“I’m keeping my options open,” Susan replied, the words feeling hollow even as she spoke them. The truth was, she had no idea what came next. She’d spent thirty years building an identity around her business. She was Susan Fletcher, a successful caterer, and the woman who could pull off a perfect wedding for two hundred people or an intimate dinner with equal skill.
Here in Sapphire Bay, she was simply Susan. Kathleen’s friend. The woman who taught cooking classes. Someone with time to bake cookies for breakfast and take aimless walks along the lake.
Someone with nothing important to do and no one important to be.
As Jennifer moved on to interview other attendees, Susan scanned the growing crowd. That’s when she saw him.
Paul Renard stood near the entrance, his tall frame relaxed in dark slacks and a charcoal sweater that brought out the silver at his temples. He was alone, but he carried himself with a quiet confidence that made his solitude look like a choice rather than a circumstance.
Their eyes met across the room, and Susan’s breath caught.
Over the past few months, they’d developed an easy friendship based on their shared passion for food. He’d been generous with his advice when she was setting up her cooking classes, and they often discussed techniques and flavor profiles with the kind of shorthand that came from years in professional kitchens. But there was something else beneath their conversations, something neither of them had acknowledged.
Something that made her pulse quicken now as he smiled and began making his way toward her.
“No,” Susan told herself firmly. “Don’t even think it.”
She’d closed the door on romance years ago, accepted that some chapters of life were simply over. She’d come to Montana to find peace, not to chase foolish dreams about a man she barely knew.
But as Paul drew closer, his eyes were full of genuine pleasure at seeing her. Susan felt something stir in her chest that she’d thought was long dead.
Hope.
Dangerous, terrifying hope.
“Susan,” he said, his voice carrying a slight roughness that suggested he didn’t waste words on small talk. “Your canapés are incredible.”
“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” She gestured toward the platters. “The mushroom phyllo cups turned out better than I expected.”
Paul picked one up, examining it with the careful attention of a fellow chef. “Is this a family recipe?”
“It’s something I developed for a wedding I catered a few years ago.” Susan relaxed into the familiar territory of food talk, grateful for solid ground beneath her feet. “The bride was vegetarian, and she wanted something that would satisfy her carnivorous father-in-law. The key is using three different types of mushrooms and adding just a touch of brandy to the reduction.”
“That’s brilliant.” Paul’s smile widened. “I’ve been thinking about expanding the appetizer menu at the Grill. Would you consider collaborating on some new dishes?”
The suggestion caught her completely off guard. “Collaborating?”
“We could develop a new menu together. Create a few signature dishes.” He paused, and something vulnerable flickered across his features. “Your instinct for flavors that people want to eat is better than most of the chefs I’ve worked with. And I’ve worked with some of the best.”
Warmth spread through Susan’s chest, followed by uncertainty. More work meant more commitment. It meant admitting she wanted to be more than just a retired caterer marking time until... what? Until she died? Until her friends got tired of including her in their coupled-up lives?
“Can I think about it?” she asked, hating the quaver in her voice.
“Of course.” His smile was understanding rather than disappointed. “No pressure. But the offer stands whenever you’re ready.”
As Paul moved away to greet other guests, Susan watched him go. He stopped to talk with Pastor John, his posture relaxed but somehow separate. Even in a crowded room, Paul Renard carried an invisible barrier around himself—the careful distance of someone who’d been hurt and wasn’t willing to risk his heart again.
She recognized it because she was exactly the same.
The lights dimmed, signaling that the documentary was about to begin. Susan did a final check of her catering stations, but her mind was elsewhere. She thought about Florence and Miriam Buckley, the two women whose story would be celebrated tonight. They’d created a legacy that lasted over a century, helping countless women build new lives from the ashes of old shame.
What legacy was Susan building in this small Montana town? And more importantly, what did she want her legacy to be?
As the guests moved toward the theater, Susan allowed herself one more glance at Paul. He stood alone near the refreshment table, his expression thoughtful as he watched the crowd. For just a moment, their eyes met again, and Susan saw something in his face that matched the ache in her own chest.
Loneliness. Bone-deep, soul-crushing loneliness.
And the terrifying possibility that neither of them had to stay lonely if they were brave enough to try.
