Chapter Fourteen
Jinnie
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S OME DAYS JUST DON’T quit.
Today’s one of them—but in that weird, exhausted-but-satisfied kind of way. My feet ache, my back has a kink in it that probably requires twenty-two visits to a chiropractor, and I’m pretty sure I forgot to eat lunch. But still... I feel like I did something. Something important. Being the manager for a week was not a job I thought I wanted, but it’s kind of fun. I like doing something different.
I actually enjoyed myself today.
Not something I say often these days. Not with the weight of the trial hanging over everything like a dark cloud waiting to storm.
But work? Work felt like a little patch of sunlight.
With the manager out this week, it’s been chaos. Full tilt, frosting-on-the-ceiling kind of chaos. But I didn’t drop anything, didn’t forget anything, didn’t burn anything, and I only tripped once—and that was over my own shoelace, so it doesn’t count.
And honestly? I kind of loved being in charge. Answering questions, handling orders, updating the specials board, scheduling posts for social media... all of it. Especially the social media. There’s something weirdly satisfying about getting the angle just right on a tray of croissants. And when the lighting hits a muffin just so? Chef’s kiss.
I hear the door open and my first thought is ‘not another customer’ but I quickly dismiss it. I only have another twenty minutes. I can make it.
I step up front and see an older couple. “We made it!” the woman exclaims. “We saw a picture of the croissants online and got a craving. We drove thirty minutes to get here. Whoever posted those photos knows what they’re doing. I could practically smell those croissants. It made my mouth water.”
My heart skips a beat, and I feel that familiar flicker of pride. “That’s so kind of you,” I say, my customer-service smile turning genuine. “I’m glad you made the trip. What can I get for you?”
The woman claps her hands together like she’s just won the lottery. “Oh, everything looks so delicious! Harold, what do you think?”
Harold, a tall man with a neatly trimmed white mustache, leans over the counter to peer into the display case. His eyes twinkle as he points to a lavender buttercream cupcake. “That one. Looks like something that’ll hit the spot.”
“Let’s start with four of those cupcakes. And... oh, what’s that?” She points to another tray.
“Those are our raspberry thumbprints,” I say, pulling out a fresh tray from the case. “They’re buttery, with just the right amount of tartness from the jam.”
“Perfect,” the woman says as she claps her hands together. “We’ll take two of those as well. And... oh, Harold, look at the scones! We have to try one.”
Harold chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re going to clean them out if we’re not careful.”
I laugh along with them. It’s customers like this that make it all worth it. “Take your time,” I assure them. “I’ve got plenty more in the back if you decide you need a dozen.”
I listen as they talk about what they’re going to give to their granddaughter and their neighbors. They are like kids in a candy store with money to blow. I box everything up, stacking the pink boxes on the glass case.
“You know, dear, you have such a lovely smile,” the woman says. “It’s nice to see someone who genuinely enjoys what they do.”
Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. It’s such a simple thing to say, but it feels like she sees me. Really sees me.
“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot.”
After running their credit card for a ridiculous amount of money, they carry out the stacks of boxes with promises to return.
I look at the cases and laugh. Tomorrow was going to be just a little busier as we restock the cases.
I lock up and remove my apron. Those customers were exactly what I needed to finish the day with.
I get in my car and lean my head back against the seat, letting the engine hum while I sit for a second and breathe. I’m so tired I know I could fall asleep right here. I wonder what Jack is doing right now.
I miss him.
Then, as usual, my thoughts circle right back to the trial.
I wish I just knew when it was going to happen. That there was a date circled on the calendar, a finish line, a blinking neon sign that says: This is when you can stop holding your breath.
Because right now? I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for months.
The waiting is the worst part. Knowing there’s more to come, that everything could shift again, that the truth might not be enough if the wrong people tell the wrong version of the story.
I shake my head like I can shake the thoughts loose. “Not tonight,” I mutter.
Tonight, I go home. Feed my cat. Take a hot shower. Watch some dumb show I won’t remember tomorrow. Sleep.
When I get home, Max’s already at the door, meowing like he’s been starved for days. He weaves between my ankles while I kick off my shoes.
“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too, drama queen,” I say, heading for the kitchen.
I pour his food and watch him dig in like I haven’t fed him. Cats really are the most ungrateful little monarchs, but I love him anyway.
“See how I’m not bothering you while you’re eating,” I say to him. “When I sit down to eat, I expect the same courtesy. Don’t meow. Don’t jump on me.”
He completely ignores me.
I pop a frozen burrito in the microwave and strip out of my work clothes that are stained with frosting, grease, and heaven knows what. The apron does little to protect my clothes. I step into the shower and let out a sigh that’s half relief, half exhaustion. Steam fills the tiny bathroom, and for a moment, I just stand there, letting the water soak into my sore muscles.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting the water cascade over my face. It’s the closest thing to a massage I’m going to get tonight. My thoughts drift to Jack—where he is, what he’s doing. Is he at The Hollow Log right now? Is he setting up for his set? Or is he already on stage, that crooked grin lighting up the room like it always does?
I squeeze a dollop of shampoo into my palm and scrub at my scalp, the scent of citrus filling the air. I smile thinking about Jack smelling my hair. He always tells me how he loves the way my hair smells.
Rinsing off, I grab my body wash and start lathering up. My hands move mechanically, but my mind is still stuck on Jack. He’s always seemed so confident on stage, like he was born to be there. Even when he messes up—which isn’t often—he never lets it faze him.
It just makes him even more attractive. I love the confidence he has, but it’s tempered by humbleness. That’s the best kind of balance. I get out of the shower, put on my pajamas, and walk into the kitchen to get my burrito. Max is in his bed, giving himself a full bath.
I grab my phone and send a quick text to Jack, wishing him luck. I’ve been so busy today, I’ve only been able to text him once. I know he’s been busy working on Aggie’s back deck. He’s trying to get it done before it rains. We’re both working our butts off.
I sit down and start to eat and my eyes wander to the shelf where Mr. Snuffles sits. I remember clutching that bear under the covers when I was little. I thought I’d lost it for good.
I still don’t understand why Sam took it just to give it back. There was no way he accidentally took it. And his big show of bringing it back has an ulterior motive. He doesn’t do nice unless there’s something in it for him.
Which means... he must be planning something.
The thought makes my stomach twist. It’s strange how something can hold so many good memories and still manage to feel like a warning sign when it shows up again.
After my meager dinner, I try and watch TV. I need to sleep, as I have to be up early. But my mind is running like it’s on a hamster wheel. There are no less than a million thoughts running through my head. Jack. Sam. The bakery. The trial.
I’m in a holding pattern. I can’t really move on with Jack when I’m still chained to Sam. I can’t think about my future when I don’t know what Sam is going to do. I have a feeling that’s intentional. He loves the control he wields over me. He doesn’t want me back. That much is clear. But he wants something from me. And he’s enjoying the power he’s somehow gained over me.
Somewhere around one in the morning, I give up. My mind’s running circles around every worry I’ve already thought through five hundred times. I kick off the covers and stare at the ceiling, wondering if anyone has ever actually counted sheep and had it work.
And then I hear it.
Music.
Faint. Soft. Floating in through the open window.
I sit up.
It’s not a car stereo or someone’s TV. It’s live. It’s... a guitar.
And it’s close.
It’s the kind of music someone plays when they’re not thinking about an audience, just trying to figure something out.
I know that someone.
I look out the window in the direction of his old campsite. I see a flicker of firelight.
What’s he doing out there? Did Aggie kick him out? No way. She wouldn’t do that.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I grab a hoodie, pull on leggings, and slide my feet into sneakers. Max gives me a sleepy, judgmental blink as I tiptoe past him and out the door.
The music grows clearer as I get closer. I move quietly, not wanting to interrupt. When I reach the clearing, I spot him sitting near the fire, guitar resting on his knee, head tilted slightly as he listens to the echo of the last note.
He hasn’t seen me yet.
I don’t want to say anything. Not right away. There’s something sacred about this moment—him, the music, the fire. I stand at the edge of the trees, watching.
He’s scowling, the kind that says he’s working through something. He hums softly, scribbles something in a notebook, then strums again—just a few chords, testing a variation.
His fingers move like he’s trying to find the right note. I’ve seen him play. When he’s got it, the melody flows like he’s played it a million times. When he’s struggling, he plucks.
In that moment, I feel something tug inside me. Something I’ve been trying to ignore. Something that feels like the opposite of stress and fear. It’s him. It’s the hope for a new life that he represents.