“We’ll figure it out.”
The drive was forty-five minutes, leaving them in their own little world. It was just them and the dark road. It made her bear purr with satisfaction. The lodge glowed warm against the mountain when they arrived, its windows casting golden light on the parking lot. Inside, the lobby wrapped them in warmth, rich wood, soft lighting, and the faint scent of wood smoke from the massive fireplace.
The hostess led them through the dining room. It buzzed with conversation, clinking glasses, and silverware against china. Hunter pulled out her chair when they arrived at their corner table with a view of the lake, leaning close as she sat.
“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess said, leaving them leather-bound menus.
Brie opened hers, grateful for something to focus on besides the way Hunter filled out his suit. The menu was extensive, steaks, seafood, pasta. The wine list took up two full pages.
Their server, a young man with an eager smile, appeared at their table. “Good evening, I’m Tyler. Can I start you with something to drink? We have an excellent selection of local wines.”
Brie scanned the wine list. “The Rogue Valley Pinot Noir?”
“Excellent choice. I’ll bring that right out. And let me tell you about our specials tonight.” Tyler gestured enthusiastically.“We have pan-seared halibut with lemon beurre blanc, served with roasted fingerling potatoes. The elk tenderloin comes with a huckleberry reduction that’s absolutely divine. And our vegetarian option is butternut squash ravioli in brown butter sage sauce.”
“Sounds delicious,” Brie said.
“Take your time.”
When Tyler left, she returned to the menu. “The salmon looks good. Or maybe the filet mignon. What are you having?”
“Ribeye. Medium rare.” A small smile played at his lips.
She studied the menu again. “I think the salmon. I haven’t had good fish in weeks.”
Tyler returned, and they ordered. Brie took her first sip of wine. It was rich, earthy, with hints of cherry and blackberry. The warmth spread through her chest, loosening some of her tension.
“Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with work,” she said.
He considered. “I rebuild motorcycles.”
“Really?”
“Now that the crew has settled down, I can work on my 1973 Triumph Bonneville.”
“Is that bike special?”
“My dad had one.” His thumb traced the base of his wine glass. “Sold it when I was sixteen to pay medical bills. Always wanted to bring one back.”
Their salads arrived, mixed greens with candied walnuts and pear slices. Brie speared a piece of pear. The sweetness burst on her tongue, mixing perfectly with the tangy vinaigrette.
“Your turn,” Hunter said. “Tell me something non-bakery.”
“I do watercolor paintings.” She felt shy admitting it.
“What do you paint?”
“The mountain, mostly. The view from my apartment at different times of day.”
“I’d like to see them.”
“We can arrange that,” she said, trying not to blush.
Their entrees arrived. The salmon was perfectly cooked, flaky and moist with a crispy skin that crackled under her fork. The lemon beurre blanc was rich but light, with just enough acidity to cut through the fish’s richness. She watched Hunter cut into his ribeye, the meat perfectly pink inside, juices pooling on the plate.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Good.” He cut another piece, held his fork out to her. “Try it.”
