Page 100 of Riding the Curve

Where I could have crumbled and fallen apart over the meat, I powered through and ended up making an incredible meal that I’m proud of. Tears grow cloudy in my eyes, and I reach down to grab the towel from my apron to wipe my eyes when a soft cloth brushes against my cheek.

Emerson stands beside me and continues wiping away my tears with one of the pine green dinner napkins. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers against my temple before pressing his lips against it.

Wrapping my arms around his middle, I hug him tightly and let the happy tears fall. Those five little words were everything I didn’t know I needed. For tonight, I’m going to try to let myself believe them.

Soft music serenades the wedding guests as the live band plays. The sun set a few hours ago, after I managed to pull off one hell of a miracle and made one memorable meal for the bride and groom.

I did it without letting the anxiety consume me. I’ve never felt more empowered and exhilarated in my entire life. Maybe I’m not as big of a failure as I allow myself to think.

“Mark and his family will not stop talking about how amazing everything has been. Not just the incredible meal that you cooked tonight but the entire experience that you’ve created.” Preston beams as he twirls me on the dance floor. The bride and groom forced me out of the kitchen about an hour ago and convinced me to join in the celebration with them.

“Thank you, Preston.”

He pauses, drawing my attention toward him. “No. Thank you, Hen. For everything. Not only have you helped us make my Autumn’s dreams come true, but you’ve helped my son come back to himself . . . come back to me.”

To avoid him seeing the tears forming in my eyes, I embrace him tightly.

“You’ve given him hope when he thought all was lost. Reminded him that there are so many wonderful moments left in this life worthy of fighting for. Worthy of healing for. So, thank you.”

“Your son has helped me so much, too.” I tilt my head slightly, catching the cool blue eyes I’d been feeling watching me while we danced. Em raises a glass in my direction from across the dance floor where he’s perched behind the bar, helping Melody. When I smile, he takes a sip and winks.

“I’ll never be able to thank you both enough for giving me this opportunity. I promise, once I get back from New York, I’ll set up some interviews and get everyone hired so that you have a full staff out here before you officially open. Then I’ll be out of your hair, and you can have your cabin back.”

“About that,” he drawls, beginning to sway back and forth to the beat once again. “I’d like to offer you a permanent position here. I’d be willing to build you another cabin, that could be all yours, and you could hire as many people that you may need to help you bring your vision to life. You’d have the creative freedom to do anything your brilliant mind comes up with.”

I halt in my steps, too stunned and overwhelmed by the offer to keep moving. “Preston, I⁠—”

“Don’t answer now, take all the time you need. I just wanted you to know that you always have a place here, if you decide to choose it.”

With that, he hugs me tightly then spins me into the hands of his son.

“What was that all about?” he mumbles into my forehead as he gives it a kiss, then picks up dancing where his father left off.

“He just offered me a job . . . and a cabin,” I say. Still taken back, and more confused now than ever.

Emerson lets out a low whistle, spinning me out of his arms and right back in. When I crash against his chest, he pulls the hair tie from my hair. As it tumbles down, he slips the hair tie into his back pocket then tucks my waves behind my ear as he leans in close.

“Two job offers in two days? Sounds like we need to do a little celebrating. Are you up for a drive, Trouble?”

Excitement thrums through me. “Like a real drive—with the Porsche?”

“Yes, baby, a real drive with a very real Porsche.” His eyes glisten with amusement as I do a little wiggle in excitement. Tugging him by the shirt, I pull him in the direction of our cabin so that I can change out of my chef’s coat.

As we make our way through the barn, I’m halted dead in my tracks at the sight before me. I shove him behind the wall beside us, covering his mouth before he blows our cover.

“What w-ar wu do-wing?” he mumbles through my palm. His brows shoot to his forehead, but I can feel him smiling against my skin.

“Ryleigh is inches away from Harper . . . It almost looked like they were going to⁠—”

“K-wiss?” He snorts, jiggling his brows up and down.

“Yes!” I whisper-hiss, slowly peering around the wall.

When I do, I wind up face-to-face with my brother.

“Henley, what the—” he grumbles, like the broody cowboy I know and love. His eyes dart toward Emerson, then down to my hand that covering his mouth, and my other hand still wrapped inside his shirt. His nose crinkles and he covers his eyes with his palm. “Never mind. I’m just going to go grab a drink from the bar and pretend that I didn’t just see any of this.”

Ryleigh storms past me, shaking his head.