Chapter 8 #2
Senator Brandt—Melissa, June reminded herself—smiled, warm and open, and something fluttered in June’s chest.
Stop it.
“Can I help with dinner?” Melissa asked.
“You want to help?”
“I’m not a cook like you, but I can chop things.” She went to wash her hands.
June handed her a cutting board and a pile of bell peppers, and they worked side by side in a silence that felt surprisingly comfortable. The senator’s knife skills were basic but competent.
“Did you know that this kitchen reminds me of my grandmother’s?” June asked after a while.
“Oh?”
“She had a farm—nothing big, just a few acres—and I spent summers there as a kid. Big kitchen, big stove, all this space for everything, like this. That’s where she taught me that great food starts with good ingredients and patience.
” June smiled at the memory. “She used to say that anyone can follow a recipe, but a real cook learns to listen to the food.”
“Listen to the food?”
“Paying attention to how things smell, how they look, how they feel. Learning to adjust as you go instead of just following instructions blindly.”
Melissa was quiet for a moment, focused on her peppers. “I’ve never been good at adjusting as I go. I prefer plans. Schedules. Knowing what comes next.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Is that a criticism?”
“No. Just an observation.” June glanced at her sidelong. “There’s nothing wrong with liking structure. Some people need it.”
“And you don’t?”
“I used to think I didn’t. I was chaotic in school, always forgetting things, being late…
But then I worked in a professional kitchen, and I learned that even creative work needs structure.
” A pause. “I also learned that some structures are there to help you, while others are there to control you. The trick is figuring out which is which.”
Melissa’s hands stilled on the cutting board. “That sounds like hard-won wisdom.”
“It was.” June shrugged, a motion that was simpler than the feelings behind it. “Kitchens have very strict rules, and very strict hierarchies. When you’re still young and new, that’s…” She trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words.
”A way for others to take advantage of you,” Melissa said.
June nodded, but didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t ready to talk about Ember, about the kitchen that had broken her, about all the ways she’d let someone else’s structure define her worth. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But Melissa didn’t push. She just nodded and went back to chopping, and somehow that made June want to tell her everything.
“It’s just… the people there are all colored by the way they were treated when they were new,” she said. “And so it’s all a bad paying-forward sort of thing. Everyone gets treated badly for years, and when they finally get higher up, they’re no longer very nice either.”
Melissa nodded. “Sounds a lot like politics.”
June chuckled. “And I’m not sure who has worse hours.”
Dinner was simple—grilled salmon with the vegetables they’d chopped together, rice, a salad that Lila helped assemble. They ate at the kitchen table, all three of them, and the conversation flowed more easily than it ever had before.
Lila talked about her wreath project, about the dress she’d picked out, about the fireflies she’d seen in the backyard the night before. Her mother listened, asked questions, laughed at Lila’s description of a stubborn piece of ribbon that wouldn’t stay tied.
June watched them interact, feeling something warm expand in her chest. This was what she’d wanted when she’d taken this job—to help create moments like this, to fill the silence with something alive.
She just hadn’t expected to feel so invested in the outcome.
After dinner, Lila insisted they go outside to look for fireflies again. June had found some mason jars in the garage, and she helped Lila punch air holes in the lids while Melissa settled into one of the porch chairs.
“You’re not going to help catch them?” June asked.
“I’ll supervise.” But she was smiling, her hair loose around her shoulders for once, her feet bare against the worn wood of the porch.
It wasn’t unlike the day on the beach. She looked… almost soft.
Don’t stare, she told herself. Don’t—
“Miss Hollis! I see one!”
June turned to help Lila chase the flickering light across the grass, both of them laughing as it evaded their cupped hands. They caught three in the first jar, tiny lights pulsing against the glass, and Lila held it up triumphantly.
“Look, Mom! Look how many we got!”
“I see. They’re beautiful.”
The evening deepened around them, the sky fading from purple to black, stars appearing one by one. June sat down on the porch steps, watching Lila hunt for more fireflies, and after a moment Melissa moved to sit beside her.
Their shoulders brushed.
Neither of them moved away.
“Thank you,” Melissa said quietly. “For today. For… all of this.”
“It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that.” Melissa’s voice was soft. “You’ve changed things here. The house feels different. Lila is different.” A pause. “You make it so we can finally breathe.”
June didn’t know what to say. Her heart was beating too fast, her skin hyper-aware of the point where their shoulders touched—warmth through thin cotton, Melissa’s bare arm against June’s sleeve.
“She said you smile more now,” June said. “Lila. She said you seem less lonely.”
Melissa was silent for a long moment.
“I was lonely,” she said finally. “I didn’t realize how much until… recently.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not sure what I am.” The Senator turned to look at her, and in the dim light her eyes were unreadable. “You’re very easy to talk to. I’m not used to that.”
“Maybe you just haven’t had the right people to talk to.”
“Maybe.”
They sat there in the darkness, shoulders touching, watching Lila dance through the grass with her jar of captured light. The air was warm and soft, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle from somewhere nearby.
“Can I ask you something?” June said.
“Of course.”
“Why did you go into politics?”
Melissa was quiet for a moment. “When I was in college, I interned for a state representative. She was working on a bill to expand healthcare access in rural areas—nothing flashy, nothing that made headlines, but it mattered. I watched her fight for it, watched her lose, watched her start over and try again. And I thought… that’s what I want to do.
I want to be someone who keeps trying, even when it’s hard. Do things that matter to people.”
“Did the bill ever pass?”
“Eventually. Years later, after she’d retired. But she planted the seed.” The Senator smiled, something wistful in her expression. “I wanted to plant seeds too. Make things better, even if I never saw the harvest.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s naive, probably. Politics isn’t really about planting seeds. It’s about compromise and strategy and knowing when to push and when to wait.” A pause. “But sometimes I remember why I started, and it helps.”
“I think that’s important. Remembering why you started.”
“What about you?” Melissa turned, and June could feel the warmth of her gaze. “Why did you become a chef? Lots of people love cooking without becoming chefs.”
“I wanted to feed people.” It came out simply, honestly. “Not just physically, but… emotionally, I guess. My grandmother used to say that a good meal could heal almost anything. I wanted to do that. Creating something that brings people together, that makes them feel cared for.”
“And now? After leaving the restaurant world?”
June hesitated. “Now I’m figuring out what that looks like.
I still want to cook, but feeding people doesn’t have to happen in a professional kitchen.
It can happen here, in a home, for a family who needs it.
” She glanced at Melissa. “I didn’t expect to find that when I took this job.
But I think maybe I needed it as much as you did. ”
Melissa held her gaze for a long moment. The fireflies pulsed in the darkness. Lila’s laughter floated across the grass.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Melissa said softly.
“I’m glad I’m here too.”
Their shoulders were still touching. June could feel the heat of it, the gentle pressure, the way neither of them had moved apart even though there was plenty of room on the porch.
This is dangerous, she thought. This feeling, this closeness—it’s going to hurt eventually.
But she didn’t move away.
And neither did Melissa.