Chapter Ten
Jinnie
T he alarm blares at ten after four. I smack it off before the second beep. I don’t really need the alarm anymore. I’ve been getting up at the crack of dawn for years. Even on my days off, my body tries to wake up. It’s a chore to stay in bed. My feet hit the cold hardwood floor before my brain’s fully awake. Another day, another mountain of dough to conquer.
My feet shuffle across the cold hardwood floor, my eyes still half-shut as I stumble toward the bathroom. Thankfully, my tiny home means I only have to take about ten steps to walk into my tiny bathroom. This is the time of day when every creature, great and small, is sound asleep. Even the crickets have gone to bed. I flick on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness, and squint at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a wild mess of brown curls, sticking up in every direction like I’ve been electrocuted. I look like I’ve been through a wind tunnel—or maybe just wrestled a bear. Either way, it’s not a great start to the day.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to shock myself awake. It works for about three seconds before the exhaustion starts creeping back in. “Come on, Jinnie,” I mutter to my reflection. “You’ve got this.”
I grab my toothbrush and squeeze out a glob of toothpaste way bigger than I need. I don’t even have to think about what I’m doing. I shower before bed to give me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep in the morning. Routine is everything when you wake up before the sun does. Without it, I’d probably forget to put on pants or something equally disastrous.
I run a brush through my hair but don’t spend too much time trying to make it look good. It’s just going up in a ponytail anyway. I dress in my usual black pants and the T-shirt that advertises the bakery. My ugly but functional shoes wait for me by the door.
I feel something warm and fuzzy brush the back of my legs. “Hey, Max.”
My cat, who’s obese, according to the vet, rubs around the front of my legs as I tie my shoes. “Are you hungry? You know the vet said you have to go on a diet.”
He offers a lazy meow in return. Poor Max has been on a diet for a year. I tried to argue on his behalf and convince the vet he was more fluff than fat, but the scale didn’t lie.
“Maybe I should get you a leash. We can go for walks.”
He looks up at me like I’ve just actually called him a dog.
“Or not. But I’m not the one who’s got rolls on my rolls.”
I finish tying my shoes and portion out his food. He puts his face right in the dish, scarfing down the food like he’s starving. “Be good. Do not scratch my couch. You have a scratching post. Scratch that.”
I grab my purse and keys and walk outside. It’s still dark. I hop in my car and start the engine. Zach Bryan is shouting at me through the speakers. I quickly turn down the stereo. It always feels so much louder first thing in the morning.
The drive into town is short. I park in back and use my keys to unlock the back door. I flick on the bakery lights. The familiar scent of dough greets me as I tie my apron strings tight. First order of business—start the bread dough.
My hands move on autopilot, measuring flour, kneading the sticky mass until it’s smooth and elastic. The rhythmic motion is comforting. Predictable. Unlike the rest of my life. This isn’t my dream job. I don’t lie in bed and dream of making cakes, cookies, and muffins.
But it is my job and right now, I need it.
By five-thirty, the first batch of croissants are in the oven, and the smell of butter and golden pastry fills the air. I snap a quick pic—the layers are perfect today—and post it to the bakery’s Instagram with the caption: Morning magic. Get ’em before they’re gone!
I carry the tray of bagels that have cooled up front.
Mrs. Carter shuffles in at the same time she comes in every Tuesday for the past decade.
“Morning, Jinnie,” she says, adjusting her oversized glasses. “What’s fresh today?”
I grin. “Croissants are in, but the cinnamon rolls just came out. And the bagels are just cool enough to go in the case.”
She peers into the display case. “Oh, those look divine. And how’s your Aunt Aggie? I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“Same as ever.” I grab a pair of tongs. “One or two bagels today?”
“Better make it two. My grandson is visiting.”
I box up her order, adding an extra bagel on the house. Mrs. Carter’s eyes twinkle when she notices.
“You’re a gem,” she says, patting my hand.
The morning rush hits hard after that—office workers grabbing coffee and pastries, moms with strollers picking up bagels on the run. I juggle orders with practiced ease, chatting and laughing like I don’t have a care in the world.
Smile. Always smile.
By eleven, my cheeks hurt from grinning and my feet ache, but the display case is nearly empty. Success.
Lisa, my coworker, bursts through the door right on time, her curly hair escaping from its messy bun. “Sorry I’m late!”
“You’re not.” I check the clock. “Right on the dot.”
She grins. “Exactly. Late for my standards.”
I laugh as I hand over the apron. Lisa’s been working with me for six months. I grab my phone and snap a picture of one of the empty croissant trays. The only thing left behind are some flaky bits. I quickly upload the picture and add a caption about missing out.
That’s what I do. I’m a social media manager. At least, that’s what I thought I was going to do. Now, I just pull double duty. I post about the bakery. Maybe the owner will give me a bonus—or not.
We clean up the small lobby and then move into the kitchen to start with the next wave of baking.
“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me,” Lisa says.
“Holding out on you?”
“Yeah, the hot new guy playing guitar at The Hollow Log?”
I pause mid-sip of my lukewarm coffee. “What?”
“Yeah! My cousin went last night. Said some cute guy with a guitar was playing original songs.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You should introduce me. Fresh meat. It’s not often we get hot new guys in town.”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about. Aggie hasn’t mentioned anything.”
“Everyone is talking about him,” she says.
“I come here and go home,” I mutter. “That’s the extent of my social life these days.”
In the back of my mind, I know exactly why I didn’t know about the hot guy in town. Not because I’m not old enough to go to the bar, but because I haven’t seen Aggie in a couple of weeks. We live on the same stretch of land, but I’ve been too focused on handling my own this.
It’s been...three weeks? Four? Guilt twists in my stomach. Aggie’s always been there for me, and I’ve been too wrapped up in my own mess to check on her. I need to remedy that.
We fall into our afternoon routine—prepping dough for tomorrow, cleaning the monstrous mixer, restocking the display case with the afternoon bake. We have the usual afternoon customers come in for a snack or loading up on muffins for the morning.
“How was your date the other night?” I ask.
Lisa groans. “Oh, my God, don’t even get me started. Colin.” She shakes her head. “I swear, I’m a glutton for punishment.”
I roll my eyes, leaning against the counter as I wipe flour off my hands. “You mean the same Colin who ghosted you after your last date? Or the one who showed up an hour late and forgot his wallet?”
“The same one,” she says. “But this time was worse. So much worse.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How do you top being an hour late and broke?”
She looks up at me, her expression somewhere between horrified and amused. “He brought his mom.”
I stare at her for a second, waiting for the punchline. “Wait...what? Like, his actual mom? To your date?”
“Yes! His actual mom!” Lisa throws her hands up. “He said she ‘just wanted to meet me.’ Like, no warning, no heads-up—she just showed up at the restaurant and sat down at our table.”
I let out a snort of laughter before I can stop myself. “Oh, my God. What did you do?”
“What could I do? I had to sit there and make small talk with his mom while he acted like it was totally normal!” She shakes her head. “And then—get this—he asked if I wanted to go back to his place after dinner. In front of his mom!”
“No.” I cover my mouth with my hand, trying not to laugh.
“Yes! And she just nodded like it was a totally reasonable suggestion! Like, ‘Oh yes, dear, take this nice girl home with you.’” Lisa mimics a sweet old lady voice that’s only half-convincing. “Like she approved of us having sex!”
I lose it, laughing so hard my sides hurt. “Lisa! Why do you keep going out with this guy? I told you he was bad news!”
“I don’t know!” she groans. “He’s cute! And charming! And apparently incapable of having a normal date without involving his mother! And he’s like one of the few eligible bachelors in town.”
“Okay, but this is the third strike,” I say, still chuckling. “You’re done with him now, right? Please tell me you’re done with him.”
She sighs dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I’m done. No more Colin.”
“Good. Next time you’re considering giving him another chance, just remember: Mom might show up. She might bring condoms to help move things along.”
Lisa groans again, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh, why do I even bother dating in this town? It’s hopeless.”
“It’s not hopeless,” I say, nudging her shoulder. “You just need to stop giving guys like Colin second chances—or third chances.”
“Says the girl who hasn’t been on a date in...how long?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Not dating is a perfectly valid life choice.”
Lisa rolls her eyes but doesn’t push. If anyone knew why I wasn’t dating, it would be front page news.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I almost ignore it—probably just another notification—but something makes me check.
I recognize the number.
My stomach drops.
“I need to take this,” I say, already moving to go out the back door.
“Go ahead. I’ve got this.”
“Hello?”
“Miss Parker.” The voice is smooth. Professional. And instantly recognizable.
“Mr. Langley.” I grip the phone tighter. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“I’m afraid there’s been a development.”
A development. That’s what he calls it. Like it’s some neutral business transaction and not my life crumbling apart.
“What kind of development?”
“Additional expenses.” He clears his throat. “The search has proven more complicated than anticipated.”
Of course it has.
“How much more?”
The number he gives makes my knees weak. I lean against the wall to steady myself.
“I’ve already paid you—”
“And I’ve done considerable work.” His tone hardens. “Finding someone who doesn’t want to be found takes resources, Miss Parker.”
“I don’t have that right now,” I whisper.
“Then I suggest you find it.” A pause. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about locating him?”
The question hangs between us.
“No,” I say finally. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Very well. I’ll expect payment by Friday.”
The line goes dead before I can respond.
Friday. Three days to come up with money I don’t have. Now, I have to choose between paying my car payment or paying my lawyer.