Chapter Seven
Jinnie
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T HE BAKERY’S OVEN TIMER beeps for what feels like the hundredth time today. My arms ache from lifting tray after tray of sourdough, my apron dusted with flour and sticky with raspberry jam from the thumbprint cookies. Lisa wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, grinning at me across the counter.
“I think we just broke our personal record,” she says, nodding toward the nearly empty display case.
I roll my stiff shoulders. “Only because Mrs. Henderson ordered two dozen extra cookies for her garden club.”
Lisa laughs. “Bless that woman and her sweet tooth.”
Lisa grabs a towel and starts wiping down the counter. “Hey, Jinnie...I’ve been meaning to ask—how’s everything with Jack? I know I overstepped, but he was asking, and I just I didn’t mean to spill your business like that. I thought he knew.”
I pause, a tray of cooling cookies in my hands, and give her a small smile. “It’s okay, Lisa. I’m not mad. Honestly, it might’ve been better that Jack knows. He’s been very supportive.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Supportive, huh? So, what’s the deal? Any progress on the annulment?”
I set the tray down and sigh and wipe my hands on my apron. “Not really. His lawyers are contesting it now. We’re going to have to go to court, apparently.”
Lisa’s eyes widen. “Court? What does he even want? He’s the one who walked out.”
“That’s what I keep asking myself,” I say with a bitter laugh. “Mr. Langley, my lawyer, thinks Sam’s just stalling for some reason. Maybe money, maybe just to make things harder for me. Who knows?”
Lisa shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What a jerk. He doesn’t get to disappear and then come back like this.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, staring at the flour-streaked countertop. “But I guess it doesn’t matter what I think. The court will decide. I have a feeling it’s going to end in divorce. The whole world is going to know I eloped in Vegas. Is there anything more cliché?”
I push the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. The less I dwell on Sam, the better.
“And Jack? How’s he handling all this?”
“He’s been amazing about it. He doesn’t push me to talk if I don’t want to, but he listens when I do. And he offered to help with the lawyer fees. He wants Sam out of my life for obvious reasons.”
Lisa whistles low under her breath. “That’s a big deal. Most guys would run for the hills at the first whiff of drama like this.”
“I know,” I say quietly, my fingers dragging through flour on the counter. “That’s why it means so much that he hasn’t.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” Lisa asks, her voice softer now.
I look up at her and nod, unable to stop the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Yeah, I do.”
Lisa grins, tossing the rag into the sink behind her with a flourish of mock drama as she says, “Well, thank goodness for Jack. If he’s as good as everyone is saying, that guy is going to be a big star one day. Do you think you’ll have a big mansion in Nashville? Or maybe a cute ranch with a massive house.”
Lisa’s question catches me off guard. I laugh, shaking my head. “A mansion in Nashville? I think you’ve been watching too many country music reality shows, Lisa. Jack’s just starting out. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
She grins, leaning against the counter. “Oh, come on, Jinnie. You’ve seen him on stage. You’ve heard him. He’s got ‘star’ written all over him. And if that happens, you’re going to be right there with him, living the dream.”
I chuckle, trying to keep it light. “Sure, sure. I’ll have a pink Cadillac parked out front and a closet full of cowboy boots.”
Lisa laughs, but her words linger in the back of my mind. The truth is, I haven’t really let myself think about what Jack’s future might look like—or where I fit into it. Sure, we’re in this thing together now, but what happens if he starts booking bigger gigs? What happens if he gets signed to a label and has to tour? Would he even want me along for that ride? I’ve got baggage. I’m a small-town girl. I’ve already seen the way women look at him. He’s hot. And if they knew how good he was in bed, I’m not sure I would stand a chance at keeping him.
I don’t know if I could compete.
I grab a tray of cinnamon rolls and start arranging them in the display case, my hands moving on autopilot as my thoughts spiral. Jack’s dream is clear: make it big in music. He’s so passionate about it, so determined. It’s one of the things I admire most about him. But where does that leave me? Do I just follow him wherever his music takes him? Or do I chase my own dreams, even if they lead me in a different direction? The thought of being apart from him already feels like a dull ache, but I can’t let myself become the kind of person who puts their life on hold for someone else. I’ve been there before with Sam, and it didn’t end well.
Lisa must sense my angst because she nudges me gently with her elbow. “Hey, don’t overthink it, Jinnie. You guys are good together. And who knows? Maybe your dreams will align perfectly. Or maybe you’ll figure out how to make it work even if they don’t.”
I smile at her, grateful for her optimism. “Yeah, maybe. One step at a time, right?”
“Exactly,” Lisa says with a nod. “Now, let’s get these last few batches out before the lunch rush hits.”
We fall back into our rhythm, the familiar motions of baking and prepping helping to calm my racing thoughts. By the time we finish, the display case is full again, and the smell of fresh bread and pastries fills the air.
After a busy day, I leave the bakery and go to the grocery store in town. I’ve been meaning to restock my pantry for days, but between work and Jack staying over so often, I’ve barely had time.
The grocery store is quiet, allowing me time to think and peruse the aisles for the best deals. I weave through the aisles, grabbing the essentials—pasta, fresh vegetables and some of my favorite junk food. The cart fills quickly, and before long, I’m loading bags into the trunk of my car.
I shut the trunk and take my cart back to the return, thinking about Jack and Sam and a million other things.
And then I see him.
Sam .
He’s watching me with that same lazy smirk I used to find charming. Now, it just makes my skin crawl.
I stiffen, gripping my keys tighter. “What are you doing here?”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just grabbing groceries, Jinnie. Relax.”
I don’t believe him. Not for a second. “You don’t even live in this town.”
“Visiting a friend.” He shrugs, taking a step closer.
“Bullshit,” I hiss. “You’re here to mess with me.”
“I assure you, I’m not.”
I don’t believe him. “Whatever. Sign the stupid papers, Sam. Let’s just get this over with.”
“I’ve got something of yours,” he says, ignoring the statement.
I don’t move. “What?”
“Hold on.” He turns back to his car, rummaging in the backseat for a moment before returning with something clutched in his hand.
My breath catches.
Mr. Snuffles.
The stuffed bear Dad gave me when I was five, the one Sam took when he left. The fabric is worn, one ear slightly frayed, but it’s unmistakably mine.
Sam holds it out. “Didn’t mean to take it. Got mixed up with my stuff.”
“How does this get mixed up with your shirts?” I mutter. “You took it on purpose.”
He shrugs again, that infuriating smirk still in place. “Didn’t realize until I was unpacking. Figured you’d want it back.”
Hesitantly, I take the bear. The familiar softness of the fabric is a punch to the gut—memories of Dad handing it to me after a scraped knee, of nights spent clutching it after nightmares.
“Thanks,” I mutter, though the word tastes bitter.
Sam snickers. “Yeah, well. I sure as hell didn’t want it. Trust me, I didn’t take it on purpose.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, clutching the bear like a lifeline.
I walk to my car and put the bear in the front passenger seat. I don’t trust Sam. He didn’t give me the bear out of the kindness of his heart. There’s always a tit for tat. He’s up to something.
I get home and carry everything inside. I put Mr. Snuffles on a shelf, out of reach of Max. I stare at it as I put away groceries, my mind racing.
Why now? Why return it after all this time?
The knock at my door startles me. I open the door to find Dad standing on the porch, holding a basket of fresh herbs.
“Dinner’s ready,” he calls through the door. “Your mother made pot roast.”
“I’ll be right over.”
The familiar comfort of my parents’ kitchen washes over me as soon as I step inside. Mom stirs a pot on the stove, humming to herself, while Dad dramatically taste-tests the gravy, making a show of adding a pinch of salt.
“Needs more love,” he declares.
Mom swats him with a dish towel. “It needs less of you hovering.”
“Need help?” I offer.
“Sit,” Mom orders. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”
I don’t argue. I slide into a chair at the table, letting the familiar banter between my parents settle over me like a blanket. For a moment, I can almost forget about Sam, the lawyer, and the weight of everything hanging over my head.
“So, how’s Jack?” Dad asks. “We’d love to have him over for dinner again.”
I blink, caught off guard. “He’s good. Playing at Aggie’s tonight.”
Mom glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing slightly. “You two seem close. I saw his truck at your place when I took my walk this morning.”
“Yeah. He’s been really great about everything.”
“Everything?” Dad asks, his tone too casual.
I hesitate, glancing between them. They’re both watching me now, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. For a split second, I consider telling them everything—about Sam, the annulment, the lawyer—but the words stick in my throat.
“Just life stuff,” I say finally, forcing a smile. “You know how it is.”
Dad studies me for a moment before nodding slowly. “Well, if you ever need to talk...”
“I know,” I say quickly. “Thanks.”
Dinner is warm and loud, filled with Dad’s terrible jokes and Mom’s fond exasperation. It’s exactly what I needed to put all my worries aside. Hanging out with my parents is always a relief and just what I need to recalibrate and face another day going against Sam and whatever he has planned.