Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
BACK HOME
Jessa
By the time I walked up the front steps of my childhood home, my mother was already opening the door. She took one look at my face and pulled me inside without a word.
Now I sat at the kitchen table with a chipped mug of ginger tea cooling between my palms, the steam curling up but never quite reaching me.
The kitchen never changed—floral wallpaper peeling at the corners, humming refrigerator covered in outdated coupons, scratched wooden table I’d done homework at.
Mom sat across from me, worry creasing her forehead the same way it had when I was little and scraped my knees. Only this scrape cut deeper.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
I wrapped my hands tighter around the mug.
“He offered me a contract. An apartment in his building. Money.” The words tasted bitter. “Like an employee he could keep on salary.”
Mom’s eyes flashed. “Oh, honey.”
Tears slipped out before I could stop them. I pressed my hands to my eyes, but they kept coming.
“I’m so stupid. I thought he saw me. I thought what we had could be real.”
“It was real for you,” Mom said gently. “And that’s not stupid, Jessa. That’s brave.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand until it hurt. “Griffin West might be rich, but he’s still just a man. And he’s not half the man you deserve if he thinks love is something he can buy.”
I pressed my forehead into my palm, trying to keep from breaking all the way open.
“I’m pregnant with his baby, Mom. And he doesn’t want us.”
“Then he’s a fool.” She rubbed slow circles on my back. “You’re stronger than this, Jessa. You always have been.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“Nobody does when they’re sitting in the wreckage. But you will.” She kissed the top of my head. “You’re home now. That’s what matters.”
Home. Where everything was the same. Except me.
The next day, I went back to work at Holly Creek Hops.
“Jessa, is that you? Thank God.” Keaton couldn’t be happier to see me when I walked in. I fought the sting in my throat.
We hugged. The familiar scent of brewing hops and polished wood hit me like home.
“At least someone is glad to see me.”
“I am. Although, I’m sorry to hear things didn’t work out for you and Griffin.”
“Me, too.”
“Sophie told me what happened. Want me to call him?” Keaton asked. “Tell him he can’t treat my Jessa that way?”
“Your Jessa?”
“Hey, you’ve been a part of my operation here long enough, you’re an honorary sister to me. Especially since you’re the only one who has ever been able to fix that tap down there. Which is broken again, by the way, it’s been waiting for you to get here.”
“Perfect.” I chuckled and gazed around the brewery, so grateful to him. “What I need most is to work right now. A lot. Double shifts. Extra cleaning. I’ll take whatever you have because I must keep busy or I’ll go crazy.”
“I’ve got you. Happy to be a part of your ashes moment.”
“My what?”
“Sophie says you need to rise from the ashes, a stronger version of yourself.”
I shook my head, grabbing a towel from behind the bar and wiping things down. “All I am is a bartender back in Holly Creek. Same dead-end life I had before.”
“No.” His voice turned sharp. “You’re Jessa Cole. Smart and kind and talented. You’re going to have a beautiful baby. And one day Griffin is going to choke on the regret of letting you slip through his fingers.”
The mention of his name again killed me. “Keaton, stop now, please, or I’ll start crying again.”
“You got it. Can you take a quick inventory and place the liquor order for the week? I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
After he left, I busied myself with counting bottles. But the words stayed with me.
My ashes moment.
The way my heart ached, more like the burning moment. How long until the fire stopped and left ashes behind?
Later that night, I dragged myself up the stairs to my bedroom. I plopped my suitcase on my bed with the faded quilt, and my car keys on the desk where I’d once written my goals in life. Top of the list: leaving this town.
Turns out, I did. I had made it all the way to New York and fell in love with a billionaire and his son. Now I was right back where I started.
I forced myself to unpack. At the top of the case was my notebook—the one filled with children’s story ideas. The nanny and the boy. Adventures and mischief. Little life lessons tucked between the lines. A father appeared like a shadow in the background, always distant.
I paused. Did that hurt Griffin when he saw these, like a bystander in his son’s story? Or was I reflecting my own story, of life without a father around?
I sat on the edge of the bed and started sketching anew without thinking. Griffin’s sharp jaw appeared. Then his restless eyes, more loving when they looked at Theo. Little moments a father and son shared, like kneeling to tie his shoe. The man I wished he’d let himself be.
God, I missed him.
Not the billionaire with contracts and walls twelve feet high. But the man who kissed me and held me at night like I was his entire world.
I kept drawing until my hand cramped. After I looked them over, on a whim, I snapped pictures of my best ones and opened my email before I could overthink it.
To: Richard Buchanan
Subject: Inquiry — Children’s Book Illustrations
Hi Richard,
I know this is out of the blue. But you mentioned once that you knew people in publishing. I wondered if any of them might be willing to look at beginner work.
I’m attaching a few samples.
If you know anyone who might be interested, I’d be grateful. If not, I understand.
Thank you for your kindness to me.
Best,
Jessa
I attached the photos and hit send quickly before I could lose my nerve.
If nothing else came of this, my stories were helping me be brave again.
I finished unpacking, but the last thing I pulled out from the suitcase was one of Griffin’s Brioni shirts—a crisp white button-down I’d “borrowed” and never returned.
I brought to my nose and in haled the scent of cedar, bergamot, wealth, and power. I should’ve left it behind. Instead, I tugged it on. For a moment, he was here with me, the shirt like one of his hugs.
On that note, with wet eyes, I climbed into bed and curled on my side, one hand on my stomach as had become my habit. According to a pregnancy app I found, the baby was the size of a plum this week.
“Hey, little plum,” I whispered into the darkness. “Or plumber, if you’re a boy.”
A shaky laugh escaped me. Plum was cute, but if it was a girl I already had a name picked out.
Holly—because Griffin and I created her one special night in Holly Creek.
Holly West had a nice ring to it. If a boy, well, I thought Theo could help there, as long as he didn’t want to name it after his frog.
But naming the baby was an issue to face down the road, not tonight.
“We’ll make it, you and me. Even without a man like Griffin.” I swallowed hard. “Because it turns out… we’re stronger than this. Stronger than everything.”
I rubbed gentle circles on my belly.
“You’re going to be so loved. I promise you that. Even if it’s just me loving you, that’s going to be enough. It has to be.”
As I said the words, the ache in my chest multiplied. Because I’d wanted things to be different, to have Theo’s laughter and Griffin’s love and a family that actually belonged to each other.
I’d wanted the fairy tale.