Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Declan
T he farewell dinner service is in full swing, and I'm on autopilot. Sear the scallops. Plate the microgreens. Drizzle the sauce. My hands move with practiced precision while my mind replays my conversation with Jules from earlier today.
"Our worlds don't mix, Declan. They just don't."
I wipe down a spattered edge of a plate with a clean cloth. Perfect presentation matters, especially tonight. The Sinclair Enterprises executives deserve a memorable final meal, even if their leader has made it abundantly clear that Mountain Laurel Lodge—and its chef—are merely a pleasant detour before returning to real life.
"Chef, table four is asking about the wine pairing," Georgia calls from the pass.
"Pinot noir with the duck, sauvignon blanc with the scallops," I respond automatically. "The sommelier card is on each table."
Georgia lingers, concern evident in her expression. "You okay? You've barely said ten words all service."
"I'm fine." The lie comes easily after years of kitchen professionalism. Never let personal problems affect the food.
But I'm not fine. I'm a million miles from fine.
I'm falling for a woman who's leaving tomorrow. A woman who's convinced herself that whatever exists between us isn't worth exploring. A woman whose daughter has somehow worked her way into my heart in less than a week.
Through the kitchen window, I catch glimpses of the farewell dinner. Jules sits at the head table, nodding at something her CFO is saying. She hasn't looked toward the kitchen once. She's wearing a simple black dress, elegant and understated. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders like it did the night on the terrace when we shared cider.
Mia sits beside her, fidgeting in a dress that matches her mother's. Even from here, I can see she'd rather be in the kitchen with me than at the formal dinner. Twice already she's waved when she caught me looking, and twice Jules has gently redirected her attention.
"Order up for the Sinclair party," I call, sliding the final plates onto the pass. "Georgia, you deliver these."
"That's the head table," she says, surprised. "You always handle VIP service yourself."
"Not tonight."
She gives me a knowing look but takes the plates without further comment.
Once dinner service is winding down and dessert has been served, I step out the back door of the kitchen, needing air that doesn't taste of the farewell dinner I've just prepared.
The night is clear, stars impossibly bright above the mountains. I drop onto the bench outside the kitchen door, head tilted back to take in the vastness of the sky. This view never gets old. It’s one of countless reasons I've never seriously considered leaving Elk Ridge.
Until now.
The door creaks open behind me, and I straighten, expecting Georgia or one of the other kitchen staff. Instead, Liam steps out, two beers in hand.
"Thought you might need this," my brother says, offering me a bottle.
"How'd you know I'd be out here?"
"Because I've known you your entire life." He sits beside me, the bench creaking under his weight. "And because Mom mentioned you've been burning bacon. Sure signs of a Declan Callahan crisis."
I accept the beer but don't respond.
"Mom says you're brooding over the CEO," Liam continues after a moment. "The one with the kid who's been shadowing you in the kitchen."
"Her name is Jules," I say, surprising myself with the defensiveness in my tone. "And her daughter is Mia."
"Jules and Mia," Liam repeats, taking a swig of his beer. "And they leave tomorrow."
"Yep."
"And you're out here staring at stars instead of doing something about it because...?"
"Because there's nothing to do," I snap. "She's made it perfectly clear that her life is in New York. That whatever happened between us was a vacation anomaly, not worth pursuing."
"And you're just accepting that?"
"What choice do I have? I can't force her to see something she doesn't want to see."
Liam shakes his head slowly. "You know, for someone who takes risks with food combinations all the time, you're surprisingly cautious with your heart."
"This isn't about caution. It's about reality. She has an entire life built in New York—a company, a home for Mia. I can't ask her to walk away from that."
"Who said anything about walking away? Last I checked, planes fly in both directions." He claps a hand on my shoulder. "The question isn't what Jules should give up. It's what you're willing to fight for."
We sit in silence for a few minutes, his words working their way through my defenses.
"You know," Liam says eventually, "I've never seen you connect with anyone the way you did with that little girl. And I've definitely never seen you look at a woman the way you look at her mother."
"It doesn't matter how I look at her if she won't look back."
"Are you sure that's the problem? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like she's looking too hard—just in the wrong direction." Liam stands, gathering our empty bottles. "Sleep on it, little brother. You've still got one more breakfast service before they leave."
After he's gone, I remain on the bench, considering his words. The last time I felt this way about someone, I let her walk away without a fight because the timing wasn't right, because our lives were heading in different directions. I told myself it was the mature decision, the rational choice.
I've regretted it ever since.
The kitchen door opens again, and this time it's Mia who pokes her head out.
"There you are!" she exclaims. "Mom said I couldn't come in the kitchen because you were too busy, but I wanted to say goodnight."
My heart constricts at the sight of her. "Hey, Chef Mia. Shouldn't you be at the fancy dinner?"
"It's boring," she confides, plopping down beside me. "All the grown-ups are talking about quarterly projections and market share."
I can't help but smile. "That does sound boring."
"We're leaving tomorrow," she says, her voice small. "I don't want to go."
"I know, kiddo. I don't want you to go either."
She leans against my arm, her small presence both comforting and heartbreaking. "Will you at least make us breakfast? Mom said we have to leave right after, but I want your blueberry pancakes one more time."
"Of course. Special chef's breakfast for my favorite sous chef."
She beams up at me, then suddenly throws her arms around my neck in a fierce hug. "I'm going to miss you, Declan."
I hug her back, a lump forming in my throat. "I'll miss you too, Mia. But hey, like I said, maybe you and your mom can visit again sometime."
She pulls back, her expression serious. "Mom's sad."
"What do you mean?"
"She gets all quiet and sighs a lot." Mia kicks her feet against the bench. "And she kept my picture of us in the kitchen. The one I drew with the pancakes? She put it in her planner thing where she keeps important stuff."
I try to process this small but significant detail. "Your mom kept your drawing of us?"
Mia nods enthusiastically. "She thought I was sleeping, but I saw her looking at it for a really long time last night. Then she did that face."
"What face?"
"The one where she's thinking super hard about something. Like when she's deciding if I can have a sleepover." Mia looks up at me with complete seven-year-old earnestness. "I think she likes you, but she's being weird about it."
Before I can process this revelation, the door opens again.
"Mia!" Jules appears, her expression a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment. "I told you not to bother Declan. He's working."
"It's fine," I assure her, standing. "We were just saying goodnight."
Our eyes meet briefly, and I catch a flicker of the same vulnerability I saw during our confrontation. She looks away first.
"It's past your bedtime, young lady," she tells Mia. "Say goodnight to Declan."
"Goodnight, Declan," Mia says dutifully, giving me one last quick hug before joining her mother.
"Goodnight, Chef Mia," I respond, trying to keep my tone light. "See you at breakfast."
Jules hesitates, opening her mouth as if to say something, then closes it again. "Thank you for dinner," she says finally, formal and distant. "It was excellent."
"Just doing my job," I reply, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from my voice.
She flinches slightly, then turns to go, guiding Mia back inside with a hand on her shoulder.
After they're gone, I stare at the closed door, Liam's words echoing in my mind.
The question isn't what Jules should give up. It's what you're willing to fight for.