Page 94 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“I’ll let Grandma know. She’ll be thrilled.”

“You didn’t make it?”

“I know my limits.”

He laughs. “And here I was starting to think you did everything.”

“Oh, absolutely not. Baking bread is Aunt Grace and Grandma territory. I stick to not burning the diner down.”

“Comforting.”

“I’ve only nearly done it once.”

He pauses halfway through another bite. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

He studies me for another second. “I think so.”

I grin. “You’ll never know.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself as he reaches for the packet of chips. “You packed my favorite.”

“Salt and vinegar?”

“Yeah.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“I’ll choose to believe it was.”

“You’re welcome to live in that fantasy.”

“I will.”

For a while, we eat in comfortable silence as we look out over the valley. A hawk circles overhead, riding the warm air, and somewhere below us I can hear the faint rush of water.

It’s peaceful here with him.

“All right,” he says when we start walking again. “If you were writing an article about me right now, what would the headline be?”

“Oh, that’s easy.”

I don’t even break stride, stepping over a small dip in the trail without thinking.

“Mysterious Writer Lures Local Photographer Into Woods Under Guise of Hike. Authorities Skeptical.”

He barks out a laugh, the sound sharp and real in the quiet around us. “That’s dark.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely, according to that headline.”

“It adds drama.”

He shakes his head, smiling, and the heaviness from earlier loosens, just enough.

We keep walking, the conversation easier now, the laughter even more so.