mind only half on the task.
By eleven, the kitchen was spotless. Jake and Molly had gone home. The inn had gone quiet.
I should have gone to bed. Tomorrow would be a whirlwind from dawn to midnight.
Instead, I pulled out the wedding cake components and got to work.
The cake itself was already baked and leveled—three tiers of devil's food cake with cherry filling, Raven's choice for the Halloween theme.
But it needed assembly, crumb coating, final frosting, and decoration.
Raven had requested black sugar roses with gold-dusted edges—intricate, time-consuming, requiring a delicate touch and steady hand.
I'd made hundreds of sugar flowers in culinary school, working late into the night to perfect the technique.
Gum paste petals so thin they were nearly translucent, painted with black gel food coloring to achieve that deep, dramatic hue, then brushed with edible gold dust at the edges.
Roses in varying sizes, each one taking fifteen to twenty minutes to shape and dry before the gold could be applied.
At midnight, I was deep in concentration, carefully dusting gold along the edge of a black rose petal, when I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Sam appeared in the doorway wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, hair loose around her shoulders, face scrubbed clean of makeup.
"Can't sleep?" she asked.
"Cake won't decorate itself." I gestured to the array of black roses spread across the counter, some still drying, others already shimmering with gold. "You?"
"My brain won't shut off." She crossed to the counter, studied my work. "These are incredible, Gus. They're so dark and dramatic. How are they so detailed?"
"Practice. Lots of practice." I picked up another petal, showed her how to curve it just so. "Want to help?"
"I'll probably ruin them."
"Impossible. Here." I handed her a small brush and a pot of edible gold dust. "Just brush this along the edges. Light touch—you want it to look like the gold is catching light."
She took the brush, her fingers brushing mine. That simple contact sent heat racing through me.
We worked side by side, the only sounds our breathing and the soft clink of tools on the counter.
She asked questions about technique. I explained the process.
Flour dusted her sweatshirt. A smudge of gold dust marked her wrist, glinting in the kitchen light.
The domesticity of it—creating something beautiful together in the quiet hours—felt more intimate than it should.
"I meant what I said earlier," Sam said after a while, not glancing up from the petal she was shading. "About love requiring growth and courage."
"I know." I set down the flower I'd been working on, turned to face her. "I heard what you were really saying."
"Did you?" She set down her brush.
"You were talking about us."
"Maybe." A small smile curved her lips. "What's happening here, Gus? This was supposed to be a job. You were supposed to be an annoying obstacle I had to work around."
"And now?"
"Now you're the best part of my day. The person I look for in every room. The reason I'm not freaking out about this disaster of a wedding party." She laughed, but it sounded almost sad. "I'm leaving in two days. This is terrible timing."
"The worst," I agreed. "But I don't think timing gets a vote here."
"What does?"
"What we want." I moved closer. Her pupils dilated. "What we're brave enough to choose."
Her breath hitched. "And what do you want, Gus?"
You. In every way. For longer than two days.
Before I could answer, she reached for another sugar flower, her finger catching on a delicate petal. Frosting smudged across her fingertip. She started to bring it to her mouth—an automatic gesture—but I caught her wrist.
"Let me," I said, my voice rough.
I brought her finger to my lips, held her gaze as I slowly licked away the frosting. Sweet buttercream and skin and the sharp intake of her breath. Her pulse raced under my thumb where I held her wrist.
"Gus..." It came out as a whisper.
I kissed the pad of her finger, then her palm, feeling her tremble. "Tell me to stop."
"We can't—" But she swayed toward me instead of pulling away.
"Can't what?" I slid my hand into her hair, felt the silky strands slide through my fingers. "Can't give in to what we've both been feeling since you arrived?"
"You said I was an uptight city woman." But her hands were fisting in my shirt, drawing me closer.
"You called me an arrogant ass." I traced her jawline with my thumb. "Doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about doing this every damn day."
"This?" She barely breathed the word.
"Kissing you until you forget every schedule and timeline and perfectly organized plan." I lowered my head until my lips were a breath away from hers. "Touching you until that control you cling to shatters. Making you mine."