Chapter 24
At midnight, Susan sank into the cushioned chair in Paul’s living room, wrapping both hands around her mug. The coffee warmed her palms while outside the windows, a full moon glowed over Flathead Lake.
“I can’t remember when I’ve been this tired,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten used to being in bed by ten o’clock.”
Paul settled into the chair beside her, stretching out his legs. “Tonight was late for me, too. Most of our private functions are finished by ten-thirty.”
They sat in companionable silence, letting the exhaustion seep away. The living room wrapped around them with quiet comfort—soft lamplight, familiar furniture, and the faint scent of pine from the wreath hanging above the fireplace.
“I’m relieved that today’s events went so well,” Paul said finally. “I talked to Peter before he left. He wants to make the Lakeside Grill BioTech’s preferred caterer for their Montana operations.”
“That’s wonderful,” Susan said as she took a sip of coffee, savoring the richness. “You’ve built something special. People recognize quality and appreciate what you’re doing.”
“We built these Christmas events together.” His correction was gentle but firm. “The women in your cooking class have been phenomenal, and you made sure every plate and food platter that left the kitchen looked perfect.”
Susan felt warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee. “It’s all part of being a good team.”
Paul leaned back, studying the darkness through the windows.
“I’ve been thinking about what that could mean.
I’ll need to hire more staff. Harry’s already at capacity, and I can’t keep asking Jenny to cover extra shifts.
” Paul paused. “I was hoping the women from your cooking class might be interested in regular positions. Maria especially. She doesn’t need to be asked to do something.
Sometimes, she knew what needed to be done before I did. ”
Susan nodded. She’d watched Maria work with the kind of calm efficiency that couldn’t be taught. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the extra work.”
They drifted into quiet again. Through the window, an owl called from somewhere in the woods behind Paul’s property. Susan thought about the evening event. The BioTech staff had enjoyed another wonderful dinner, but more than that, they’d enjoyed each other’s company.
“Did you hear what Peter said about the resort at Finley Point?” Paul asked.
Susan shook her head. “Not really. I was focused on getting the coffee service organized when he was discussing it.”
“The county has introduced a new fast-track process for projects that will make a significant economic impact on a community. The resort fell into that category, so they’re breaking ground in spring instead of waiting until summer.
” Paul turned his mug between his palms. “Have you thought about whether you want to work there?”
The question landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. “I told Cole I’d consider talking to him about it. I haven’t decided whether to actually do it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I moved to Montana to create a better work/life balance. Running a resort restaurant means returning to everything I left behind.” Susan shook her head. “I’ve already lived that life, Paul. I’m not sure I want to revisit it.”
“Fair enough.” Paul’s response held no judgment, only acceptance. “Although it seems like there’s more behind what’s happening than coincidence. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”
“Or maybe I’m just unable to let go of what I used to be.” Susan heard the weariness in her own voice. “Sometimes, I wonder if I know how to exist without my catering business defining me.”
Paul reached across the space between them and held her hand. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of knife work and hot pans. “You’re far more than what you’ve done or do. I’ve watched you with your students. That matters just as much as running a successful business.”
Susan squeezed his hand, grateful for the reassurance even as doubt lingered. “What were your favorite Christmas memories growing up?” she asked, deliberately shifting the conversation to safer ground.
Paul smiled, the kind that softened his entire face.
“My grandmother’s kitchen on Christmas Eve.
She’d start preparations days in advance, and the entire house would smell like butter, vanilla, and caramelized sugar.
She made cookies shaped like stars and angels, each one decorated with such care that it seemed wrong to eat them. ”
“Did you help her bake?”
Paul nodded. “Every year we were in France. She’d let me measure the flour and crack the eggs, even though I made a mess.
She’d tell me stories about Christmases in her village.
There’d be midnight mass in an ancient stone church and children singing carols in the snow.
Each Christmas, her mother’s kitchen would be full of neighbors gathering to share food and warmth.
” His thumb traced patterns across Susan’s knuckles.
“Those stories taught me that cooking isn’t just about sustenance.
It’s about creating experiences people remember long after the meal ends. ”
Susan pictured a younger Paul standing beside his grandmother, flour dusting his nose while she guided his hands through pastry dough. “She sounds like she was extraordinary.”
“She was.” Paul’s voice held both fondness and loss. “She died when I was a teenager, but her influence shaped everything I’ve done since. Each time I develop a new dish, I think about whether she’d approve.”
“What about your parents? Were they part of those Christmas celebrations?”
Paul’s expression clouded. “My father worked constantly. He owned a hardware store and couldn’t afford to close during the holiday season when everyone needed last-minute supplies.
When we weren’t in France, my mother tried to create some Christmas magic.
But it was hard managing four children on her own.
” He paused. “That’s probably why those evenings with my grandmother mattered so much.
They were islands of calm in a chaotic childhood. ”
Susan understood that type of family life.
It wasn’t neglect, but an awareness that the adults around you were too overwhelmed to provide the attention you craved.
“My father traveled for work,” she offered.
“He’d leave before Thanksgiving and not return until after New Year’s.
My mother would put up a tree and wrap presents, but her heart wasn’t in it. She missed him too much.”
Paul gently squeezed her hand, letting her know he understood. “That must have been difficult.”
Susan nodded. “It was. I remember pressing my nose against the window Christmas morning, watching other families leave for church or visiting relatives, and feeling like we were stuck in place. We were always waiting for someone who never made it home for the important moments.” The old ache had dulled over the years, but it still surfaced occasionally.
“I promised myself that when I had my own family, I’d make Christmas meaningful. ”
“Did you?” Paul asked.
Susan thought about those years with her ex-husband, how they’d started with such hope and gradually deteriorated into routine disappointment.
“I tried. Richard would praise the meal and the decorations, without understanding the hours it took to make everything look amazing. Eventually, I stopped trying so hard.”
Paul studied her face in the lamplight. “That sounds lonely in a different way.”
“It was.” Susan finished her coffee, letting the last swallow warm her throat.
“We couldn’t have children, and that didn’t help either.
But those years taught me something valuable.
I learned that I didn’t need someone else’s approval to make celebrations meaningful.
I started volunteering at shelters on Christmas Day, helping serve meals to people who had even less than I did.
That brought more joy than any elaborate dinner party ever had. ”
Paul nodded. “You have a remarkable capacity for finding purpose in service. Not everyone does.”
“I think we’re similar in that regard,” Susan told him. “You could have stayed in California, built an empire of restaurants, and made a fortune. Instead, you came to Montana and opened a restaurant that’s focused on the community.”
“Sometimes smaller is exactly the right size.” Paul’s expression became serious as he placed his mug on the coffee table. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
Susan’s pulse quickened. Whatever Paul wanted to say sounded serious. “All right.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” Paul asked quietly.
The question hung in the air between them. Susan set her own mug down, buying herself a moment to gather her thoughts.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “For a long time, I was certain the answer was no. After Richard left, I told myself I was done with marriage. That I’d proven I wasn’t good at it.”
“And now?”
Susan studied their joined hands. “Now I’m not so sure.
I’ve changed since leaving Georgia. I understand myself better—what I need, what I’m willing to compromise on, and what I’m not.
” She looked up at Paul. “But understanding yourself and being ready to trust someone else with your life again are two different things.”
Paul nodded slowly. “I feel the same way. Michelle and I failed each other in ways that still haunt me. The idea of making those kinds of promises again terrifies me.”
Susan frowned. “Then why ask?”
“Because I need to know if it’s something you’ve closed the door on completely, or if it’s just locked for now.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her palm. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Susan. I’m just trying to understand what our future might look like if we keep moving forward together.”
Susan felt her throat tighten. His honesty deserved the same in return. “The door isn’t closed. But it’s not wide open either. I’d need time. A lot of time. I’d need to know that whoever I married understood that I come with scars and fears and habits I’m still trying to break.”
Paul nodded. “That seems reasonable.”
“What about you?” Susan asked. “Would you marry again?”
Paul was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant.
“I spent twenty years convinced I didn’t deserve another chance at marriage.
I thought that what happened with Michelle and Sophie disqualified me from that kind of happiness.
” He brought his focus back to Susan. “But I think I might have been wrong. Maybe it’s not about deserving it, but having the courage to try again with someone who sees you clearly and chooses you anyway. ”
Susan’s heart hammered against her ribs. “That’s a beautiful way to look at it.”
“But it’s also terrifying,” Paul admitted. “Which is why I’m not making any grand declarations tonight. I just needed to know if marriage is something you’d consider. Someday. With the right person.”
“Someday,” Susan agreed softly. “With the right person. If we both got there together, without forcing it or rushing it.”
“One day at a time,” Paul said.
“That sounds perfect,” Susan said with a tentative smile.
Paul pulled her toward him, and she came willingly, tucking herself against his side as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace.
“Stay a while longer,” Paul murmured. “I’ll put more logs on the fire, and you can tell me what Christmas in Georgia is like.”
Susan nodded, not quite ready to leave the warmth of Paul’s home or him.
He moved to the fireplace and arranged more logs in the firebox. Soon flames danced behind the glass doors, casting flickering light across the room.
They settled back onto the sofa together. Outside, the moon climbed higher in the winter sky. Inside, the fire crackled and warmth surrounded them.
“This is nice,” Susan said softly.
“It is.” Paul’s fingers traced lazy patterns on her shoulder. “I could get used to this.”
Susan watched the flames, thinking about Christmas memories and second chances, about marriage and the courage required to even consider it after heartbreak.
She wasn’t certain what their future held. For now, it was enough to feel Paul’s steady presence beside her, to know they’d both acknowledged that marriage wasn’t off the table, it was just waiting for the right time.