Chapter 19
Butterflies swirled in Jenna’s stomach, but they were happy, excited ones.
Mainly. It was the Friday morning of the Winter Wonderland Weekend and, more importantly, the grand re-opening of Miller’s Mercantile.
Jack was coming over for brunch and then to help with last-minute details before the opening at two and then the parade to the Christmas tree lighting.
Jenna had been working flat-out the last week and a half, both with the store and the weekend in general.
She’d thought she’d had everything mostly in hand, but there had been so many last-minute details to attend to—a safety check for the Christmas tree lighting, a station to set up for hot chocolate, just-arrived stock to inventory, and seemingly a million other things.
In between rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off, she’d spent every moment she could with Jack, and the result was that a mere ten days into their relationship, she was pretty sure she was in love with him.
They hadn’t spoken about the future, not even in the haziest of terms, and Jenna had given herself many a stern talking-to about not running before she could walk, relationship-wise.
Fairy tales were for movies and children.
Time and experience would bear out the strength of their relationship, and she had to trust that.
Trust, too, that Jack was being sensible with his approach…
even if she, as ever, longed for more. Did she ever learn?
Well, at least a little, she told herself.
She might feel this way, but she wasn’t going to tell him so.
Now, the morning of the store’s re-opening, Jenna took time with her appearance.
She’d bought a new maxi skirt from Midnight Fashion, in dark green faux suede, and paired it with the red cashmere sweater Liz had gifted her for her first date, creating a colorful Christmas look.
Instead of her usual braid, she’d put her hair up in a loose chignon, letting a few auburn wisps frame her face.
It was classy, she decided as she gazed at her reflection, but also still unique.
She wasn’t trying to be something she wasn’t, just the best version of herself.
The doorbell rang, and she gave her reflection one last fleeting look before hurrying downstairs to open the door.
“You look amazing,” Jack said as he kissed her hello. “I think the sight of you in that sweater had me hook, line, and sinker the first night.”
Jenna laughed as she returned his kiss. “Zoe said I’d be able to knock you over with a feather while wearing it.”
His gaze lingered on hers as she stepped back.
“You could have. Easily.” His smile was so warm, his eyes so blue, that Jenna felt a buzz of joy as well as relief.
What was she so worried about? She’d been so happy these last few weeks, but there had also been a constant, low-level anxiety humming in her stomach because part of her, as ever, was waiting for the hammer to fall.
For Jack to suddenly turn serious and tell her that things weren’t working out the way he’d hoped.
That she’d misread all the signals, existing in her own little romantic bubble, and actually that had never been what was going on here.
Sometimes she could almost hear him say it—the low rumble of his voice, the sorrowful tone, the slow shake of his head. She really needed to get over herself and her paranoia that every wealthy Wall Street type was like Ryan. Jack was different, and she was now, too.
“So guess what I made for brunch,” she told him as she led him back into the kitchen.
“Pancakes?” Jack guessed hopefully. “Scrambled eggs? Coffee, I’m assuming, judging by the smell, which is a very good thing.”
“Ta da!” Smiling a little nervously because she really hoped he appreciated the joke, Jenna brandished the platter she’d arranged earlier that morning, with succulent pink slices of smoked salmon, toasted sourdough, and little dishes of capers and cream cheese as accompaniments.
Jack stared at the platter for one heart-stopping moment, his expression completely blank, and Jenna’s stomach went into freefall. Was he sensitive about how he’d come across the first time they’d met? She’d been just as rude, but maybe that didn’t matter. Right now he looked…
Then he let out a shout of laughter and pulled her to him. “Amazing,” he said, his lips brushing her hair. “I love it.”
Once again, Jenna felt that little flutter of relief. Once again, she told herself there was nothing to worry about, and she needed to stop second-guessing every little thing.
Once again, she didn’t entirely believe it, as much as she wanted to.
* * *
Today was Jenna’s day. Jack stood at the edge of the porch as Jenna, with great fanfare, addressed the crowd.
“Thank you so much for being here today to herald a new era of Miller’s Mercantile!
” she said, and a raggedy cheer went up from the crowd.
“Some of you know me pretty well,” she continued, “and you know how resistant to change and frankly ornery about it I can be.” This time good-natured—and knowing—laughter rippled through the crowd, and Jack smiled.
“So renovating the mercantile has been as much about my own growth as a person as it has been about making this the best store it can be, for all of you.”
She glanced at the crowd, smiling, and Jack saw many smiling back before a clap went up, and they were all applauding. Jenna looked taken aback by the praise, and maybe even a little teary. Heck, Jack was a little teary himself. He’d become invested in this place… and its lovely owner.
“But I have to say that I couldn’t have done this without all of your support,” Jenna continued, “and the support of one person in particular.” Her gaze moved from the crowd to where Jack was standing on the side of the porch.
“Thank you, Jack, for coming to Starr’s Fall and offering me your expertise as well as your friendship?—”
“Friendship,” somebody scoffed. Jack was pretty sure it was Liz Cranbury. Another laugh rose from the crowd, and this time Jenna grinned.
“Well, more than a friend,” she conceded, and Jack figured this was his cue to stride forward and slip his arm around Jenna’s waist. She looked surprised and thankfully pleased by his uncharacteristically spontaneous display of affection, and even more so when he gave her a smacking kiss on the mouth.
“And now,” he announced to all and sundry, “I think it’s time to declare Miller’s Mercantile officially open! What do you say, Jenna?”
Laughing and blushing, she pulled away from him to cut the satin ribbon she’d strung across the steps to officially re-open Miller’s Mercantile while everyone cheered.
There was, Jack noted, a fair-sized crowd gathered for the moment, with the usual suspects as well as a number of faces Jack didn’t recognize.
As people surged into the store, he smiled at Jenna, and she grinned back.
“That was certainly one way to open the store.”
“I enjoyed it,” he replied, and she laughed, her cheeks flushed, her hair falling about in wisps that framed her face, that long, sweeping skirt making her look like a schoolteacher on the prairie.
It was a look he found he liked, but then he was fast realizing he liked just about everything about Jenna—even her prickly temper, the way she doubted herself, how she lifted her chin when she’d decided she was ready to face the world.
He’d seen her weaknesses, even if she was trying to hide them, and he’d shown and told her his.
But today wasn’t about weakness, but strength in community, in coming together, in starting over.
Miller’s Mercantile looked amazing, and Jack enjoyed both the sight of people exclaiming over the offerings—the coffee kiosk, the salad bar, the little gift section—and Jenna moving between customers, smiling and gracious and so very beautiful.
Jack wasn’t letting himself think about love yet—they barely knew each other, really—but it felt like a close-run thing. A very close-run thing.
“Well, it looks like she’s put this place on the map again,” a voice said near him, and Jack turned to see an elderly woman nodding toward Jenna. He recognized Henrietta Starr from when she’d come into the boardgame café for Scrabble, although he’d never spoken to her.
“It does look like it,” he agreed.
Henrietta Starr eyed him beadily. “I don’t recognize you.”
“I moved here in June,” he told her, and then held out a hand. “Jack Wexler.”
Henrietta glanced down at his hand, sniffed, and then touched two of her fingers to his in what Jack supposed was the approximation of a handshake. He smothered a smile.
“Back when I was a girl,” Henrietta informed him without any sentimentality, “Starr’s Fall had a baker, a butcher, a greengrocer, and a cheesemonger. And your milk and butter were delivered right to your door.”
“Those were the days,” Jack agreed. He knew Jenna was looking into partnering with a local dairy to offer fresh milk and butter; it was the same farmer who had provided the hay bales.
“They were,” Henrietta agreed, heartfelt. “Not that you’d know. You can’t be much more than forty.”
“Forty-three next month,” Jack told her, and she snorted.
“A mere child.”
He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes I feel that way.”
Henrietta glanced at him appraisingly and then nodded toward Jenna. “And I hope you’re going to make a decent woman of her?”
For a second, Jack could only goggle. “Umm…”
“Of course, she’s decent already,” Henrietta added, before wagging an arthritic finger in front of his face.
“But don’t break her heart, Mr. Jack Wexler.
Having your heart broken once is acceptable and even advised.
Gives you wisdom as well as empathy, as long as you don’t let it sour you.
But twice? I don’t know many people who survive it twice. ”