Chapter Three
Jinnie
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I WAKE WITH A START , my brain instantly awake while my body struggles to match it. I reach over and grab my phone. It’s a quarter after two in the afternoon. I only slept an hour, but my brain’s already racing, picking at every frayed thread from this morning.
I thought a nap would help, but I think it only left me feeling worse. The nap apparently gave my brain more time to stew and conjure up new worries. Before I lay down, I texted Jack to thank him for taking me to the lawyer’s office. I knew he wanted more, but I couldn’t give it to him. Not yet. He told me he talked to his brother and things weren’t great.
He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. We were both dealing with some shit and neither of us knew how to talk about it. But my brain sure knew how to spin a single sentence into tragedy.
Jack’s family needs him.
Jack surrounded by women at the bar who actually look at him like he’s something precious.
Sam taking what little I have.
Jack walking away from me.
I sit up too fast, the room tilting slightly. Max meows from the foot of the bed, letting me know he doesn’t appreciate my sudden movement.
“Sorry,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears.
He purrs, but it does nothing to quiet the thoughts tumbling through my head.
What if Jack realizes how much he misses his family? His brothers clearly care about him, even if his dad’s being difficult. I know he says he hates the farm life, but it’s a living. From what little I know about farming; it’s a decent living. He has a stable home back there.
And even if he doesn’t go home, he’s not going to stick around here forever. There’s no way a guy like him stays. He’s talented. Really talented. I know I’m not the only one who thinks he’s the sexiest damn thing on this earth. The way women flock to him after his sets, all batting eyelashes and lingering touches. He’s always polite, always steps back, but...
I shake my head, pressing my palms to my eyes.
Stop.
This is just stress talking. The lawyer. Sam. The impending court battle. It all feels like too much. I don’t do stress. Not really. My life, up until my stupid quickie marriage to Sam, had been very calm. My parents were easy-going and that passed on to me. They were both very Zen. They didn’t believe in worrying.
“Worrying doesn’t fix anything,” my mom always says. “It just robs you of the present.”
But now, with Sam lurking in the shadows and Jack caught in his own storm, it feels like worry is all I have left. I slide out of bed and pad to the kitchen, Max trailing behind me like a shadow. The fridge offers little comfort. A single, sad-looking apple is the sum total of the offerings. I grab the apple and take a bite, chewing slowly as I lean against the counter.
My eyes drift to the legal paperwork stacked on my tiny dining table. The envelope from Langley’s office stares back at me. It’s haunting me. If I do the divorce, everyone is going to know about my hasty decision. It’s humiliating. People are going to look at me and think I’m some silly girl who makes impulsive decisions. That’s all I will be known for. And my one really bad choice is also going to reflect on my parents. I don’t want them to wear the stain of my bad decision.
I glance out the window toward the main house. Mom and Dad will be having their late lunch about now. I promised I would come by since it’s my day off.
“All right, Max, behave yourself. If you tear anything up, I promise you I will put that leash on you and walk your big butt up to Mom and Dad’s. You’ll suffer the humiliation of being the cat on a leash.”
He looks at me, silently daring me. We both know I’ll never do it. Mostly because I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one who suffers the most. I grab my sunglasses and walk out.
The walk across the property usually calms me. I love the earthy smell and the scent of pines. Normally, the smell of Dad’s herb garden floats on the breeze. I can’t smell it today. All I smell is the aftermath of my bad decision.
I walk into the house without knocking. I never do.
Mom’s at the kitchen table when I walk in, her hands busy with what looks like a half-woven basket. Her face lights up when she sees me.
“Jinnie! Perfect timing.” She holds up her project. “Look what I’m learning!”
The basket’s lopsided, reeds sticking out at odd angles. I force a smile. “Looks great, Mom.”
Dad appears from the pantry, arms laden with jars of honey. “And look at this batch! The lavender fields really came through this year.”
He sets the jars on the counter with a clink, their golden contents glowing in the sunlight. The labels are handmade, as always—Dad’s messy scrawl declaring Parker’s Wildflower Honey - Summer Batch.
I sink into a chair at the table. “Looks amazing.”
Dad beams, popping the lid off one jar and pushing it toward me. He hands me a spoon. “Taste.”
I scoop just a tiny bit. Honey is not one of those things anyone can eat by the spoonfuls. The honey is rich, floral, with a hint of something earthy. “Wow.”
“Right?” Dad’s practically vibrating with excitement. “The bees have been loving those new lavender plants. I’m thinking of expanding the field. I’ve been doing some research about some of the other flowers the bees love.”
I sit there, spoon in hand, watching Dad as he launches into a full-blown lecture about bees. His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. He’s pacing, gesturing wildly with his hands. Mom’s still weaving her lopsided basket, but she’s got this soft smile on her face, like this is her favorite show.
“So, I started researching bee behavior— Did you know bees can recognize human faces? They’re like little detectives with wings!” Dad’s voice rises as he talks. I can’t help but snort into my spoon. He doesn’t even notice. “And their dance language? Absolutely fascinating. They wiggle their butts to tell the other bees where the good flowers are. It’s like a tiny bee rave out there!”
I glance at Mom, who’s biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“Bee rave?” I repeat.
She shrugs and keeps weaving.
Dad continues, completely oblivious to the fact I think he’s just a little crazy. “And the honey! Jinnie, this batch is special. The lavender gives it this floral note, but then there’s this underlying richness from the wildflowers. People are going to love this!”
“Before you start planning a bee nightclub, I’ve been thinking,” Mom says with that sparkle in her eyes that says she’s got her own wild idea. “What if we start selling these at the farmer’s market?” She holds up her basket, tilting it like she’s inspecting it for quality. “People love handmade things. We could pair them with the honey—buy a jar, get a basket. Or add them to the produce stand. Something unique to draw people in.”
Dad pauses mid-gesture, his brow furrowing as he considers it. “Baskets and honey... That could work. It’s got a folksy charm.”
I grimace. My parents get very, very excited about the things they do with their own two hands. Sometimes their ideas are amazing. Other times, they need me to help bring them back to reality in the gentlest way possible. “Mom, no offense, but your basket looks like it was made by a drunk raccoon.”
Mom laughs. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, dear. But that’s why I’m practicing. I’ll get better. And even if they’re not perfect, people appreciate the effort.” She smooths a stray reed back into place. “It’s about the story behind it. Handmade by a local beekeeper’s wife—doesn’t that sound exciting?”
Then it starts. They feed off each other’s energy. They’re going back and forth about how they can expand on the idea of baskets and honey.
I try to listen, but it’s hard when my mind is thinking about Sam. Not Sam, but the lack of the annulment. Maybe I should have told my parents about the marriage so they could have helped me with the lawyer.
But I don’t want to lay that on them. Besides, the last thing they need to be doing is giving me money. Or loaning it. They are comfortable but don’t have huge savings because they’ve been focused on doing what they love. They make enough to get by and that’s enough for them. They don’t care if they ever become rich. They just want to work the land and do their crafts.
It’s better if I just handle things myself. Jack is helping me, so that’s a good thing. He’s a shoulder to lean on.
Unless he leaves.
That thought makes my heart race.
“David,” Mom interrupts gently, nodding toward me.
Dad’s smile falters as he really looks at me. “You okay, kiddo?”
“Just tired.” I take another nibble of honey. “Long morning.”
They exchange a glance—that silent parental communication I’ve never quite mastered.
Mom sets aside her basket. “Everything okay with the bakery?”
“Bakery’s fine.”
“With Jack?” Dad asks, too casual.
My face heats. “Jack’s fine too.”
Another glance between them. They don’t push, though. Just let the silence stretch while I lick honey from the spoon.
Mom picks up her basket again. “Well, if you want to talk...”
“I know.”
“All right, I’ll pick up my basket later,” Mom says. “I made cucumber salad for lunch. And I’ve got some fresh bread to go with it.”
“Honey on toast,” Dad says with a grin.
I manage a small smile. “Sounds good.”
I help Mom set out the food while Dad slices the bread. The scent of freshly baked bread fills the kitchen. It’s comforting, familiar, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it.
We eat in companionable silence for a while, the occasional clink of utensils against plates the only sound. But I can feel their eyes on me, their unspoken questions hanging in the air between us. They want to pry, but they are doing their best not to.
Finally, Dad clears his throat. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You seem off.”
I shrug, picking at my salad. “Just a lot on my mind.”
“You know you can talk to us about anything, right?” Mom says.
I nod, but the words stick in my throat. How do I tell them that their daughter made a reckless decision that’s now coming back to haunt her? That I’m tied to a man who doesn’t want to let me go, even though he walked away? That I’ve been keeping this secret from them because I didn’t want to disappoint them?
They warned me and I went and did it anyway.
“I’m fine.” I smile. “I took a nap before coming over. It wasn’t long enough and too long at the same time.”
Dad nods like he understands. I go back to my salad, which is really good.
I should have told them about Sam from the beginning. They would’ve helped. But this is my mistake to own and fix on my own.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I quickly check it, hoping it might be the attorney.
Jack: Dinner tonight?
I feel relief washing over me. He still wants to see me.
Me: Yes. Please.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and find myself smiling for real this time.
“Was that from your young man?” Mom asks.
“It was. He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
“That’s nice,” she says, with a hint of curiosity. “He’s been coming around a lot lately.”
Dad grunts, slicing another piece of bread. “Seems like a good kid.”
“We like him, Jinnie. He’s been good for you.”
I feel my cheeks flush again and focus on my plate. “Yeah, he’s great.”