Ivy smiled, not surprised by his choice of the heartiest option. “I’ll have the Mountain Meadow Chicken,” she said.
“Excellent choices,” Thomas affirmed, collecting their menus with an efficient motion. “Would you care for wine with your dinner tonight?”
Henry nodded. “What would you recommend?”
“For these selections, our Pinot Noir from Hood Valley Vineyard pairs beautifully. It’s locally produced,” Thomas suggested.
Henry glanced at Ivy, who gave a subtle nod of agreement. The vineyard was known for its quality, and she appreciated that he’d asked her opinion.
“We’ll try that,” Henry said.
“I’ll have that brought right out for you,” Thomas replied.
The initial conversation came carefully, both of them navigating the lingering awareness of their argument. Henry asked about the security cameras, and Ivy shared the institute’s swift response to the vandalism. She inquired about his patrols, and he described a family of fox kits he’d spotted near the eastern ridge.
The wine arrived, deep ruby in the candlelight. Henry tasted it with a seriousness that made Ivy smile, then nodded his approval. The tartlets followed shortly after, their golden crusts filled with rich, dark mushrooms. The smell hit Ivy immediately—woodsy and wild, with an earthy depth that reminded her of the forest after rain. She breathed in deeply, savoring the aroma before taking a bite.
“Oh my god,” she murmured, closing her eyes as the flavors bloomed across her tongue. “These taste like the mountain.”
Henry nodded, seeming surprised by the intensity of flavor. Ivy watched him as he ate. His shoulders relaxed, his gestures became more natural as he described the seasonal movement of deer herds through the mountains.
“Sorry,” he said suddenly, seeming to realize he’d been talking at length. “I get carried away sometimes.”
“Don’t apologize,” Ivy said, reaching across the table to touch his hand briefly. “I love hearing you talk about the forest.”
Their main courses arrived. Her chicken was wrapped in thin prosciutto that had crisped around the edges, and when she cut into it, melted cheese spilled out in a fragrant stream. The first bite made her close her eyes. It was salty, creamy, and satisfying.
Across the table, Henry cut into his ribeye. The knife sank through with barely any resistance, revealing perfect pink at the center. When he took his first bite, his eyes widened slightly.
“Good?” she asked, smiling at his obvious enjoyment.
“So good,” he admitted, cutting another piece.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ivy offered her fork across the table. “Want to try mine?”
Henry accepted the offered bite, his expression thoughtful. “Complex,” he acknowledged. “Like the person who ordered it.”
The unexpected compliment warmed her more than the wine. He cut a piece of his ribeye, offering it in return. The meat practically melted in her mouth, rich and tender.
As they savored their meal, the conversation shifted naturally to the nature center. “I spoke with Porter’s former foreman this week,” Henry said, cutting another piece of ribeye. “Guy namedJerry who quit after the Riverfront Development issues. He confirmed Porter and Lisa were behind schedule problems on at least two projects where they later took over construction.”
Ivy nodded thoughtfully, taking another bite of her chicken. “And I found those boundary markers had been tampered with twice. After we fixed them the first time, someone moved them again. The land survey office has now driven permanent metal stakes that can’t be easily moved.”
“Smart,” Henry said with approval. “I’ve been thinking we need a coordinated approach to catch them in the act.”
When their plates were cleared, Thomas returned with the dessert menu. “If I may recommend, our two specials tonight are particularly wonderful. The Alpine Sunset is a maple crème brûlée garnished with candied nuts and fresh berries. We also have our Moonlit Mountain Cheesecake—New York style with huckleberry compote and fresh whipped cream.”
“The cheesecake sounds perfect,” Ivy decided. “To share?”
Henry nodded, handing back the dessert menu. As they waited for dessert, their conversation took a more personal turn.
“I need to tell you something,” Ivy said, tracing the stem of her wine glass. “About the day we argued.”
Henry’s expression grew serious, but he nodded for her to continue.
“What you said—about my optimism sometimes blinding me—it hurt because...” She took a breath. “Because sometimes I worry about that too. That I try so hard to see the good in people that I miss obvious warnings.”
The confession felt heavier than she’d intended, years of self-doubt surfacing in a single sentence.
