Page 28 of Mountain Struggle

“Fair enough. I’ll have to trust you on that. What did your family think of you moving to France?”

“They worried a bit. Not so much about France, or about you,” she said quickly—though her parents had expressed some concerns about her moving in with a strange family, “more about me becoming a writer. I think they were hoping I’d use my writing skills to go into journalism.”

“I have to admit something,” he said, and his blue eyes were serious.

Uh oh.

“I read your book of short stories. I ordered it on Amazon before you arrived.”

Tess almost spilled her drink. That was literally the last thing she expected him to say.

“So … what did you think?” she asked cautiously, trying to force her heart to slow down. He said he ordered it, not that he read it.

“I loved the stories. My favorite was the one where a young woman comes to terms with her partner’s disappearance.”

She blushed. That was her favorite as well.

He read them.

“You’re really talented. Is that what you’re writing now, more short stories?”

She shook her head. “I’m halfway through my first novel. The short story book didn’t really make any money—I suppose that’s what worries my family—but it did land me an agent. She’s amazing—knows more about writing and publishing fiction than I could hope to learn in a lifetime.”

The main course arrived. She’d ordered risotto with artichokes, and it arrived in a beautiful arrangement on a deep, asymmetric plate. That was one thing to be said for Chamonix—even when you ordered the simplest thing on the menu, it always arrived beautifully presented.

“This looks amazing,” she said.

Damien looked up from his plate of homemade smoked trout. “This isn’t even my favorite place. Next time, I’d like to take you up to the mountains, to an amazing place near the Télécabine de Planpraz. Everything tastes better up there.”

Next time.

She liked the thought of that.

At the end of the meal, the server, looking mildly bored, came to inquire if they wanted dessert. Damien deferred to her. And she suddenly realized she was still hungry—just not for dessert.

It was the kind of thing she might have kept to herself in normal circumstances. A young woman waited to be asked. Then she remembered the way she’d felt when she and Jamie had been kidnapped, when she’d suddenly realized tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed for any of them.

She wanted Damien, and she knew him well enough by now to know he wasn’t going to make a move on her himself.

“I want dessert,” she said, blushing at the cliché expression, “but of a different kind.”

She placed her small, pale hand on his larger hand, feeling the strength and warmth radiating from him. She wanted those hands on her, and she didn’t want to wait any longer.

He opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out.

“I mean it. Take me home, Damien.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times but, to his credit, he wasted no time in signaling the server for the check.

Ten minutes later they were home.

“When is Jamie getting back?” she asked.

“Not until tomorrow morning. He’s spending the night with my father.”

“Good,” she said, smiling.

His hands came up to cup her face.