Epilogue
Jules
Elk Ridge, nine months later…
Mountain laurel blossoms dot the hillsides surrounding the lodge, their delicate pink flowers painting the spring landscape. The morning sun streams through the kitchen windows as I sit at the counter, laptop open but largely ignored in favor of the scene before me.
"You have to fold it gently," Declan instructs, his hands guiding Mia's as they incorporate whipped egg whites into a chocolate batter. "See? Like you're tucking it in for a nap."
"Like tucking in Mr. Hoppy," Mia says with the wisdom of an eight-year-old soufflé expert.
"Exactly."
I smile behind my coffee mug, still marveling at how seamlessly they work together. In the nine months since that fateful retreat, Mia has become Declan's shadow in the kitchen, absorbing culinary knowledge like a sponge.
"Mom, are you watching?" Mia calls, looking up with chocolate-smudged cheeks. "This is the tricky part!"
"I'm watching," I assure her, setting my coffee down. "Very educational."
Declan catches my eye over Mia's head, his lips curving into the smile that still makes my heart skip. "And how's the New York office this morning?"
"Surviving without me." I close my laptop decisively. "The quarterly projections can wait until Monday."
Words I never thought I'd say, yet they feel right. The restructuring of Sinclair Enterprises hasn't been simple. Creating a remote work arrangement for the CEO, establishing a rotating leadership team, and learning to delegate in ways I'd never considered before, were a challenge. But watching Mia flourish between our two homes—our Manhattan apartment and the lodge—makes it all worthwhile.
The kitchen door swings open, and Connor Callahan strides in, dressed in hiking gear.
"Morning, lovebirds," he calls, helping himself to coffee. "Munchkin," he adds, ruffling Mia's hair as he passes.
"We're making chocolate soufflé," Mia informs him importantly. "It's French."
"Fancy." Connor leans against the counter beside me. "You joining the trail walk this afternoon? Weather's perfect for the waterfall loop."
"Maybe next time," I answer. "Today's soufflé day, apparently."
"Your loss." He turns to Declan. "Did you tell them about the cabin yet?"
Declan shoots his brother a look. "I was waiting for the right moment."
My curiosity piques. "What cabin?"
"The Stevens property." Connor grins, ignoring Declan's warning glance. "The one on East Ridge with the amazing mountain view. It went on the market."
"And?" I prompt, looking between them.
Declan wipes his hands on a towel. "And I was going to mention that I'm thinking of putting in an offer. It needs work, but it's closer to the lodge than your rental. Thought it might make a good..."
"A good what?" I ask when he trails off.
"A good home base. For when you're here." His eyes meet mine, careful but hopeful. "It has three bedrooms. Room to grow."
The implication hangs in the air, making my breath catch. We've been carefully building this relationship across state lines, navigating two worlds without pressing for more. But this feels like a next step.
"I'd like to see it," I say softly.
His smile is worth every complicated minute of the past nine months.
"I gotta head out," Connor announces, setting down his empty mug. "Meeting Sarah at the bakery before the afternoon hike."
"Sarah Miller?" I ask. "The one who makes those amazing raspberry scones?"
"That's the one." Connor's tone is casual, but something flickers across his face. "Been stopping by her place every Friday for years. Best coffee in town."
"Just the scones keeping you coming back?" Declan asks with a knowing smirk.
Connor rolls his eyes. "She's a friend. That's it."
"Mmhmm," Declan hums skeptically.
"Whatever you're implying, stop it," Connor warns, heading for the door. "Some of us don't need romantic complications."
After he leaves, Declan chuckles. "He's been saying that for years.."
"Another Callahan falling for a business-minded woman?" I tease.
"Must be something in the mountain water." He moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. "Speaking of which, what do you think? About the cabin, I mean."
I lean back against him, watching Mia carefully pour the soufflé batter into ramekins. Nine months ago, I would have pulled out spreadsheets, analyzed every angle, calculated every risk before making such a decision. Now, I find myself simply trusting the feeling of rightness.
"I think," I say, turning in his arms, "that it sounds perfect."
The kiss he gives me is soft, sweet with promise. "I don't need an answer about the 'room to grow' part yet," he murmurs against my lips. "Just wanted you to know I'm thinking about it."
"I'm thinking about it too," I admit. The truth is, I've been thinking about it more than I've let on.
"Ewww, again with the kissing?" Mia groans from her position at the counter, though her disgust is clearly exaggerated for effect. "Can't you wait until after the soufflés?"
Declan laughs, dropping one more quick kiss on my lips before returning to his sous chef. "You're right, Chef Mia. Soufflés wait for no one."
I watch them work together, this man and my daughter, their movements synchronized after months of shared kitchen adventures. Outside, mountain laurel blooms paint the hillsides pink and white. Inside, the sweet scent of chocolate fills the air.
Our story wasn't in any five-year plan. It doesn't fit neatly into corporate metrics or efficiency models. But as I look around the kitchen—at the misshapen mug still proudly displayed on Declan's shelf, at Mia's growing collection of aprons hanging by the door, at the calendar on the wall marked with dates for New York and dates for Elk Ridge—I know with absolute certainty:
Sometimes the most beautiful outcomes are the ones you never thought to plan for.
Thank You for Reading The Sweet Chef and the Corporate Queen !