Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Declan
T he lunch rush is winding down, my hands moving on autopilot as I taste and adjust the butternut squash bisque for dinner service. My mind isn't on the soup, though. It's on the airport shuttle that left thirty minutes ago, carrying Jules and Mia back to their real life in New York.
"Chef, the stock's about to boil over," Georgia warns, nudging me aside to turn down the heat.
"Sorry," I mutter, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel. "Distracted."
"Noticed that," she says dryly. "Been like this all week, but today's worse. You should take a break."
I shake my head. "I'm fine."
"That wasn't a suggestion." She takes the spoon from my hand. "Kitchen's under control. Go clear your head."
Before I can argue, the swinging door to the dining room opens. I glance up, expecting Jameson or one of the servers.
Instead, Jules Sinclair stands in the doorway.
For a moment, I think I'm imagining things. She should be halfway to the airport by now. But then she takes a step into the kitchen, looking both determined and uncertain.
"Jules?" I manage, setting down the towel. "You're still here."
"Apparently." The hint of a smile plays at her lips.
The kitchen staff exchanges glances, suddenly finding urgent tasks on the other side of the room.
"Did you miss your shuttle?" I ask, confused.
"No." She takes another step closer. "I decided not to take it."
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. "Why?"
"Because I realized something." Her voice is steady but quieter than usual. "I've spent my entire adult life making careful, logical decisions. Planning every move. Calculating every risk."
She's close enough now that I can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes.
"And?" I prompt when she pauses.
"And somehow, the most illogical, unplanned thing I've done in years is what feels most right." She draws a deep breath. "I don't want to leave, Declan."
The words hang between us, momentous in their simplicity.
"What about your company? Mia's school?" I ask, needing to be sure she's thought this through.
"We're staying a few more days, not forever." Her smile widens slightly. "Though I might be open to discussing longer-term arrangements eventually."
"And Mia?"
"Is currently with Evie. I wanted to find you first."
I take a step toward her, closing the distance between us. "Why?"
"Because I need to know if I'm too late." Vulnerability flashes across her face. "If I've pushed you away one too many times."
I reach out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Jules Sinclair, you could never be too late."
The kitchen around us fades away as I slowly lean in, giving her every chance to step back. She doesn't. Instead, she meets me halfway, her lips finding mine with certainty that wasn't there on the bridge.
This kiss is different—not hesitant, not a question, but an answer. My hands slide to her waist, drawing her closer as her arms wind around my neck. She tastes faintly of coffee and possibilities.
When we finally part, there's scattered applause from the far side of the kitchen. Georgia's voice calls out, "About time, Chef!"
Jules laughs against my lips, a real laugh that lights up her entire face. "Is your staff always this invested in your love life?"
"Only when it involves stubborn executives who won't admit they like my pancakes."
She pulls back slightly, meeting my eyes with surprising seriousness. "It's not just the pancakes, you know."
"I know." I brush my thumb across her cheek. "Though they didn't hurt my case."
"DECLAN!" Mia's voice carries through the kitchen as she bursts through the door, Evie following behind with an apologetic smile. "Evie says we're STAYING! And I can help with dinner and?—"
She stops abruptly, taking in the scene before her. Her mother still in my arms, both of us unable to stop smiling.
"Are you guys kissing?" she demands, equal parts scandalized and delighted.
"We were," I confirm, sharing a glance with Jules. "Is that okay with you?"
Mia considers this for approximately half a second before nodding decisively. "Yes. Does this mean you're Mom's boyfriend now?"
Jules makes a choked sound beside me. "Mia, that's?—"
"Accurate," I finish, squeezing Jules' hand gently. "If your mom agrees."
Jules' startled eyes meet mine, softening at whatever she sees there. "I think we're figuring it out as we go."
"Well, figure it out faster," Mia says with the impatience only a seven-year-old can muster. "Because I want to learn how to make pasta tonight."
Laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me. "Yes, Chef Mia. Pasta lessons tonight it is."
"And maybe we can visit the wildlife blind?" she asks hopefully.
"We have time," Jules says, surprising me with the certainty in her voice. "We're staying through the weekend at least."
"And after that?" I ask quietly while Mia chatters excitedly with Evie about pasta varieties.
Jules looks at me, something steady and sure in her expression. "After that, we go back to New York. But with plane tickets for a return visit already booked." She takes a deep breath. "And maybe we talk about what it might look like if we didn't always have to say goodbye."
"I'd like that," I say simply, reeling at how quickly everything has changed. "I'd like that very much."
"Good." She straightens slightly, a hint of her CEO confidence returning. "Because I've already started making a list of logistical considerations for a potential long-distance relationship, including optimal flight patterns between New York and Asheville, video call scheduling during business trips, and?—"
I silence her with another kiss, gentler this time but no less certain.
"Let's take it one day at a time," I murmur against her lips. "Starting with pasta lessons tonight."
Her shoulders relax as she smiles up at me. "I think I can manage that."
I can't help myself. I pull her close again, cupping her face gently between my flour-dusted hands. Her eyes flutter closed as our lips meet once more, a soft sigh escaping her as she melts against me. In this moment, everything else fades away—the kitchen, the staff, all the logistics and complications. It's just us, finally on the same page.
"Ewww, they're kissing again!" Mia announces to the entire kitchen, prompting more laughter from the staff.
As I pull away, I keep hold of Jules' hand, marveling at how perfectly it fits in mine. Whatever comes next—whether it's pasta tonight, a weekend exploring the mountains, or figuring out how to bridge two different worlds—we'll face it together.
And that's a recipe I can't wait to try.