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“So what’s the occasion?” she asks, eyeing me dismissively.

As if he could sense my annoyance with her, he wraps his arm around my waist, his fingers tracing the top of my ass. He leans over to kiss me on top of my head, his other hand running the back of a finger across my cheek as his eyes hold my gaze longingly. All of it a display meant to show her that he’s mine and I love every second of it.

“Date night with my girlfriend,” he says, not bothering to look back at the hostess.

“Oh,” she says, a brief flush in her cheeks, “well, let’s get you to your table. I see the chef made a note to give you his favorite table right in the window.”

“Thank you for that,” I whisper, looking up at him as she leads us to the table.

“Any time, horny badger,” he says smirking. Fine, he can call me that any time as long as he keeps looking at me like that.

We sit down and finally I get to see the menu. And shit, it’s perfect.

All Italian, all seasonal dishes with local ingredients. Pasta courses, meat courses, salad courses, all of it sounds amazing. I’m practically drooling over the menu. I put it down for a second to look at him, a familiar smug and confident look on his face.

“I take it you like the menu,” he says, one eyebrow raised as the flickering light of the candle on the table casts dancing shadows over his tattooed knuckles. He slowly runs his callused fingertip over the rim of the water glass, making it sing. Somehow even that’s sexy with him. Is there anything he can’t do with his strong rugged hands?

“It’s perfect. I just don’t know how to pick what I want,” I say with a short laugh.

“Well, I come and hang at the bar fairly often. So I’ve tried most of the dishes. Let’s just get a bunch of the ones you want to try, share it all, and take the rest back for leftovers.”

Looking across the table, I can’t help but think how I’ve been missing out on him, on this, for so long. It’s like he’s the last piece of the puzzle I’ve been trying so hard to finish but couldn’t find, only to realize I’ve been holding it in my hand the entire time.

Our waiter comes for our order, another local that clearly knows Tanner.

“Hey Chap, how you doing? Find any killer stashes lately?” He looks at me, a hint of amusement and a small nod of approval to Tanner. I’ll take it. Better than the looks I got from the hostess.

“Been good, Bodi. Enjoying the week with my girl here,” he says, smiling wholeheartedly at me, his own words making the smile genuine. “Found some good lines in Grizzly and Alta Zero the last week or so. Dying to get into the backcountry soon though.”

Something is off with his tone, though. Two weeks ago, I would have thought nothing of it. But the more he opens up to me, I know what it is now. It’s this little bit of pain, like he’s so used to putting on a facade to the people around him. Talking so casually and confidently about big bold feats was his way to hide and bury his feelings, his depression about being alone, to make everyone think he’s fine.

I reach across the table, holding his hand in mine. I want to tell him everything will be ok, that he doesn’t have to do that anymore. I want him to know he can always open up to me.

???

It’s a whirlwind of dish after dish. Beautiful handmade pastas, grilled and sautéed vegetable sides, locally raised beef, elk, and fresh caught trout from the Snake River. Each course coming with a new wine pairing. By the end of dinner, we’re full and I’m probably a bit on the tipsy side. I think even Tanner is, his deep laugh more relaxed and infectious than ever.

It’s a good thing we took an Uber. As much as I normally don’t like getting dressed up for a fancy night out and dealing with rides, I was right in trusting Tanner. It’s going to be worth it tonight after this dinner.

I think about how right now I have everything I want, but my thoughts start to creep back to my talk with Lizzy the other day on the chairlift. She was so confident that we’ll make this work, but how? I can’t imagine a world where I could ask him to leave this place, where he was born and raised, where he’s so at ease and has access to everything he wants,except me. But I know if I did ask, he would jump and say yes, without hesitation. It just doesn’t seem fair to ask that of him.

I see the look in his eyes change, as if he could feel my own thoughts drifting away from this moment.

“Hey,” his voice is low and direct, “do you want to get out of here? The night’s still young. We can go back to the cabin, just enjoy the time alone.”

I see the corner of his mouth attempt to raise, trying to get my mind off of my prior train of thought.

“Can we at least see the dessert menu? Maybe get one to go? If it’s as good as everything else, I’d kick myself for skipping it,” I say, making puppy dog eyes at him, resting my chin on my hands, trying to say everything is fine.

His smile is back, sensing my change in mood, and he lets out a puff of laughter.

“Sure, Ronni,” he says. “Anything you want.”

He pauses for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting into that sly look that I’ve learned means he thinks he knows something I don’t.

“Ok. I know that look. Out with it.” I demand.

A quiet chuckle escapes his mouth. “You know, if you like this menu so much, I can get you the recipes for anything on it.”

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