Chapter Eleven
Jinnie
M ax purrs against my chest as sunlight spills through the blinds. My hand goes to his neck, scratching behind his ear. These moments were few and far between. It was peaceful and I didn’t have to jump out of bed and rush off to work. Day off. No alarm. No flour in my hair. Just me, my coffee, and the quiet hum of the countryside.
I stretch and carefully move Max off me. I walk to the kitchen with Max rubbing around my ankles in anticipation of breakfast. The tiny house is perfect—just big enough for me and small enough to feel like a sanctuary. The main house looms across the yard, smoke curling from the chimney. Mom’s probably already baking bread, Dad tending to the garden.
My tiny house is positioned on the property line between my parents’ and Aunt Aggie’s. It’s our little family compound. Yes, I would love to have my own place and get out from under my parents’ wing, but that isn’t in the cards right now.
And it’s not like they bother me much. The property is big enough that all of us have our own space. And I do love it here. I love the beauty, but I crave more. My parents will never really understand my need to be around more people. I don’t know if I crave the city life, but I want more than a pine tree for a neighbor.
I dump food in Max’s bowl and put on my shoes.
One of the benefits to living close to my parents was the free breakfast on my days off. It was kind of our tradition.
“Knock, knock,” I call, pushing open the screen door.
Mom turns from the stove, her silver-streaked braid swinging. “There’s my girl.”
Dad looks up from his crossword at the kitchen table. “Sleep well?”
“Like a rock.” I kiss Mom’s cheek and steal a slice of apple from the cutting board. “Need help?”
“Always.” She hands me a knife.
We fall into our usual rhythm—me chopping fruit, Mom stirring the oatmeal, Dad humming off-key to the radio. The kitchen is warm, familiar. The opposite of the bakery’s controlled chaos.
“Grab the bowls, will you?” Mom asks.
Oatmeal is the usual breakfast fare. Not the instant kind. The fresh fruit usually comes from the garden and orchard on the property.
I carry the bowls to the table, along with spoons and the raw honey from one of my parents’ friends. Mom brings the pot of oatmeal to the table while I collect the tray of fresh fruit.
I swirl honey into my oatmeal. “Lisa mentioned something weird yesterday. Said there’s some guy playing guitar at Aggie’s bar.”
Mom and Dad exchange a glance.
“Didn’t know Aggie was having live music,” Dad says.
“Me neither.” I take another bite of the Granny Smith apple. “You two haven’t heard anything?”
Mom shakes her head. “You know we don’t go to The Hollow Log.”
Right. My parents’ idea of a wild night is a new knitting pattern and herbal tea.
“I should visit her,” I say. “It’s been too long.”
Mom’s face lights up. “Take some vegetables from the garden. And that lavender soap I made.”
Dad pushes back from the table. “I’ll pack a box before you go.”
This is how it always goes. It’s not like they live across town from one another. But that’s how reclusive my parents are. They were perfectly happy not seeing other people for weeks at a time. They are cool with their farming and various crafts. They are very ‘earthy’ people, pretty much self-sustainable. They grow most of their own food and trade for things like grass-fed beef. My mom loves to sew her own clothes and make her own pottery.
I scrape the last bit of oatmeal from my bowl, savoring the sweetness of the honey. Across the table, Mom flips through a worn notebook, her reading glasses perched on her nose. Dad’s sipping his tea, his brow furrowed as he studies the crossword puzzle in front of him.
“What are you doing?” I ask Mom.
“We need to finalize the list for farmer’s market next weekend.”
I glance over at her notebook. There’s a running list of inventory she’ll be taking along with things like signs and whatnot. My parents take their market booth seriously, and every year it’s a marathon of preparation.
“What’s left to do?” I ask.
Mom taps her pen against the page. “The soap needs to cure a bit more, so I’ll wrap those tonight. And I need to finish glazing the mugs I made last week.” She looks up at me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Do you think we should bring some of that elderberry syrup this year? It was a hit last time.”
“Definitely,” I say. “People love that stuff.”
Dad chimes in without looking up from his crossword. “And don’t forget the garlic. We’ve got a bumper crop this year.”
“Already on it,” Mom says, scribbling something down. “We’ll bundle them in threes like last time.” She pauses, tapping her pen against her chin.
I wait for her to ask me to help out. Normally, I do, but with all the extra hours at the bakery, I just don’t know how I’m going to swing it.
“You should come by if you get off work early enough,” Mom says.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more to help you guys,” I say.
Dad finally looks up from his crossword. “You do plenty, kiddo. Between the bakery and helping us around here, you’re keeping busy enough.”
“How is the bakery business?” Mom asks.
“Busy.” I smile. “Just the way I like it.”
Mom gets to her feet. “I’ll get some stuff together for Aggie. I need to get over there, but it always feels like there’s something that needs to be done.”
“I’m sure she understands,” I say.
As they bustle around, gathering gifts, I watch them with a familiar ache in my chest. They’re so good . So steady. They’ve built this quiet, intentional life away from the noise of the world.
And here I am, their daughter, keeping secrets.
I could tell them, I think. Right now.
But Mom hands me a jar of blackberry jam with a smile, and the moment passes.
“That one is for you,” she says. “Those are the blackberries we picked a couple of weeks ago.”
“Thanks, Mom. I can’t wait.”
They’ve loaded me down with fresh strawberries, carrots, a zucchini the size of a baseball bat, and some of the other veggies. It’s funny how similar my aunt and mother are, but yet they are the polar opposite. Aggie loves working at the bar. She loves all the people and will stay up until two in the morning on a pretty regular basis. My parents are almost always in bed by eight and up at five. The only people they associate with are those in their co-op and when they go into the farmer’s market.
I’m halfway up Aggie’s driveway when laughter spills from the open kitchen window. Aggie’s voice, and—a man’s.
What the hell?
I pause. Maybe I should come back later. If Aggie is entertaining , I don’t want to interrupt. Good for her. I wonder if she brought home a man from the bar. Very forward of her. She was always a little wilder than my own mother, but even this is a new one.
I glance to the right. I can disappear into the trees and she’ll never know I was here.
“Jinnie!” Aggie calls out.
Too late.
Aggie opens the front door. “I was wondering if you were off today.”
“Hey, Aunt Aggie.” I heft the box. “Mom and Dad sent—”
My words die as the man steps into view behind her.
Tall. Messy brown hair. Eyes the color of the creek in summer.
Oh no.
He’s beautiful .
And that’s a problem.
“Jack, this is my niece Jinnie,” Aggie says. “Jinnie, this is Jack.”
His smile is slow and easy. “Hey. We’ve met.”
“We have?” I blink.
“Your bakery. I bought day-old muffins.”
Recognition hits. The broke guy. “Right. I thought you were passing through town.”
He chuckles. “Well, that would require gas, and I didn’t have it. I used my last few bucks to buy the bread.”
I immediately felt bad. I should have just given him the stupid bread. We ended up tossing the rest of it anyway.
Aggie looks between us. “Well, isn’t that serendipitous?”
Jack takes the box from my arms before I can protest. “Let me get that for you.”
His fingers brush mine, and my traitorous pulse jumps.
Nope. Not doing this.
I follow them inside, hyperaware of Jack’s broad shoulders; the way his T-shirt stretches across his back as he sets the box on the counter.
“Your parents are too kind,” Aggie says, unpacking the vegetables.
Jack peers into the box. “You grew all this?”
“My parents. I just live on their land.”
“In a tiny house,” Aggie adds. “She’s our resident minimalist.”
Jack’s gaze flickers to me. “Cool.”
Why does that one word make my face warm?
Aggie puts the kettle on. “Jack’s camping out by the creek. Playing at The Hollow Log a few nights a week.”
I stay in the kitchen, putting maximum distance between me and Mr. Charming Musician. “So you’re the musician everyone is talking about,” I say.
“Uh-oh, is that a good or bad thing?” He chuckles.
Damn. How is this guy so attractive? I look at him and try to see what it is. I mean, yeah, he’s handsome, but honestly, he’s not like a supermodel sexy. But it goes deeper than that. He’s got effortless charisma. That crooked little smile is a legit panty-dropper. I bet he’s got a woman in every little town he stops in. There’s just something about him that makes my blood heat.
“I think good,” I say, remembering he asked a question.
He grins again. “Cool.”
“I didn’t know you had live music, Aunt Aggie,” I say.
“I usually don’t, but Jack is a musician. I caught him in the woods playing his guitar and just knew he needed a stage.”
“And how’s it going?” I ask him.
“Good.” He rubs the back of his neck. “People seem to like it.”
“He’s being modest,” Aggie says. “We’ve had to add extra chairs.”
Jack ducks his head, but not before I catch his pleased smile.
Damn it. Humble and talented.
“I’ll get us something cold to drink,” Aggie says, leaving me stranded in awkward silence with Jack.
“So,” I say. “Where are you from?”
“Up north. Dairy country.”
“And you just...left?”
“Something like that.”
Aha. A story there. Not that I care. Not that I should care.
Aggie saves us with glasses of iced tea. “Jinnie runs the best bakery in three counties.”
“I believe it.” Jack’s smile returns. “Those muffins saved my life.”
I sip my tea to hide my stupid smile. “They were about to go stale anyway.”
“Still.” He holds my gaze. “Thank you. You have no idea how that little bag of goodies saved me. You and your aunt are clearly cut from the same cloth. Good people. I owe you both. A lot. Thank you.”
My stomach does a weird flip.
This is bad. This is very bad. The last thing I need is to get all hung up on a man. I’m steering clear of men. Especially those who are too cute for my own good.
“I should get going. Just wanted to drop those off.”
Aggie frowns. “You just got here.”
“Lots to do. You know how it is.” I’m already backing toward the door.
“Nice seeing you again,” Jack says.
“Yeah. You, too.”
The screen door slams behind me. I power-walk down the driveway, heart pounding.
Stupid. So stupid.
The last thing I need is another charming guy turning my life upside down. Not when I’m finally getting things under control. Not when I have real problems to deal with.
Max greets me at the tiny house door, weaving between my legs. I scoop him up, burying my face in his fur.
“Musicians are always going to be bad news, Max. Remember that.”