Page 94 of Wrecked on the Mountain
Candles now line the edge and flicker in the mountain breeze, fairy lights are overhead, and the entire valley spreads below us like we're dining on top of the world.
A man in chef's whites appears with our first course, presenting it with the kind of flourish usually reserved for Michelin-starred restaurants. I assume.
"Pan-seared scallops with cauliflower purée and microgreens," he announces, setting down plates that look like works of art. "Paired with a Sauvignon Blanc from our local vineyard."
"Everything is incredible," I tell him after the first bite, which tastes like the ocean met the mountains and decided to have a party in my mouth. "How did you find this place?"
"I know the guy who runs it. Good guy, bit grumpy."
"So, the usual Stone River type?"
He chuckles and nods. "Exactly. I wanted somewhere that would show you what Stone River has to offer."
There's that phrase again.What Stone River has to offer.
The wine makes me bold, or maybe it's the setting, or maybe it's the way Jamie keeps looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"You mean there's more luxury hidden in these mountains?" I tease.
"Sweetheart," Jamie says, leaning back in his chair with that satisfied smile. "Trust me when I say you haven't seen anything yet."
Course after course arrives, each one more perfect than the last. Lamb sourced from a local farm, vegetables from the resort's mountain garden, dessert that makes me close my eyes and moan with pleasure.
Jamie tells me stories about his deployments while I tell him about medical school disasters. We laugh until my sides ache, drink wine until I'm warm all over, and somewhere between the third and fourth course, I realize what's happening.
"Are you planning our whole future?" I ask, gesturing with my wine glass at the elaborate dinner, the perfect setting, the obvious effort he's put into showing me this lifestyle.
All right before someone from my old life just so happens to be visiting.
Jamie goes very still, his glass halfway to his lips.
"Would that be such a terrible thing?" he asks quietly.
A few weeks ago, I would have panicked. Would have listed all the reasons why planning a future with someone I barely know is insane.
But before I got here, I didn't know what it felt like to be loved like this. To be cherished and spoiled and wanted with this kind of intensity.
"No," I admit, the wine making me braver than I usually am. "It wouldn't be terrible at all."
Relief floods his face, and he reaches across the table to take my hand.
"Good," he says simply. "Because if my mother has anything to do with it, there is going to be plenty more to enjoy."
His mother?
I go to question what his mother has to do with our future, but the chef appears beside our table, clearing our final plates.
"Will there be anything else this evening?" he asks politely.
"No, thank you."
The moment breaks, and Jamie's hand tightens on mine like he's relieved not to have to explain that comment.
"Come here," he says, looking at me like he knows exactly what is racing through my mind right now. "We don't have to worry just yet. Let's just enjoy tonight for what it is."
I rise, swaying slightly from the wine and the altitude and the sheer perfection of this entire weekend. He pulls me close on the candlelit balcony, his hands spanning my waist, and I can smell his cologne mixing with the mountain air.
"Thank you," I whisper against his mouth. "For showing me what we could have."
