Chapter 17 – Jael
I’ve lost track of what day it is, but I know one thing for sure: the rest of my shift last night was a blur of distractions and daydreams, all centered around Rhett and the thought of our first official date since I came back to Whitewood Creek happening later today.
When my shift ended early this morning, I drove straight to the hotel where I’ve been staying, my body aching and begging for rest. The summer sun was already creeping through the blinds of the darkened room.
My mind was racing too much to relax on its own, so I reluctantly popped a sleeping pill, slipped on a cooling face mask, and willed myself to shut all of the thoughts out. It worked a little too well.
Shit.
Any other guy expecting a date with me would have blown up my phone by now, sending a flurry of texts or passive-aggressive messages asking where I am or if I’m standing them up.
But Rhett would never do that. Despite everything that’s happened between us—the fights, the heartbreak, the loss of years—he’s always been steady, always respectful.
It doesn’t surprise me that he’d give me the space and time I needed to rest without a single complaint or checking in at the risk it might wake me.
I grab my phone, pull up his contact, and start typing out a text to explain.
Jael: Hey Rhett, I’m so sorry... I just woke up.
He responds almost immediately.
Rhett: There’s no need to apologize. I’m glad you got to rest. I had a feeling you really needed that. Feel better now?
Jael: I do. Thank you.
Rhett: Good, because I have plans for your evening.
Jael: Oh really?
I wait for him to respond to tell me what he has planned, biting my lip nervously. My stomach flutters like I’m eighteen years old again; dating the guy who’d been one of my closest friends turned boyfriend.
There’s something so familiar about Rhett that stirs up all these old memories of nostalgia for the person I used to be.
Someone who stressed less about the future and didn’t let the ghosts of her past dictate the decisions of her future.
It’s the feeling of being able to be myself around him that I’ve never felt around any other man I’ve ever dated.
There’s no pretending when it comes to Rhett. He’s already seen me at my worst.
Rhett: I’ve got something I want to show you. When do you think you can be ready by? No rush.
Sitting up in bed, I pad into the hotel bathroom to assess myself. Mascara fills my under-eye bags, and drool is crusted at the corner of my lips. I’m a vision, just not a good one.
Jael: Give me an hour. I need to shower first. I can meet you wherever you want.
Rhett texts back with the address where I should meet him when I’m done, indicating that if he wasn’t still at a job site, he’d pick me up first. I tell him I don’t mind the drive; at least this way, if things go south tonight, I’ll have my car to escape like I did after Owen’s date.
Fifty minutes, a long shower, and head to toe shaving later, I’m pulling up to the address that he sent.
It’s a little outside the main stretch of Whitewood Creek where we grew up—an area that I’ve never explored before bordering the Marshall family property. Long, private driveways dot the roadside, leading to modern houses tucked behind dense trees with plenty of space and privacy between them.
It’s not the kind of area that I’d call “wealthy” by big-city standards, like the ones I’d seen in Richmond, but for our small town? It’s pretty upscale.
I crane my neck as I drive, trying to get a better look at the houses hidden behind the trees, wondering if one of these belongs to Rhett and when he would have bought it.
My GPS chirps, instructing me to turn right down a freshly paved blacktop road lined with barbed-wire fences and a prominently displayed No Trespassing sign. The road winds deeper into the thick forest, crossing over a narrow bridge where our town’s namesake creek babbles below.
When I make it to the other side, and his home comes into view, my breath catches in my throat. A small hill rises ahead, and at the top sits a stunning modern style log cabin. It’s not the kind of home I ever imagined Rhett living in but somehow, it makes sense.
The sleek lines of the house contrast beautifully with the rustic log detailing, and it’s nestled perfectly among towering evergreen trees. The landscaping in the front is simple and practical: bushes, a few trees and no flowers, with a small porch that seems to wrap around the back of the cabin.
I swallow hard, nerves fluttering in my stomach as I park and make my way to the front door. It’s painted a deep forest green that blends seamlessly with the surrounding trees, and a stained-glass window in the shape of an oar sits at the top center.
“Rhett?” I call softly after knocking on the heavy door, my voice carrying into the stillness of the land.
It only takes a few seconds before the door swings open, and there he is—spatula in hand, apron with the words Kiss the Chef! tied neatly around his waist, light brown hair tousled, hazel eyes more a shade of green than brown today.
His smile is wide and the way the golden hour light dances across his eyes reminds me just how much his features have matured. He waves the spatula in his hand, the veins and muscles in his biceps flexing with each pass before he breaks into a wider grin when he notices me checking him out.
“Hey Jael. Glad you found the place, come on in.”
I step inside the entry way and take a quick scan of the place before my eyes drop back to him in his ridiculous get-up.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
He gestures to his outfit which makes me realize he’s not wearing a shirt underneath that thin bit of apron fabric that’s hardly covering his strong pecs and abs. My mouth waters, and it isn’t from the smell of the food being cooked.
“Making pancakes and bacon for you.” His grin deepens.
“I figured since you slept so long, you probably haven’t had time to eat breakfast, but now it’s also past lunch, and so since we’re approaching dinner, I made a bunch of different things so you can choose which of the three meals you’d like to indulge in. ”
My heart stutters, almost unsure how to process what Rhett just said, before it kicks into overdrive, pounding against my ribcage. That’s the sweetest most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me, and I don’t think I deserve it.
The thought settles in, and a bitter truth follows right behind it. Christopher never cared when I worked back-to-back twelve-hour shifts and was too tired to eat the next day. Christopher never made date plans, I did. And Christopher never cooked for me.
Not once, in all the time that we were together, did he ever take the initiative to make the meal.
And even if he had, I could almost guarantee it would’ve been chicken parmesan.
His favorite thing to eat, not mine. And let’s be honest, he’d probably have eaten most of it anyway leaving me with the scraps.
I let my eyes drift back to Rhett, taking him in properly this time.
He’s wearing dark navy jogger sweatpants that sit snug on his strong waist. Underneath the silly apron he’s wearing I can see the hint of dark chest hair that must cover his whole front, dipping down into his waistband.
His biceps bulge under the strain of the fabric and it reminds me of how I used to watch him when he worked on his old truck.
Back then he’d been a young man, tinkering around and learning, now I can almost guarantee he’d know exactly what he’s doing with confidence.
His facial hair is neatly trimmed, but what really catches my attention is his hair—it’s longer than it used to be, like he’s letting it grow out since I’ve been back in town. It suits him, frames his face in a way that makes him even more attractive than I remembered.
He’s always been handsome to me, but this Rhett? This grown-up, responsible version, standing here in his cozy home, cooking dinner as a date idea without any prompting? This Rhett who’s thoughtful in ways that tug at parts of me I’d nearly forgotten existed? I don’t know how to handle him.
My gaze darts away because if I keep staring, I’m not sure we’ll even make it through dinner without me throwing caution and all my defenses out the window. And my heart can’t handle another rejection like what he gave me in Lainey’s basement.
Instead, I focus on the space around me, taking in the details of his home.
It’s even more beautiful on the inside than it looked from the outside, the kind of place that makes you want to sink into it and stay for a while.
The layout is completely open concept, with the kitchen taking center stage.
A large marble island stretches across the space, cluttered with dishes from his unfocused prepping.
Eggs cooked in what looks like a dozen different ways, creamy pasta dishes, and even a perfectly browned meatloaf are perched there like a feast waiting to be devoured.
To the right of the kitchen is what I assume is his main living area.
A big, unused fireplace serves as the focal point, with an ornate piece of artwork hanging above it—though on closer inspection, I realize it doubles as a sleek, modern TV.
A large, white L-shaped couch anchors the room, its plush cushions inviting enough to sink into for hours.
The carpet beneath it is a soft cream shade that somehow manages to feel both elegant and cozy, tying the whole space together.
It’s not what I expected at all, this blend of modern sophistication and warmth.
A massive upgrade from the digs that we grew up in back in our trailer park.
But this is Rhett’s home. And the thought of him living here alone, in this space that’s so perfectly him after everything we’ve been through, makes something in my chest ache that feels a lot like pride.
Pride for him that he figured it out, even if I haven’t yet.