Page 4 of The Mountain Man's Secret Star
I knew that feeling. Different stage, same performance. The kitchen world had its own masks, its own roles you played until you forgot who you were underneath.
"Been there," I said simply.
"What did you do before this?" she asked, gesturing at my setup.
"Cooked for people who cared more about being seen eating than actually tasting the food." The words came out more bitter than intended. "High-end, five star restaurant. All performance, no soul."
"And now?"
"Now I cook for people who hum when they eat."
That earned me a real smile. "I did that, didn't I?"
"You did." I found myself returning the smile. "First genuine sound I'd heard from you."
She was quiet for a moment, processing that. "I used to hum all the time. Didn't realize I'd stopped."
Your music helped me find my way out,I wanted to tell her. But that was too much truth for a festival afternoon. Instead, I said, "Want to see something?"
She tilted her head, curious.
"There's a spot up the mountain where you can see the comet without all the town lights. Good view of the valley too." The words came before I'd decided to invite her anywhere. "If you're not busy after the festival closes tonight."
"You're asking me on a date?" The question came with a smile that was part tease, part genuine surprise.
"I'm offering to show you something beautiful," I said, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. "What you make of it is up to you."
She considered this, and I watched her make the decision to trust a stranger who'd fed her stew and seen through her stage persona.
"Okay," she said. "But only if you promise not to make me sing campfire songs."
"Deal. Meet me at the main gate around ten?"
"It's a date."
As she walked away, I caught myself humming.
Through the afternoon crowd, I watched her greet fans and sign autographs, every interaction polished and warm and slightly removed from who she really was. But she'd said yes to seeing something beautiful. And the way her eyes had heated when I'd mentioned her humming—that had been real. That had been the woman who'd found something worth savoring in Grammy's soup.
Above us, invisible in the afternoon sky, the comet continued its ancient journey toward Christmas Eve, carrying wishes and cosmic dust in equal measure. Local legend claimed it could see straight through to your heart, grant authentic desires to those brave enough to make them under its amber light.
I wasn't much for wishing on celestial bodies, but as I watched Sadie navigate her crowd of admirers, something in my chest whispered that maybe some things were worth the risk of hoping for.
3
Sadie
The festival crowd thinned as evening settled over Silver Ridge, families heading home with sleepy children while couples lingered over the last hot chocolate vendors. I should have been back at the bed and breakfast, reviewing tomorrow's set list or returning Keisha's increasingly frantic calls. Instead, I found myself at the main gate at exactly ten o'clock, anticipation humming through me like a half-written song finding its melody.
Gavin emerged from the shadows carrying a thermos and small backpack. He'd traded his festival apron for a heavy wool coat, but his scowl remained firmly in place. When he moved toward me, I caught his scent on the cold air—pine soap and kitchen spices. Perfectly him.
"You came," he said, surprise threading through his voice.
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
"Crossed my mind." He gestured toward a trail winding up into darkness beyond the streetlights. "Twenty-minute hike. You okay with that in those boots?"
I looked down at my designer ankle boots—cute but definitely not hiking appropriate. "I'll manage."
