Chapter 9
When Plans Go Wrong
Wayne woke to sunlight streaming through his bedroom window and the immediate, crushing realization that he was alone.
His hand reached across the mattress automatically, finding only cool sheets where Jess should have been. Where she had been—he could still smell her shampoo on his pillow, still feel the ghost of her warmth against his side.
The panic hit like a bucket of ice water.
She'd left. Of course she'd left. They'd had sex—proper sex, in his bed, not just the desperate encounter in the barn—and she'd woken up and realized what a mistake it was.
He reached for his phone to check the time, and relief surged through him so strong he gasped.
Jess: At the barn. Come find me?
Wayne exhaled so hard his lungs hurt. She hadn't left. She was just in the barn. Working, probably, because that's what they did.
He reached for his phone to check the time, and his breath caught.
Wayne: Be there in 5
Jess: Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.
The words should have been reassuring. Instead, relief and fear and want all tangled together, too much to sort through.
His bedroom still smelled like them—like sex and sleep and possibility. The sheets were rumpled, pillows scattered. Evidence of what they'd done, what they'd been to each other.
He should probably change the sheets. Make the bed. Return everything to its usual order.
Instead, he got dressed, left everything else exactly as it was and headed for the barn.
Jess was at her workstation when he entered, torch already lit, a gather of amber glass rotating slowly in the flame. She looked up at the sound of the door and smiled—the kind of smile that made his chest hurt.
“Morning,” she said. “There's coffee on your workbench. I raided your kitchen.”
Wayne found the travel mug waiting for him, still steaming. She'd made it the way he liked it—black, no sugar, strong enough to wake the dead.
“You didn't have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” She returned her attention to the glass, shaping it with quick, practiced movements. “Besides, I figured you'd panic when you woke up alone.”
The casual way she said it—like she understood him, like she'd planned for it—made something in his chest unclench.
“I did,” he admitted.
“I know.” She pulled the piece from the flame and began working it with her paddle. “That's why I texted. Figured I'd save us both the awkward conversation where you assume I ran away.”
“Did you think about it? Running?”
“No.” She glanced at him, expression serious now. “Wayne, I told you last night—I'm not going anywhere. I meant it. I'm here because I want to be here. With you.”
He crossed to her workspace, unable to stay away. “I'm working on it. The panic thing. But I'm going to mess this up sometimes.”
“I know.” She set down her tools and turned to face him fully. “And when you do, we'll talk about it. Figure it out. That's what people do when they're—” She paused, seeming to weigh her words.
“When they're what?”
“When they're building something real.” Her eyes searched his face. “Is that what we're doing?”
Wayne's heart hammered. This was the moment. The cliff edge. He could pull back, keep it casual, protect himself.
Or he could jump.
“Yeah,” he said. “That's what we're doing.”
Jess's smile could have lit the entire barn. She reached for him, pulling him close, and kissed him with such sweetness it made his throat tight.
“Good,” she murmured against his mouth. “Because I really like you, Wayne Drummond. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise.”
Wayne still was struggling to find words when there was a knocking at the door.
They both froze.
There was another knock, firmer this time. “Wayne? It's Fire Marshal Wygant. Need to do an inspection.”
Wayne's stomach dropped. Wygant. They'd worked together on the warehouse fire last spring. This was going to be mortifying.
He opened the door.
“Wayne.” Fire Marshal Wygant looked faintly apologetic. “Got a call about your barn workspace. Concerns about safety compliance. I know this is probably overkill, but I've got to do the inspection.”
“When?” Wayne's voice came out flat.
“We can find a good date.” Wygant shifted his weight. “Look, I've seen your setup before. I'm sure it's fine. But the paperwork needs to happen.”
“What about right now? Get it over with?”
“I had been hoping that,” Wygant said. “But I can come back if—”
“Now's fine.” Wayne stepped back to let him in, his mind racing. Someone had called in an inspection. Without telling him. Without asking.
Wygant spotted Jess near her workstation. “Fire Marshal Beck Wygant,” he introduced himself.
“Jessica Hartley.” She shook his hand.
His face changed as realization hit. “Hartley. Oh.”
The silence was excruciating.
“It was my grandparents who called, wasn't it?” Jess's voice was small.
Wygant made a noncommittal sound and turned to his inspection checklist.
Wayne's jaw clenched. The Hartleys had called in an inspection. Jess's grandparents. Without telling him. Without asking. They'd just decided his barn needed official scrutiny.
Because Jess had told them about the fire.
Jess's eyes found Wayne's across the barn. “I didn't know they'd call—”
“Let's just get this done.” Wayne turned away from her, jaw tight.
He showed Wygant around the barn with professional detachment, pointing out the ventilation system, the fire extinguishers—all five of them, strategically placed—the heat sensors, the fireproof construction, the first aid kit. Everything he'd spent years perfecting.
Jess hovered near her workstation, her expression miserable.
Wygant walked the barn's perimeter, checking extinguisher tags, examining the forge ventilation, making notes on his tablet. He tested the smoke detector, inspected the electrical panel, spent extra time examining the circuit that powered Jess's annealing kiln.
“This setup handles the kiln load?” Wygant asked.
“Upgraded the circuit when she brought it in,” Wayne said shortly. “Thirty-amp dedicated line, two hundred and forty volt.”
Wygant nodded, making a note. “Smart.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Wayne saw Jess's head snap toward him. He kept his focus on Wygant.
Wygant checked that exits were clear, examined the fuel storage.
“Everything's up to code,” he finally said.
“Better than code, actually. Your ventilation system is top-notch, electrical work is clean—that kiln circuit especially is textbook. Fuel storage is proper.” He made a final note.
“I'll file the report. The Hartleys can rest easy—Everything's up to code. Better than code, actually.”
“Thanks.” Wayne walked him to the door.
After Wygant’s car disappeared down the driveway, Wayne turned to find Jess standing in the middle of the barn, arms wrapped around herself.
“Wayne, I didn't know they were going to—”
“You told them.” His voice was carefully controlled. “You told them about the fire, and they called in an inspection without asking me.”
“I mentioned it at breakfast. I was trying to make it sound funny, not scary, but they got worried—”
“And you didn't think to warn me? To ask if I wanted the fire marshal poking around my private property?”
“I didn't know they'd called anyone!” Her voice rose.
“But they did!” Wayne knew he was being unfair, knew logically that Jess hadn't meant for this to happen. But the cold panic was already spreading through his chest, Amanda's words echoing in his head. You're not enough. This life isn't enough. I can't do this.
“I mentioned a tiny fire to my grandparents,” Jess said, her voice sharp now. “I'm sorry they overreacted, but that's on them, not me. And you passed the inspection with flying colors, so what's the problem?”
“The problem is you told them. You made my business their business without asking.”
“They're my family! I talk to them about my day. That includes working here.” She took a step toward him. “Wayne, you're being ridiculous. The fire marshal just gave you perfect marks—”
“That's not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Jess's patience was clearly wearing thin. “Because from where I'm standing, you're looking for reasons to push me away.”
The words hit too close. “I'm not—”
“Yes, you are.” Her eyes were bright now, angry or hurt or both. “We just spent the night together. You told me we were building something real. And now, the first time something goes slightly wrong, you're retreating.”
“This isn't slightly wrong. This is—” Wayne stopped, fighting for the right words. “You don't understand what it's like, having people think they have a right to your space, your life. First your grandmother decides I should let you use the barn, then your grandparents call in inspections—”
“Oh my God.” Jess's laugh was bitter. “You're still mad about my grandmother. About me showing up that first morning. You're holding that against me too.”
“No, I'm—”
“You are.” She grabbed her bag from her workstation.
“You know what? My grandparents were wrong to call the fire marshal without telling you.
I'll tell them that. I'll apologize for mentioning the fire. But Wayne?” She stopped at the door, turning back to face him.
“I'm done being punished for what someone else did to you.”
Wayne froze. “What?”
“Amanda. Or whoever it was that made you this way.” Jess's voice was steady now, sad but certain. “Someone hurt you, made you think you weren't enough, and now you're so terrified of it happening again that you're sabotaging anything good before it has a chance to hurt you first.”
“That's not—”
“Yes, it is.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I like you, Wayne. Really like you. Maybe even more than that. But I can't be with someone who's going to pull away every time things get complicated. Who's going to assume the worst of me instead of just talking to me.”
“Jess—”
“I need some space.” She was already moving toward the door. “To figure out if this is worth fighting for.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don't know if I can keep trying when you're not meeting me halfway.” She paused in the doorway. “Figure out what you want, Wayne. Because right now, I don't think you even know.”
Then she was gone, her car starting up and pulling away before Wayne could find the words to make her stay.
He stood alone in his barn—the space that had felt so full and warm just hours ago—surrounded by the work they'd created together.
Jess's glass pieces cooling in the annealing kiln.
His metalwork waiting on the bench. The scattered tools from the demonstration they were supposed to perfect together.
Evidence of what they'd been building. What he'd just destroyed.
Wayne sank onto his work stool and dropped his head into his hands.
She was right. She was absolutely right.
He'd panicked. At the first sign of complication, the first hint that their lives might get messy and intertwined, he'd retreated behind his walls and pushed her away.
Just like he always did.
Amanda had broken him. Had made him believe he wasn't enough. And instead of healing, instead of learning to trust again, he'd just built bigger walls and convinced himself it was safer that way.
But safe wasn't the same as happy. Safe wasn't waking up with Jess in his arms. Safe wasn't watching her work across from him, wasn't the sound of her laugh, wasn't the way she looked at him like he was worth something.
Wayne looked at the heart pendants hanging on his workbench—the ones he made every year for his mother's memorial fundraiser. Every single one crafted with love and grief and the promise to keep going, to keep creating, to honor her memory by living fully.
How could he honor his mother's memory while refusing to actually live?
He pulled out his phone and stared at Jess's contact information. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I'm sorry. Please come back. I love you.
But the words felt inadequate. Too little, too late. And Jess had asked for space.
Wayne set down his phone and looked around the barn. At the inspection report Wygant had left on the workbench—“Exceeds all safety requirements.” At Jess's glass pieces, beautiful even in their unfinished state. At his own metalwork, solitary and lonely.
He'd spent years convincing himself that alone was better. Safer. Smarter.
He'd been wrong.
Now he just had to figure out how to prove that to Jess—before she decided he wasn't worth the fight.