Chapter Sixteen
Jinnie
––––––––
T HE SECOND I CLOSE the door behind me, I already kind of wish I hadn’t. I look through the window and watch as Jack walks back into the woods toward the campsite. I feel like some lovesick idiot waiting for him to change his mind.
But he doesn’t.
I exhale through my nose, not exactly mad, just deflated. It’s late. I get it. I do. He probably thought he was doing the polite thing, the thoughtful thing. Not keeping me up. Letting me get rest before I have to get up in the morning.
Still. A part of me aches just a little as I kick off my shoes. I don’t even bother changing. I just collapse into bed, hoodie and all, face-first into the pillow. I long for him. I miss his body next to mine in my small bed. It isn’t just the sex, but I definitely do miss that. His comforting presence always made me feel like I was someone special. Safe. Like I had a true partner in this world.
I smile thinking about him as my body grows heavy and I drift off to sleep.
The alarm hits like a slap.
I groan, fumbling for my phone, knocking it off the nightstand. It hits the floor with a dull thud and keeps going—this relentless bird-chirping tone I thought would be “less annoying” when I set it. Lies. It’s all lies.
I finally kill the noise and squint at the time.
Four-fifteen.
No one should be awake this early unless they’re catching a plane to somewhere tropical.
I roll out of bed, still fully dressed, hair in a bun that now resembles a bird’s nest. A very angry bird determined to do some remodeling. I make my way to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and brush my teeth. I’m so glad I showered last night. There’s no way I would have the time or energy to do it now.
I put on my shoes. Max is still in bed. “I hate you,” I mutter.
I dump his food in his dish. “I hope you don’t have too hard of a day. I know how difficult it must be to get out of bed, eat, shit, and then nap for the rest of the day.”
I head out into the dark. As the end of summer nears, the days get shorter. Going to work in the dark sucks. It is so hard to get out of bed when it’s dark. Especially after only getting a few hours of sleep.
I unlock the door. Today is going to be a big coffee day. I start a pot and tie on my apron. With me doing managerial duties, I have Lisa coming in earlier than usual to help me with the baking while I handle the cash and such.
Lisa shows up right on time. She grins at me, bright-eyed and full of life like she didn’t wake up before the sun.
“I brought cinnamon coffee,” she says, waving a to-go tray like a peace offering.
I nearly cry.
“I love you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Lisa replies with a laugh, setting the tray on the counter. “Figured you’d need the extra boost today. You’ve been working your ass off.”
I grab one of the cups, inhaling the warm, spicy aroma. “You’re a lifesaver. I think I’m running on fumes at this point.”
Lisa unloads her bag, pulling out her apron and tying it around her waist. “How late did you stay last night?”
“Not too late,” I say, sipping the coffee. It’s perfect—hot but not scalding, with just the right amount of sweetness. “But I was up late listening to Jack play at his campsite.”
“Sounds romantic,” she teases, pulling out baking sheets and preheating the oven.
“It was,” I admit, smiling despite my exhaustion. “But now I’m paying for it.”
We get to work mixing doughs and prepping fillings. There’s music playing from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner—some upbeat playlist that makes the morning feel slightly less painful. By the time the croissants are in the oven and the muffins are rising, I’m elbow-deep in powdered sugar and have dumped at least ten pounds of flour on me and all over the floor. I’m clumsy. The exhaustion is kicking my ass.
The door opens for business at six sharp, and right on cue, the rush begins. People stream in like sugar-deprived zombies. Lisa and I work together, dosing them with sugar and strong espresso until they start acting like humans again. I’m working the register and social media simultaneously, snapping photos of the apple danishes before the tray empties out. The caption writes itself: Fresh, flaky, and sweet as your childhood crush. Come get one before I eat them all.
I post it and set my phone down, but it buzzes almost immediately. A comment pops up from a regular customer. “On my way! Save me one!”
I smile and make a mental note to set one aside.
The hours blur together in a haze of coffee orders, pastry requests, and the occasional mess to clean up. By mid-morning, the bakery is still bustling. Lisa and I work well together. We have a dance: she serves, I bake. She bakes, I serve.
By the time I get a break, it’s nearly noon, and I’ve been on my feet for nearly seven straight hours. My stomach growls, demanding food that isn’t loaded with sugar.
“I’m going to grab a sandwich,” I say to Lisa.
Lisa nods, wiping her hands on her apron. “Take your time. I can hold down the fort for a bit.”
I duck into the back room and grab my purse, suddenly realizing I haven’t eaten since last night’s burrito. My stomach growls louder as I step out into the bright afternoon sun. There’s a small deli just a block away. I’ve been there a few times before—it’s nothing fancy, but their sandwiches are solid.
The smell of fresh bread and roasted meats hits me immediately, making my mouth water. I scan the chalkboard menu, settling on a turkey club with extra avocado. While I wait for my order, I pull out my phone and check my notifications. A few likes on my latest post with some positive comments from people who are regulars.
I smile to myself at the positive feedback. It’s not much, but it’s an acknowledgement of my work.
My sandwich is ready a few minutes later, wrapped in crisp white paper. I grab a bottle of water from the cooler and head back to the bakery, already feeling more human with food in hand. I finally get to plop down in the back with my sandwich.
I take a bite and lean back, savoring the flavor as I chew.
And that’s when it hits me.
He didn’t come inside.
The bread suddenly dry in my mouth. Last night was nice. Really nice, actually. We worked on the song, laughed, kissed like we missed each other—because we did. I know we did.
So why didn’t he stay?
Why didn’t he at least ask? Or try to make a move like he wanted to throw me on the bed and have his way with me.
He used to. That first week, he barely left. He made it clear he wanted to be near me. But now... I don’t know. It’s like he’s doing his own thing again. The bar, his music, disappearing out to that campsite like a ghost with a guitar.
Maybe he’s over it.
He’s young. A rambler. I don’t even know how long he’s going to be in town.
My stomach tightens. I know how women look at him at the bar. I’ve seen it. Heard it. Tall, rugged, rockstar vibes with those stunning blue eyes. He’s basically a walking heartthrob. It’s a surprise Hollywood hasn’t scooped him up yet.
I know he has that kind of potential. How long before he leaves me and this small town behind?
Meanwhile, I’m running a bakery, half covered in flour most days, freaking out about a trial that feels like the climax of a story I don’t even remember starting. I’ve got baggage stacked higher than my house and a past I can’t quite outrun.
Why would he choose me?
My phone ringing pulls me out of the spiral I’m caught up in.
My heart skips when I look at the screen.
Oh no.
I swipe the screen before the call goes to voicemail, breath catching in my throat. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Melissa from Mr. Langley’s office. Is this Jinnie Parker?”
“Yes. Speaking.”
“Hi there. I wanted to let you know that your court date has been officially scheduled for next week—Wednesday at ten a.m. Also, we’ll need you to come in Monday afternoon to go over your testimony and prep.”
“Okay.” My voice sounds small, like it’s coming from somewhere outside my body.
“We’ll send an email with the details and what to expect. You’re doing great, by the way. Just keep breathing, and we’ll get you through this.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
The call ends, but everything keeps spinning.
One week.
Seven days.
In seven days, I’m going to have to face him in court. With lawyers and all the dark, ugly stuff I’ve worked so hard to bury. Everyone is going to hear about our impulsive decision to get married in Vegas without anyone knowing. And suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe.
I set the phone down and stare at my half-eaten sandwich. I can’t think. Can’t move. My brain is doing that thing where it loops all the worst-case scenarios into one giant ball of horror. What if the judge doesn’t believe me? What if Sam spins it all into some twisted version of the truth? What if I break down and cry out of sheer frustration?
What if Jack is starting to realize I’m not worth the chaos?
That I’m too messy. Too complicated. Too much.
I pick up my sandwich again and take a bite. I have to eat. I have to keep up my strength. I know I have a long, horrible week in front of me and I don’t want to deal with it.
I rub my forehead and wish I could fast-forward through next week. Skip the whole mess entirely. But life doesn’t work that way. I know that now. You have to sit in it. In the waiting. In the wondering. In the not knowing whether the people in your life will still be there when the smoke clears.
I unlock my phone and pull up my text thread with Jack. There aren’t many lately. A few sweet ones, a couple of “how’s your day” texts. But it’s not like before. Not like when we couldn’t go an hour without finding a reason to connect.
Now he’s drifting away from me.
I don’t know how to ask him if I’m imagining it. I don’t want him to think he needs to reassure me a bunch. He’s got his own stuff to deal with. He doesn’t need me falling apart and being insecure.
I sit there for a long time before I finally get up and go back to the front. Customers are still coming in, and there are pastries to restock. Life doesn’t pause just because your heart’s on shaky ground.
So I smile.
I hand out croissants.
I refill coffee.
And I keep moving, like everything’s fine.