Chapter 11
Never Be Good Enough
Jenny
I locked the bakery after a seemingly endless day, ran around the back, and trudged up the outside stairs to my sweet escape from the world.
My lips still tingled from Deacon’s endless kiss the night before. My God, his taste, the strength in his arms, and worst of all, his unexpected tenderness.
By the time he released me, I felt cherished.
Not just wanted.
After he left, I dragged old faithful out of the drawer to finish what he didn’t. Memory and imagination mercifully filled in the blanks while I looked forward to the day Deacon would make it a reality.
And I woke up wrapped in hope.
But by the end of the workday, dragging myself upstairs to my sanctuary, I saw things in a wholly different light.
And I had questions.
What did Deacon’s family think about all this? Did they know he was spending time with me? As far as they were concerned, I cheated on him.
Did he tell them what really happened since he’d been back?
My lip curled in distaste at the thought of them knowing what happened to me. They’d probably find a way to spin it and make it my fault. Certainly, I didn’t expect any compassion from them.
I didn’t want compassion from them.
Once safely inside, I dropped my purse and keys on the hall table and shed my new winter coat and my fuzzy boots before heading to the kitchen.
The thought of them knowing irritated me. They had judged and dismissed me without giving me a chance from the beginning.
I huffed out a sharp laugh.
As if they could.
I swiped my hand over the back of my mouth. Anger left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I flicked on the kettle and pulled my favourite mug out of the cupboard. Plopping in a Vanilla Peppermint teabag, I headed into the family room and frowned.
How was I supposed to sit here after Deacon’s all-consuming kiss without thinking about him all night?
Crossing to my bedroom, I stripped off my clothes and traded them for fleece sweatpants and a hoodie. Then I grabbed my tea from the kitchen and plopped down on the couch.
I had barely settled when my cell phone rang.
Deacon’s number flashed on the screen.
Swinging my legs off the couch, I sat forward, hovering over the cell phone cradled in my hands.
Finger suspended over the screen, mind racing, I could neither accept nor reject the call. When the ringing stopped, I sighed with relief.
And more than a twinge of disappointment.
Then his message popped up, the second one today.
Deacon: Call me, sweetheart.
Call you?
You think it’s that simple?
I tossed my phone down onto the coffee table and yanked the scrunchie out of my hair. Digging my fingers into the wild mass, I massaged my scalp.
And did my utmost to get my head on straight because there was nothing simple about our situation.
A flare of heat, not the good kind, ignited in my belly. Who was he to barge in and disturb the peace I’d worked so hard to wrap around myself?
Tempting me to pick up where he thought we left off.
Just as quickly my anger cooled and turned into a cold lump of fear.
What would I do when he left?
Because eventually, he would leave.
Nothing would be normal again. Now that I’d gotten another taste? Like an addict, I couldn’t think of anything other than my next hit.
Even knowing the withdrawal might kill me.
Abandoning my tea on the end table, I tucked a pillow under my head, lay down on my couch, and pulled a soft blanket over my shoulders.
I’d barely slept the night before, and since 5:00 AM, I’d fought the obstacles swimming in my head.
I drifted off, quickly and easily slipping into the in between, the place where my mind wandered free and uninhibited.
A little girl with his dark eyes and that long dimple I’d barely laid eyes on since he got back. A boy with his full lips and wide smile, his chubby arms wrapping around my neck as he smacks a wet baby kiss on my cheek.
I love you, Momma.
A small backyard with a swing set, Deacon laughing the way he used to as he pushed them on the swings, his big hands ready to catch them should they fall.
The ring of a bell peeled across the backyard.
We ran into the house to escape the alarm, but it was too late. Giant cinnamon rolls rolled over everything in their path and bounced off the walls with heavy thuds.
The bell rang again, this time louder.
I woke with a start, my doorbell echoing in my ears even as someone banged on the door.
My stomach dropped as I pulled myself from sleep. I wasn’t ready to face him, but his insistent knocking would not let up.
I padded across the floor and peered through the peephole.
I almost laughed.
Even Deacon would be preferable to this.
I pulled on my boots and grabbed my coat before edging the door open.
A finely etched eyebrow rose sardonically. “Going somewhere?”
Blocking the gap with my body, I replied, “I need to run down to the store. Did you need something?”
She pushed on the door. “I need to talk to you.”
I held firm. “Downstairs. We can talk in the kitchen downstairs.”
“Fine,” she snapped.
Whirling around in a swirl of faux fur and cheap perfume, she glided down the stairs with her head held high.
In her high heeled boots, she was lucky Deacon salted the steps again.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I locked my door and followed her.
Once inside the bakery, I offered her a stool and rounded the counter. “Would you like a cinnamon bun, Mom?”
“No, thank you,” she replied, her eyes running down my body as she settled her slight frame in front of the counter. “You could do with a few less of those yourself.”
“I’m not worried,” I replied lightly, barely restraining myself from rolling my eyes.
I looked around at the meagre leftovers I had bagged and ready for the morning. “Would you like—”
“I would like to know what your intentions are with Deacon Raine.”
I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
She snorted. “I’ve heard whisperings of you and him spending time together. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of giving him a second chance,” I snapped back.
I never answered back.
Ever.
My modus operandi was to keep my head down, float below the radar, and stick to the shallow end of the pool.
Her eyes flared, then she laughed. “What are we going to do? Play happy family at the wedding? Maybe he’ll escort me down the aisle?”
She flounced around in a circle, her hand fluttering at her chest. “Oh, I’m on the bride’s side.”
Pantomiming looking around, she widened her eyes, and exclaimed, “Oh, really? It’s just me? Well, why don’t I just sit with the groom’s parents?”
“Stop,” I ordered, the tiny bit of backbone I displayed earlier deflating with every vicious word from her mouth.
She stalked toward me and stuck her finger in my face. “No, Jenny. You stop. We’re not like those people, okay? We work in the fields, they own the farm. You’ll never be good enough for them.”
Quietly furious and sick to death of not measuring up, I stated, “Maybe it’s only you who’s not good enough for them.”
I didn’t see the slap coming.
But I felt it.
My head snapped to the right, my cheek already blazing before I turned back and leveled her with my gaze.
Shock widened her eyes and parted her lips, but she recovered quickly. Drawing herself up to her full height, she lifted her chin and stated, “I’m sorry, but it had to be done. You need to get your head on straight.”
I stared back at her as my childhood flashed through my mind.
Of all her sins against me, and there were many, striking me had never been one of them. It had been her saving grace. The only one.
“A lady never raises her hand,” I admonished coldly as fury pitched a tent and moved to live inside me.
Her face paled as she swallowed and stepped back.
“Neither does a lady snort in derision, nor does she ever raise her voice,” I echoed words from the past.
She gritted her teeth and curled back her lip.
I stepped forward. “Don’t even think about saying anything else. And don’t come back.”
She pursed her lips and glared at me.
“Go,” I ordered. “I have no problem calling Sergeant Elliott if necessary.”
She scoffed. “Go on, then, get burned. Don’t come crying to me when it’s over.”
Satisfied to have the final word, she sailed out the door, and I wilted.
I just cut my mother out of my life.
The only family I had.
And I felt nothing more than the faintest sense of relief.
Carefully locking up once more, I turned my face into the wind and stomped around the back to the stairs leading up to my apartment.
My cheek burned and my temper boiled.
Ever since Deacon waltzed back into my life, everything had gone to hell.
Did I still love him?
Probably.
Did it matter?
No.
Stepping into my apartment, I locked the rest of the world out, leaned back against the door, and slid to the floor.
Because the worst part of my conversation with my mother was the fact she wasn’t wrong.
You’ll never be good enough for them.
A sob caught in my throat because Deacon’s parents would never accept me.
And he’d never dream of hurting them never mind cutting them off.
Why would he?
He had a loving family, a picture-perfect childhood, older brothers he adored, and a world steeped in loyalty and tradition.
What did I have?
Shame over my personal pity party deepened the burn in my face.
Because I had Ansel who was worth ten of Deacon’s father.
My cell phone buzzed with a notification.
I swiped the tears from my eyes and braced myself.
Deacon: I’ll give you tonight to wrap your head around what’s happening between us, but if you don’t text to let me know you’re okay, I’m coming to check on you myself.
No.
He couldn’t see me like this.
I opened the message and tapped out a brisk message.
Jenny: I’m okay.
Deacon: Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.
I dropped it onto the floor beside me.
Baby?
As much as I loved it, I’d do well to remember, I was no one’s baby.
I’d never been anyone’s baby.