Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Emily
“If I didn’t know better,” Jared says from the doorway, “I’d think you were cooking for the whole neighborhood.”
I don’t look up from the cutting board. “Don’t you have boats to micromanage?”
He laughs and steps closer, taking in the stove, the bread cooling on the counter, and the vegetables waiting to be plated. “Is someone a little sensitive today?”
My eyes dart to the oven, where brownies are already baking, and I haven’t even asked if Leif will want to stay for lunch today. But the finish won’t take long, and there will be hours before the second coat can go on, so food and conversation would naturally fill the gap.
I huff out a breath. “I do realize it’s too much. Some is for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t tease.” Jared draws me around. “I love seeing you taking care of others, so long as it’s what you want to do and not because you think Leif expects it.”
“Of course, he doesn’t expect it. But he’s been staying at the hotel without a kitchen for months, and…” I pull away to check the soup. “I thought he’d appreciate a homemade meal.”
“Sure, he will.” Jared follows me to the stove, peering over my shoulder as I stir. “But that’s not the point.”
I taste the soup, considering whether it needs more salt. “What is the point?”
“The point is—” Jared steps closer, his chest brushing my back, his breath warm on my neck. “You like him.”
“He’s Quinn’s tutor.” I add a pinch of salt, avoiding his knowing grin. “And he’s learning woodworking. That’s all.”
Jared’s hands settle on my hips. “Emily Wilson, queen of understatement.”
Before I can protest, his lips find the spot below my ear that never fails to send a shiver down my spine. His nose nudges my cheek, scenting me with a casual possessiveness that my Alpha instincts respond to despite my best intentions.
“Stop it,” I laugh, elbowing him. “I’m trying to cook.”
“And I’m trying to get you to admit these woodworking lessons mean more than you’re saying.” He steals another quick kiss before stepping back. “Which is fine, by the way. More than fine.”
I brush past him to retrieve the butter dish from the refrigerator. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Am I?” Jared hops up onto the counter, his long legs swinging as I move around the kitchen. “Then why not put together the sandwiches you bought ingredients for?”
I set the dish next to the breadboard, avoiding his knowing gaze. “I woke up with a craving.”
“Uh-huh,” he says in obvious disbelief.
I straighten, meeting his eyes. “It’s just food.”
“It’s never just food,” he says with a quiet purr of approval. “Not with you.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I busy myself pulling the bread knife from the block on the counter. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Could be.” He slides off the counter and crosses the room, stopping short of touching me. “Or it could be that you’re letting yourself care a little more than you mean to.”
The oven timer beeps, breaking the moment.
I reach for it without looking at him. “You need to head out, or you’ll miss the water taxi.”
“You know,” Jared continues, ignoring my unsubtle deflection, “once you’re back at work, you could still keep woodworking sessions as a regular thing, open to anyone who wants to join. Didn’t Nathaniel say Blake was overwhelmed by all his projects?”
I pause, bread knife suspended mid-air. “He did…”
“More people would keep it low-pressure. More communal.”
The idea of welcoming more people to our home, of filling the space with creative energy, fills me with a buzz of excitement.
“We’ll see,” I say, resuming my slicing. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
The buzz of my phone interrupts before Jared can respond. I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and reach for it, expecting a message confirming Leif’s arrival time.
Leif
Sorry, Emily. Something’s come up.
Rain check?
I read it, searching for what isn’t said. It’s polite and brief. Too brief for Leif, who tends to text in complete paragraphs with perfect punctuation.
At my extended silence, Jared asks, “Everything okay?”
I set the phone down on the counter with care. “Leif can’t come today.”
“Ah.” Jared drops the teasing. “Any reason why?”
“Something came up.” I reach for the bread knife, resuming my task out of habit.
The soup continues to simmer on the stove, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. The table is set for two, sunlight glinting off the spoons laid out beside cloth napkins I never use for everyday meals.
My shoulders tighten as I finish cutting the bread. A small sigh escapes me, the sound lost beneath the gentle bubbling of the soup.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound normal, “I guess this means more soup for us.”
Despite my best efforts, I can’t fight the creeping disappointment. I’d woken early with anticipation for today’s lesson, planning what techniques to teach next, imagining Leif’s quiet satisfaction when he mastered a new skill.
Now, it will be me alone. Which shouldn’t bother me. I spent almost a year puttering around this cottage alone before Jared moved in. This is a return to normal.
I place the knife in the sink with more force than necessary, and the metal clangs before it settles.
“It’s fine,” I say, though Jared hasn’t asked. “People cancel plans all the time.”
But as I reach to turn down the heat under the soup, I can’t ignore the weight settling behind my breastbone, heavier than simple disappointment should be.
Jared’s bare feet whisper across the kitchen tiles as he crosses to the knife block. He reaches for a clean knife and the block of cheddar I’d left out, and begins cutting thin slices.
“What are you doing?” I ask after a moment.
“Well, I can’t leave you to enjoy all this food by yourself, now can I?” He moves the slices onto the waiting plate. “Besides, I’m starving after smelling this all morning.”
I stir the soup, my fingers tight around the wooden spoon. “What about work?”
“I’ll catch the next water taxi.” As he speaks, he pulls out a phone to shoot a text to Kyle.
My shoulders hunch. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He kisses my cheek. “Come have an early lunch with me, Em.”
He carries the cheese plate to the table and returns for the bread, giving me space for my disappointment without letting it become the center of our morning. This is what I love about Jared, not only his presence, but his understanding of when to exist beside me without trying to fix or solve.
I turn off the burner and bring the soup to the table, setting it on the waiting trivet.
He leans forward to inhale and groans. “Smells so good.”
“It’s just soup.” The words come out flatter than I intend.
“No, just soup is when I open a can and microwave it.” Jared’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “This is love in a bowl.”
His honest appreciation soothes the jagged feeling inside me. He ladles the soup into our bowls and sets a thick slab of buttered bread onto the side plates.
“He was so excited to finish the shelves. And he seemed to enjoy being here,” I say into the silence, breaking off a piece of bread. “I worry about what happened to make him cancel.”
Jared’s head lifts, a question in his eyes.
“I used to have friends when I first met Auren,” I continue, dipping the bread into my soup. “People I used to hang out with after work. People who knew me before him.”
Jared stills, his spoon hovering over his bowl. I don’t often talk about Auren, and Jared doesn’t interrupt now with questions.
“He never told me I couldn’t see them,” I say. “But he… reacted. If I came home late, he was withdrawn when I got home. If I made plans without him, something always went wrong. He needed me. Or he’d had a bad day. Or he was worried about me being around people who didn’t understand us.”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “It was always framed like concern.”
Jared sets his spoon down.
“After a while, it became easier not to argue,” I admit. “Easier not to explain. I stopped reaching out because I didn’t want to deal with the fallout. And by the time I realized what had happened…” I trail off, staring into my bowl. “There was no one left.”
Jared doesn’t rush to offer sympathy or reassurance. Instead, he continues to be silent, waiting for me to work through my thoughts.
“I’m not saying that’s what’s happening with Leif,” I hurry to add. “He hasn’t said anything to me along those lines.”
“But?” Jared prods when I stay quiet too long.
“But when he found out Carson would be working at Pinecrest Academy…” I shake my head. “He was spooked. And Carson rubs me wrong. It’s not the same as Auren, but the way he spoke about Leif, taking credit for his accomplishments, sits wrong with me. It was…controlling.”
Jared frowns with disquiet. “I got the same vibe.”
“Leif was late the first day of our lessons,” I admit, having not told Jared at the time. “He’d already confirmed he was on his way, but he didn’t show for over an hour, and when he did, he gave me a flimsy excuse about traffic on Harbor Street. It was the first day of drop-off for Quinn. And now…”
“He’s canceled after saying he’d be here,” Jared says.
“Yes.”
Jared reaches across the table and takes my hand. “And it scares you.”
“Yes,” I say again. “Because I recognize the pattern.”
Jared’s thumb brushes once over the back of my hand. “What pattern?”
“When Auren first started pulling away,” I say, the memory surfacing without the usual sting, “I responded by trying harder. More attention, more care, more… everything. All it did was speed up the inevitable.”
Jared’s attention remains steady on me as he listens.
“And before that, in foster care, when placements got difficult, I’d watch kids disappear into themselves before running away. The withdrawal always came first.” I tap my spoon on the side of my bowl, the soft clink punctuating my thoughts. “I did it myself, sometimes.”
“So you think Leif is protecting himself?” Jared asks.